See You Tomorrow
Chapter 26
See You Tomorrow
“Good morning, your grace,” Harry greeted King Robert the next morning with a careful smile. He was surprised that the man had arrived so early, especially when it was common for him to sleep well till noon most days.
“Morning,” the man said a little grumpily. “Are we going to do this or what?”
Harry frowned at his tone. Buckbeak wasn’t likely to accept him if one of his riders was in a foul temper. Harry's wounds may have been fully healed as Buckbeak's was, but the last thing he wanted were fresh ones. “A moment first, your grace. If I may, could I speak frankly before we begin?”
Robert looked more alert. “Speak, but take heed. You might be my friend’s ward, but I am still the king.”
Harry nodded and began with minimal delicacy. “Sire, you can’t approach a magical creature with that kind of tone. He’s been domesticated, then essentially left to fend for himself in the wild, to which he was… I don’t even know. But due to what he’s been through, if he feels like there’s any shred that he could be hurt, he will act defensively. He’ll sense it and assume you intend to be violent towards him. We’ve already seen how that transpired, and I really don’t want more scars gained from a similar incident. I will protect you like I protected your son, but I hope I don’t have to.”
The king’s eyebrows raised by his words and Harry braced himself, suddenly fearing that maybe he should have been more delicate with his phrasing, especially to the leader of the land as he had indirectly insulted the prince to his father.
“Mind your tongue, boy. You’re speaking to a king, not a common knight.”
“Animals don’t know the difference,” Harry responded, a bit too brazenly. The very moment he had said them, he regretted the words. Now he had definitely done it. The king went the same purple his Uncle Vernon used to go when a smaller Harry had been snarky with him. Only his penalty for using that tone with a king may not be just a box on the ears. He needed to do some damage control. “I only speak from experience, your grace. This is an important lesson to learn if you want to fly with him. If you need more rest, we can reconvene at noon.”
Harry made the offer with the hope that it would alleviate some of the insolence he had just shown.
An intense moment passed as Robert took in the words as if deciding whether it was enough to get worked up over. At last, he seemed to decide it wasn’t worth his energy.
“No, I’m already here. We do this now.”
“Very well. Feel free to relax while I get him ready.”
Harry left the king where he was and strode towards the den to where Buckbeak waited for him. Before crossing the paddock again, Harry took the opportunity to quietly consult the hippogriff. “Alright, Buddy, please be good for me. It wouldn’t hurt us if we try to get this guy to like you.”
Buckbeak’s bright orange eyes stared at Harry but even as he had used plain English, the lad couldn’t be sure if the creature had understood even a word he had said. He brought Buckbeak about halfway across the paddock and left him to approach King Robert.
“Might I suggest that when you bow to him, pretend you’re bowing to someone whom you looked up to as a younger man. Or a hero of yours that you would like to meet if given the chance.”
Robert frowned but his expression melted into something thoughtful as he mulled Harry’s words over. Then he stepped up to Buckbeak. Keeping his eyes trained on the hippogriff, the king’s demeanor seemed to humble itself just then as he bent into a well-trained bow. Buckbeak nipped towards him and Harry’s instincts were on high-alert. His stance became rigid as he prepared to sprint between the two, but after a second’s consideration, Buckbeak’s head bent down in a returned bow to the king.
Harry felt a breath of relief escape him the very minute Bucky bowed back. Robert looked relieved as well, and Harry offered a bucket to him filled with dead ferrets.
“Throw one towards him as a reward,” Harry explained.
Robert selected one and threw it in the air, to which Buckbeak happily caught, munching it down with delight.
“You can go and pat him now,” Harry prompted. The king looked a little hesitant but eventually stepped up and patted the beast behind his jaw. Buckbeak made a cooing noise and whatever hesitance Robert had felt before seemed to melt away as his fingers sank into the grey feathers.
“There you go, ya great steed. You’re a fine creature now, aren’t ya?”
Another coo came from Buckbeak and he leaned closer to the king, wanting more pets. It seemed like the two had taken very well to each other. A victory, then.
The morning proceeded with Harry explaining more about hippogriffs and their care to the king. Now Robert seemed very interested and watched as Harry eventually prepared Buckbeak to go flying. He explained the saddle and the safety harnesses and advised him on what to expect for his first ride. Robert was just eager to get started, already, yet they were delayed when there had been a brief moment of argument between Robert and his kingsguards, who had been insistent that he take one of them with him for protection. Robert had rejected that idea, much to everyone's surprise.
"Like any of you are going to be able to protect me if we all fall out of the sky. Besides which, I'm so fat that the steed won't be able to fit anyone but me and the boy on him," he proclaimed. No one had been able to argue that point, much to Robert's verbal displeasure. "Well don't everyone disagree at once!"
Apologies were said, but Robert didn't care. Once the matter had been settled, the knights watched on with perturbation as he was fitted with the largest of the harnesses and Harry grabbed up a stool that had been prepared beforehand to help the king get atop the steed. Then Harry mounted the space on the saddle in front of Robert and stroked the grey feathers encouragingly. “Okay, Bucky, let’s take this gently.”
He urged Buckbeak on and the steed broke into a run. His wings fanned out and there was a great lurch as they all launched into the sky. Robert couldn’t suppress a cry of alarm and lowered himself as much as he could while gripping the harnesses fearfully. His reaction was predictable for someone new to flying. Harry could remember the first time he rode Buckbeak as well, and remembered how nerve-wracking it was, especially barebacked. He had come a long way from that day.
“Damn!” Robert’s voice cried over the wind. “Damnit all! Why did I agree to do this?!”
Harry looked behind him and saw that the king had screwed his eyes shut tight, too afraid to look at where they were flying, which was a pity as they were flying right over the sept of Baelor and it really was quite a good view. Harry turned them towards the bay, figuring it might be better to start with a lower altitude.
“Your grace, I promise there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“I’m not afraid!” The king called, his instinct to preserve his valor making him react defensively.
“Then look. I promise it’s alright.”
Robert snuck a peak just as they went sailing over the bay, close enough to the water for Buckbeak to skim his talons in the waves. The king's earlier fear seemed to gradually ease, and he rose a little from his crouched position in the saddle.
“A-alright. This isn’t so bad.”
They flew across the water a bit longer so the king could get more comfortable to it. At last, he requested to go a little higher and they rose over the ships’ sails. Harry looked down and waved to the sailors who spotted them, savoring their expressions of shock and wonder upon seeing the amazing creature and its riders.
“Wave to the people,” Harry urged.
Robert waved, not wanting his citizens to see their king cowering in a saddle. There were some exclamations of surprise but the vast majority of the sailors and shiphands waved gleefully at the riders as they passed over. Several children that were fishing on the docks hopped up and down with excitement, waving at them with both hands and crying, “The Winged Knight! It’s the Winged Knight!”
“Looks like the people approve of the steed,” Robert commented.
“Shall we ascend more, your grace?” Harry asked, looking back at the man. Robert gave his approval and they gradually climbed further into the sky. Eventually they were high enough to pass through a cloud. The thick mist hit their faces as the temperature dropped just as they ascended. Water droplets clung to their clothes and hair and Robert suppressed a shiver.
“I see what you mean about that leather armor, now,” the king noted. “It’s quite the chill up here.”
“I’d brace any cold for this feeling,” Harry rebuffed, breathing deep as the wind whipped his hair.
“You’d think it would be warmer the closer to the sun you got.”
“The atmosphere is not heated directly from the sun but indirectly from the energy reflected back from the surface of the earth,” Harry clarified. He had heard Madam Hooch explain it to him and his classmates enough times during broom lessons that he had it memorized. “In other words, it’s the ground that’s heated by the radiation the sun produces and the air is warmed from the heat off the ground. It cools the higher the particles move away from the earth.”
“Is that so?” Robert said in a tone that mimicked sarcasm. Harry wasn’t sure if the man really understood what he had just said but decided it wasn’t worth trying to explain further. Most people in this land didn’t really care about that sort of thing, the cause and effect of things like the weather and such, so he just let it be.
After a time sailing over the clouds, Robert seemed to have grown his nerve back. “This is quite the wonder. Does the steed go any faster?”
Harry cast him a roguish smile over his shoulder. “Hold tight.”
Robert had only a moment to grip his safety harnesses before the lad gave Buckbeak a command and just like that, they were diving towards the surface of the sea. Robert gave a yell of surprise that was carried by the wind. They fell until they were feet from the crashing waves and Buckbeak’s wings fanned out to let them soar over the waters with enough speed to stir the calm surface as they passed.
The king let out a loud whoop of excitement and they climbed again, turning in a corkscrew as they did so. Harry was glad to see the king was now thoroughly enjoying himself. Perhaps he was less like his uncle Vernon and more like Hagrid after all.
“Good job, you noble steed!” Robert commended. Buckbeak gave an answering caw, and they sailed further into the sky.
They braked on a mountain peak and hunted a fat hare for lunch, while Buckbeak snatched up a dolphin that had unwisely leapt out of the sea at the worst moment for it. Harry felt bad for the thing, but wasn’t about to tell Bucky he couldn't to eat a kill he rightfully caught himself. In the meantime, Robert gutted, cleaned, and roasted the rabbit himself, while Harry found herbs and pulled out salt from his saddlebag to season it with. The lad took one half of the rodent while Robert took the other.
“Ah, this is the life,” Robert announced, leaning against a boulder as he devoured the meat with gusto. He looked much livelier compared to the man Harry had given his report to the evening before. “Damned to the Seven Hells, I should have been a sellsword. Not some fat king.”
Harry stared at him, shocked that he would speak that way about himself. He had heard more than one tale about Robert’s brave heroism during the rebellion that dethroned the Mad King Arys, so he had always thought Robert would have been happy to be king, but with one look at him, anyone could see that his prime was well behind him. Judging by the rumors he heard from the Stark men, he knew that Robert scarcely attended any of his small council meetings. The gossip about him spending his days drinking and hunting and whoring were accurate. Perhaps his words about becoming a sellsword were not so far-fetched then. Maybe it wasn't so much of being a bad king but just being the wrong man for the job. Perhaps he was better suited for a role as a general.
Harry decided it was too dangerous to say anything either in agreement or otherwise, so he stuffed his mouth with more rabbit in an attempt to keep from giving a response.
Robert noticed his silence and addressed Harry directly. “Has your warden spoken much about the wars?”
Harry swallowed his mouthful and wiped his lips on his sleeve. “Not often. Least, not to me directly. Those tales are for his trueborn children. I’ve heard stories from various mouths around Winterfell.”
“And what do they say about me and the war?”
“It depends on who tells it. I did not have the mind to tell who’s account from another’s.” He hoped the explanation would dispel from having to recount the tales that described Robert unfavorably.
“What do they say about the wars?”
Harry considered carefully. “They say, the rebellion started when Rhaegar stole Lyanna Stark from Winterfell and hid her away in Dorne. They say that when her brother Brandon went to King's Landing to demand her back, King Arys threw him in a black cell. When Rickard Stark came to get his children back, the Mad King burned him alive with wildfire and forced Brandon to watch, strangling himself on a cord they had tied around his throat as he fruitlessly reached out to help his father. They say that you and Lord Eddard formed an alliance of Stark, Baratheon, Tully, and Aryn armies to rise against the House Targaryen and their tyranny. That’s how they say it started.”
“Aye, that’s how it started. And it ended just as gruesomely.” Robert stared into the flames of their fire, no doubt looking into a past that was dead and gone in every way but in his mind. “Do you have many war stories like that where you come from?”
“None, your grace,” Harry responded. He tried to remember the few wizarding wars he had learned about. Professor Binns had been the teacher for History of Magic, but he was arguably the most boring teacher in Hogwarts that very few students actually paid any attention during his lectures. Harry and Ron had been guilty of playing Exploding Snap in his class on more than one occasion, much to the chagrin of Hermione. He learned about various goblin uprisings and squib rights movements but never bothered to distinguish one from another. The class was really that boring. But what he definitely knew was that wizarding wars were fought out-of-sight from the muggle population. There would be no records of them spoken around a campfire like this.
Harry considered how much he would actually be able to tell Robert. No doubt he would understand spells and magic themselves since Westerosi history was so riddled with them, so he saw no harm in giving him a bit of the truth. “My people’s wars are fought a little more… subtly. We don’t have armies of that sort. We fight in a sort of indirect manor. It’s difficult to explain. I was taught it once, but my teacher for our histories was not very… engaging. I’ve forgotten most of what he told me, in fact. In truth, your histories and lore seem far richer compared to ours. What I do know is there was a man—a sorcerer—who was defeated when I was a baby who I’m told went as bad as you can go, and amassed a group of followers who tried to take over our society. Our adults were so affected by what he did, that very little is said about it all. Most can’t even bring themselves to say his name, almost like it’s a curse that will bring him back to life.”
“And what name is that?”
“His name was Voldemort,” Harry answered honestly. “But most people referred to him as You-Know-Who or He-Who-Shall-Not-be-Named. I remember the first time I ever heard it. The man who told me would only say it in a whisper.”
“Damn,” Robert muttered. He looked equal parts impressed and guarded by Harry’s description. “He must be a foul villain to make so many fear to even speak his own name.”
Harry nodded. “Names have power. I’ve come to appreciate that more since being taken in by Lord Stark.”
“What were his crimes?”
“Very few like to recount them, so I had to learn of them on my own. I know that, as a boy, he awoke an ancient beast beneath a school that petrified and murdered the students. He killed commoners in the thousands and reanimated their bodies with dark magic to use as his slaves. He used vile curses that killed, tortured, and enslaved anyone that fell victim to them and often framed others for those crimes. He was wildly unnatural, and those that survived his reign describe his acts as terrible but great. But in my opinion, he was nothing more than a death-worshiping madman, not so different from Mad King Arys.”
“Aye, Lad!” Robert barked, pointing his finger at the boy. “Only a madman, and you never forget that! Had I the chance, it would have been me to stab that worm Arys in the heart myself. But at least I got his son. The kidnapper that stole Lyanna and raped the only woman I ever loved. I smashed his ribs in and I watched the light leave his eyes right there in the Trident. I’d do it all over again if given the chance for what he and his vile father did to my friends and their families. Did you ever learn what happened to that wicked sorcerer?”
Harry decided not to tell the king just how very involved in Voldemort’s downfall he really was. “He was defeated when one of his spells went wrong. His body was destroyed, and his spirit reduced to a shadow of his former self.”
“So, he died.”
Harry cast Robert a heavy look before he corrected that assumption. “His body was destroyed, but he was so twisted by his acts that he found ways to… survive that.”
Robert stared at him, stunned. It seemed obvious that he had never heard of sorcery like that. “Damn.”
“Indeed,” Harry nodded. He still remembered Quirrell and the parasite on his skull and the journal version of Tom Riddle as clearly as if it had all happened yesterday.
His words seemed to alert Robert as he looked back at Harry with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. “Where did you say you were from again?”
“Lorath,” Harry recited instantly.
It was the only lie of the day.
It was nearing evening by the time they returned to the Red Keep and the king was in very good spirits.
“Your grace, are you well?” Ser Barriston asked when they entered the paddock. Robert's Lannister squires were on him the moment their liege touched the ground, flitting about him like gold and red wasps. He looked like he wanted nothing more than to shoo them away, but he was happy and energized in a way he hadn't felt in years and didn't want to spoil his mood.
“Better than ever!” Robert announced to his captain. “Gods, what a day! Flying! No wonder the Targaryens conquered the world. Flying’s a damn explosion of sensations. I can see why you spend so much time up there, boy. Better than wine! Better than women!”
Harry was relieved with the king’s reaction. It looked like Buckbeak had made a good impression on the man, and he was already anticipating their next ride.
“I’m pleased to know you enjoyed yourself,” his kingsguard noted. “I will be glad to hear more about it later.”
“Indeed! I can’t wait for the morrow when we go riding again.”
This time it was one of his squires, Lancel, Harry assumed, who timidly spoke up. “F-forgive me, your grace, but may I remind you that the tailor is coming tomorrow for a final fitting of your garb for the tourney. The tanner will also be by to design that leather armor you requested.”
Robert was visually disappointed to be reminded of his engagements. “Tomorrow? Damn! Forgot about that.” He turned to Harry and addressed him rather informally. “Looks like the ride will have to wait, lad. Take the day to make sure the steed is presentable for the tourney as I will for myself.”
Harry bowed his head. “As you wish, your grace.”
The king left and Harry led Buckbeak back to his den. The sun was setting in the distance and his body was achy from the long day, he was also hungry again, but before any food could touch his lips, Buckbeak would need his care. He drew the gate and checked to be sure they were alone before he whipped out his wand. Items magically began floating in the air. The saddle unclasped and soared towards its hook in the wall and the rags and polish moved over the leather and made it shine. Brushes flew to the steed and began rubbing him down while Harry took his beak in his hands and smiled.
“You did very well today, old friend. I think the king likes you.”
The beast gave an answering coo, and Harry stroked the feathers over his brow before releasing him to stretch and pop a few joints.
“What a day. I don’t know about you, but I am bone tired. What say we have only a quick fly around the surrounding hills tomorrow and spend the rest of the day mulling about? It’s been a while since we had a day to relax.”
Buckbeak only scratched his leg with his beak, barely indicating any opinion about the idea. Harry pretended he was in agreement and nodded. He disenchanted the items that were flying around and left to go have his supper in the Small Hall. If he timed their arrival right, he should be just in time to sit down with the rest of the men.
Just as Harry planned, the next day he and his hippogriff had a quick flight over the surrounding hills and waters and Buckbeak killed a small hammerhead shark, taking only minutes to devour it before they headed back to the castle.
Harry decided he best enjoyed the days after a good hunt, when Buckbeak had gotten his fill, and they had returned to the Red Keep with a decent exhaustion. There, they were allowed to relax a bit in the paddock enclosed beneath the trees and bushes and out of sight from the guards, often with both Lady and Nymeria. Buckbeak would rest and Harry would lean up against him, pulling out a book, or if he was feeling creative, his tools and a block of wood and begin whittling away until he had quite the menagerie at his side. If he was feeling bored, he would enchant them to move to act out as a small wooden zoo at his feet. He soon found that his magic was embedded in them so deeply that he didn’t even need to use his wand to animate them. He didn’t even need to speak. They could move at his mental desire. Just another perk to being a wizard.
On this day though, he had decided to rest in the king's garden, having gotten permission from him the day before. Robert had practically insisted on it, to be frank. The trees and plants and flowers were so thick, that Harry found a welcoming spot out of sight, where Buckbeak would be hidden enough while they rested. It seemed as if his exhaustion had gotten the best of him, and he only had the energy to pull out a dictionary of High Valerian. He had tested out one of the Targaryen's ancient spells earlier that day and it had born such good results that he wanted to learn more phrases.
Eventually Nymeria and Lady found them, and he entertained a moment to scratch them each in greeting before they found a place in the thick grass and curled up.
Harry sighed. The sun was out, the wind was soft and the day was so perfect that he couldn’t help but close his eyes for a moment. In the back of his mind, he sensed the world around him. He could feel the wolves nearby and Buckbeak’s steady breathing beneath him. The soft grass and the sound the wind made when it rustled the trees like a steady hum, was calming and his guard lowered.
Then he slipped further into his mind.
Princess Myrcella came upon the Stark Ward when she was in the middle of a hiding game with her handmaids and little brother. She had been in the process of diving behind a thick lilac bush, when she had caught herself just before she tripped over someone. She just about jumped out of her skin when she had a moment to realize it was none other than the Stark's ward, Harry, and he wasn't alone. The young man was asleep, leaned up against his hippogriff with the northern direwolves surrounding them. They too slept beside him in the shade, unbothered by the world that laid beyond the bushes that walled them in.
Several books were stacked around him, with a quill and ink on a little table so he could take notes at his leisure from the primer that laid open in his hands.
The scene fascinated her. Myrcella had never beheld a vision that was such a perfect combination of vulnerability, masculinity, knowledge, and gentleness. Nor had she ever seen anyone, not an elder boy at least, looking so tranquil and handsome. The princess couldn’t believe that someone who was surrounded by predators on all sides, be they sleeping or not, could be so relaxed. He looked like something out of an old legend. A sleeping knight frozen in time with his magical animal familiars to guard him.
She couldn’t help but come closer to study his cool face better. She thought the strange device over his eyes—what was it called again? Glasses?—would hinder his complexion, but they somehow didn’t do that. For certain they were strange to look at and they had become lopsided in his sleep, but they didn’t seem as awkward as she first thought just then. In a way, they gave him a look of intelligence. The wind ruffled his sweptback hair and Myrcella couldn’t help but reach forward and gently brush his bangs back a little, silently admiring him as she did so. He smelled like woodsmoke, leather polish, and rain. Even as she revealed that odd jagged scar over his brow, it didn’t hinder his complexion any more than his glasses did.
She didn’t know a lot about him. It didn’t seem like many people did, in fact. Even among his own people. The mystery just seemed to add to his allure. Was he even real? It didn’t seem like someone that peaceful and beautiful could ever be real.
Her hand rested on his chest to feel his heart, to make sure he was a breathing, living person after all, before she leaned closer and brushed her lips softly against his cheek.
“Are you even real?”
Harry’s eyes snapped open.
Sometime in the hour he had been lounging, he had drifted deeply into sleep. In his dreams he saw a northern city made of silver and glass. It shimmered like a star as the winter sun touched it and the pure snow around it made it look like it had been built on a cloud. It was a splendid beautiful sight. And Harry wanted a closer look, but the train he was on wanted to circle it first, to admire its splendor.
A high, musical sound had been coming from it. Something like bells, or maybe water glasses?
It was a hypnotizing sight, to be sure, but Harry quickly wanted to see beyond its shell surface. He wanted inside the city already, but stubbornly remained outside of it.
He reached his hand out, as if he could be there if only, he could touch it.
“Are you even real?”
The words had come from his own lips, but also a voice had spoken them. A voice from the city as if it too were beholding him just as much as he was beholding it.
That was when he woke and someone fell back suddenly at his abrupt consciousness.
He blinked several times, wiping away the crust from his eyes before he realized who it was that had been leaning over him while he slept.
“Princess Myrcella?”
“I didn’t hurt you,” she established defensively.
He rubbed his eyes again, groggy and confused, because he was almost certain the princess wasn’t actually in front of him. But then he pulled his hand away and adjusted his glasses and sure enough, when he looked back, the same golden-haired child was still seated in front of him. She looked quite startled, and Buckbeak shifted under him, almost awake at the little commotion they had made.
Myrcella eyed the beast warily, and Harry soothed him back to sleep again. When that was done, he turned back to his company and spoke softly so they wouldn’t startle the steed.
“I apologize, Princess, but where are your chaperones?”
“We’re playing a game and I’m hiding. You can’t hide very well with other people, so…”
Harry smiled, reminded of his days back in Winterfell and playing games like that with the Stark children.
“Well, I don’t know about that. Have you ever played Sardines?”
Her head tilted quizzically by the strange name. “What’s that?”
“Ask Sansa and Arya sometime and they’ll gladly show you how it’s played.”
“I suppose I will.”
Just then, Lady came closer to the princess and nuzzled her affectionately in the hopes of obtaining some attention. Myrcella was happy to provide it, and the wolf laid her head in her lap while the girl stroked her.
Harry watched it curiously. “I notice you’re taken with the wolves. I was under the impression that you weren’t too fond of them.”
“Joffrey’s not too fond of them,” Myrcella corrected. “Actually, Joffrey is afraid of them. He pretends I’m the one afraid to save face, but our mother’s banners have a lion. A wolf doesn’t shake me.”
“Maybe his personal banner should sport a chicken then.” It had slipped his mouth before he could stop himself, and it was then that he suddenly realized what he had said and in front of who. “Forgive me, Princess. I spoke out of turn. I should have been more sensible with my words.”
She giggled, amused by the imagery just the same. “That’s alright. I thought it was funny. Not a lot of people make jokes about my stupid brother, other than my Uncle Tyrion. Joffrey doesn’t like him because of that, so I like him a lot.”
“I didn’t get the chance to speak with him much before he went to visit the Wall. I hear he’s intelligent.”
“He is. I’m proud that he’s my family.”
“I’m happy for you. Family is important. I wish I had an uncle to look up to, figuratively, that is.”
Myrcella looked at him with her big green eyes as she remembered something about him just then. “I heard you were an orphan.”
He paused and looked back at her. He didn’t want to have this talk today. He was in too good a mood and he didn’t want to be reminded of the unfortunate circumstances that gave him such a horrible upbringing. “Yes. It’s a bit of a delicate conversation to have.”
“Then I won’t pry,” she replied courteously. “By the way, what are you reading?”
He tilted the cover towards her. “High Valyrian dictionaries from the library. I’m trying to learn the language.” He had grown an interest in the language after learning that there had been sorcerers of ancient Valeria that had used spells and enchantments long ago, before the Doom that destroyed their culture. Their society may have died but their language had survived, thanks to the growth of their empire through Essos. Harry had come across a few of those said spells as he was searching for saddle designs for Buckbeak. There were plenty of phrases and terms riddled through the books about their royal dragons, so as a whim, Harry had learned one of their spells and tested it earlier that day while Buckbeak had been eating his kill on the mountain.
He had used the swish and flick gesture and recited the word that summoned dragonfire.
"Dracarys!"
To his everlasting shock there had been an immediate reaction. From his wand came a burst of fire in the shape of a winding red dragon. Then it opened its mouth and sprayed a long and terrible jet of flames that incinerated the bit of grass and dry brush on the cliffside. It even melted some of the stone.
"Aguamenti! Aguamenti!" Harry had cried. Doing everything in his power to drown the fire before it had done irreversible damage and possibly attract the attention of ruffians who may have been lurking nearby. His water spell had been blessedly affective, but the revelation of the potential Valyrian could do for his magic, had him rushing to grab a dictionary and take notes for future spells the very moment they had gotten back.
But of course, he couldn't tell the princess that.
“Are you intending to go to Essos?” She asked.
“Not really. But I thought it might be useful to learn.”
“I know a little bit myself. All of us royal children learn it. If you’d like, I could lend you my tutor.”
“That’s very kind, your highness. But you needn’t bother. I learn better on my own. And it’s just a few phrases that I’m interested in, anyway.”
“Really, like what?”
“Oh, the usual,” Harry shrugged. “Hello. Goodbye. Pass the salt. Where’s the privy? Please stop trying to kill me, sir. The Greyjoy went that way.”
Myrcella giggled again. He liked making her laugh. She was pleasant and exactly how he imagined a princess would be like.
“Your highness!” They both jumped to see the princess’s septa standing in the clearing, looking flustered and offended by the sight of her royal charge conversing with a lowly northern ward. “It is not becoming of a princess to be alone with a foreigner.”
“I was playing with Tommen and I’m hiding,” she defended herself.
“There are plenty of other places to hide. Get away from those beasts! It’s not safe.”
As the woman shrieked, her fear woke the hippogriff, and he shifted under Harry. Calmly, so as not to excite Buckbeak further, he cast the book in his lap aside and moved quickly, hoisting the princess up in his arms without a word and taking her back to her septa where it was safer.
“Apologies, your highness. But you haven’t yet bowed to him, and I don’t want to risk your safety so close to him.”
The septa looked entirely scandalized by the sort of boldness that would lead him to touch a royal family member. “How dare you.”
Harry ignored the woman and addressed the princess, bowing to her in farewell. “Until next time, your highness.”
Myrcella was taken aback by the unexpected treatment, but her heart fluttered and she smiled yet again. “I would like there to be a next time. It’s pleasant talking with you.”
“Likewise. I wish you luck in your game, Princess.” He inclined his head in a half bow to her, but Myrcella wasn't yet done.
"Will you be at the tourney tomorrow?"
"Yes. Buckbeak and I will have a paddock for ourselves."
"Then I will see you tomorrow."
He smiled and nodded then turned from her to go back to calm his steed, which wasn’t needed as the wolves had already done so for him.
Septa Elane brushed Myrcella’s hair carefully that evening while the princess stared into the mirror in front of her. She was quiet, having been thinking about the sleeping boy all day after their conversation. All during needlework then dinner, the boy, nearly a man, was on her mind. His peace and mystery were constantly with her. She saw his sleeping face even now.
“Septa?” Myrcella said suddenly, breaking the silence in the room as a thought came to her. “Lady Sansa is going to marry Joffrey, right?”
“Yes. They will make a fine match together,” Elane commented.
“I’m glad she’ll be my sister, but what about the other Stark children?” Myrcella asked, “Who will they marry?”
“That’s up to their parents, Princess.”
“I hear Robb married the girl he ran away with. She was also a ward of the Starks. Is he allowed to do that?”
Septa suddenly looked stern. “Under normal circumstances, no. And I don't think he has married her, just yet.”
“Is that going to be a problem?” She could sense there was indeed a problem with it, but she chose to ask just to see what it was.
Her septa took a deep heavy breath before continuing. “Well, the Starks have many heirs. Perhaps they can afford to spare one, even if he is their firstborn son.”
“Will Arya marry their other ward then?” In her mind it was a reasonable conclusion, but to Septa Elane it was utterly ridiculous.
“No, I don’t imagine that will be appropriate.”
“Why not?”
“Arya is a highborn, and I’m not entirely sure what kind of house Potter is in Lorath, but it’s not important enough to be remembered. He’s merely a ward, sweet. Marrying a highborn is out of his breeding.”
She turned back to look at her reflection in the mirror and the brushing of her golden hair continued. “Why do we know so little about them?”
“Because they aren’t important enough to know.”
“Someone who tames eagle beasts and direwolves has to be someone interesting,” Myrcella decided.
“You needn’t worry about who he marries, dear. No one more important than a kitchen maid is most likely for him.”
The girl felt slighted by the thought. Did they think a kitchen maid was really worthy of a soon-to-be-knight who rode and tamed beasts of the sky, had the favor of her father the king, and learned ancient language for amusement?
She went to bed thinking about him and remarking how his eyes were just as green as her own.