My Adventures with Bob
Chapter 31
My Adventures with Bob
Harry spent most of his time with Buckbeak, training him and taking him out to go hunting. He also raced him, pushing the steed to go a little faster every day. Buckbeak loved the challenge and with his rider, they flew faster and higher than Harry could ever remember Buckbeak going. While he was training the hippogriff, the wizard also took on new challenges for himself.
Harry soon grew bold enough to attempt some aerobatic tricks, even as that had resulted in a terrifying moment when Harry had accidentally fallen from the saddle. His safety harnesses had come unexpectedly unhooked, and he had plummeted. The experience had been extremely frightening at the time, and Buckbeak had struggled to reach him in the air. The wind howled in their ears when Harry had called directions to his steed who had struggled so much trying to reach him, that one of his hooves had kicked out and struck his rider hard in the cheek, sending him spinning.
The adrenaline coursing through his whole body had him forgetting about the wound entirely, as he redoubled his efforts to get back on the saddle as quickly as possible. Once he had managed it, Buckbeak's wings fanned out to slow his descent just as they were meters away from crashing into the trees of a mountain, where they would have been killed had he been a second too late. They struggled to stay airborne as their momentum had them speeding into the entrance of a narrow canyon of massive, towering cliffs. Harry felt his heart pounding as they navigated smooth yet recklessly through the maze of fog and stone. When they managed to reach the other end, Harry's terror transformed into a ringing triumph, and he threw his arms above his head as he yipped with incomparable success.
After that terrifying yet narrow debacle, Harry decided to make a few adjustments to the saddle and safety harnesses before quickly having the courage to try gutsier stunts. It didn't take him long before he wasn't even afraid of falling. Many times, they’d climb to a great height and once he felt satisfied with their altitude, Harry would unfasten his safety harness and leap out of the saddle intentionally, allowing gravity to pull him rapidly back to the ground. He loved the rush and with Buckbeak plunging at the same speed as him, there was no fear in him to be found.
While out, he would generally fly them to a secluded place and use what time they had for a break to try out his magic. He had been doing his best at inventing new spells, but Hermione had drilled in him the risks of experimenting and with his own experience sitting too close to Seamus Finnigan in class, he certainly understood what should and should not be done. Even mispronunciation could become explosive if one wasn’t careful.
Since the majority of the spells that they were taught in school were derived from Latin, it was theorized (mostly by Hermione) that Latin lessons may have helped with developing new spells, but since that language didn’t exist in this world, there weren’t any materials to be found that could assist in expanding his vocabulary. But with the success of the Dragonflame spell that Harry had found in the books on dragon saddles, he found a substitute in High Valyrian.
Before the Doom that took their empire, the Valyrians had been a race of people who studied and practiced great magic. They rose from their humble origins as sheep herders when they came across strange eggs and the beginning of their empire hatched with the first dragons that sprouted from those same eggs. From then on, the Valyrians were great possessors of magic and power.
Harry only wanted to see his personal development grow, so that he could pursue a good life for himself and the people around him, maybe even some of his achievements would help make life better for the realm in the process. Even as he knew it wouldn’t be possible, a large part of him wanted the magic of his old life in Hogwarts and the Wizarding world back. Little by little, he was working towards regaining some of that.
Here in the capitol, the birthplace of dragon kings and queens, there was a generous collection of their writings and dictionaries. Harry even found himself consulting the tutor that Princess Myrcella had directed him to. He would take notes on the language and then test one new spell out every day where it would be safe and see how they were expressed by his wand and his magic. The spells themselves had a tendency of producing various results, though sometimes by just using a different wand gesture or even just slightly changing the wording could massively impact the performance of his magic.
He began to keep a different journal for his spells, and he was soon giddy off the idea that he was writing his own book. Perhaps many years from now, whole future generations of witches and wizards would use it as a text in schools.
With the words he knew, and the motions he practiced, he managed to increase his arsenal of spells from the third-year magic he already knew as well as all the charms Hermione had taught him. Of the new spells he had invented, he could now refill goblets of various liquids from the tip of his wand, so long as he had a source from where to conjure them from, he could produce a kind of tangible orb around his head that protected his airways when he submerged under water, create a small portable thunderstorm over his head that lasted about five minutes, and lastly, produce a wispy waterproof film that could cover his gear, body, and even Buckbeak if he indicated. That one proved very useful in rainstorms.
He also wanted to try wandless magic, namely summoning spells as he couldn’t begin to list all the ways such magic would have been extremely useful. The idea was that if his weapon was seized or slipped away from him, he only had to wave his hand to get it back. However, that kind of magic was proving to be very finicky. He had tried and tried, using the words “Māzigon naejot issa!” Or “Come to me!” in Valyrian while attempting to channel his magic as much as he could. Some days he would get nothing while others he would get a little jiggle from the item he tried to summon, and nothing else.
He was equal parts frustrated and motivated with those results which told him he was on the right track but weak enough not to gain any improvement. While he worked on refining that spell specifically, he tried others, envisioning easy enough magic that he believed would have been practical and useful. He thought about maybe inventing some enchanted contraptions. He instantly thought of the Maraurders’ Map and how fascinating and helpful it had been, especially when tracking other humans and revealing the hidden passageways of the school. Very useful indeed. he thought maybe he could make a replica of that for the Red Keep, but he had only a general knowledge of the castle and he wasn’t completely dedicated to exploring it these days. So, perhaps that wasn’t in the cards after all. Plus, the first one had taken a total of four fifth-year wizards over the expanse of three years to complete, and he was only one wizard with a third-year Hogwarts education so, again, it didn’t look like he was likely to make something like that.
Maybe a compass would be easier. One that would point towards the thing he was seeking or what he wanted most. That would likely prove to be extremely helpful, and it seemed a lot more practical than a map that tracked each and every human within the grounds. But how to go about making something like that?
He would need to do some further research.
In the meantime, while his magic was growing, and training was proceeding with promise, his own physique was beginning to take on certain changes. He had begun to show the faintest traces of hair on his face and chest, not much, but he had spotted several strands one day, enough to boost his mood, especially since the hair on his head was now constantly windswept, even after the tanner finished his armor and helmet, which was quite the blessing.
The warmth he felt when he wore it, verses when he didn’t, was significant enough, and he was grateful for the new insulation that protected him from the cold of high altitudes. On a different note, he wasn’t much for vanity, but he could admit that the gear made him look, dare he say it, pretty cool. He considered putting the Stark’s sigil somewhere on him but thought against it. He wasn’t really a Stark, after all.
Still, he felt the armor lacked something. Finally, one day while breaking in a glade for lunch, Harry was looking into a calm pond, while Buckbeak was busy feasting on a deer he caught, and the young wizard studied his reflection in the water. Brushing back his hair, he glanced at the lightning scar on his temple and considered it. As a child, before he ever understood its significance, it had been the one thing he liked about himself. He had always thought it looked edgy in his years before starting Hogwarts, despite his relatives’ attempts to hide it from public view. He considered it and had a sudden inspiration. Unclasping his right pauldron, he used his wand to burn into the leather the outline of an identical lightning bolt to the one on his forehead if just larger in scale. He magicked the color of the bolt to be red on a field of grey, then took a moment to examine his work before smiling in satisfaction. Oh yes, he liked that.
Perhaps he would have a metal pauldron and shield made for himself. The combination of red and grey was pleasing to him. He hadn’t meant to, but it resembled a storm cloud in a way. He had always favored red, ever since he was three, and maybe he would have preferred gold as a base color, but people might mistake it for the Lannister colors. So, he chose grey, or maybe silver would be a better choice further down the line, in honor of the Starks who took him in.
Well then, it looked like he had a sigil. It was simple, by all accounts, but all the great houses had relatively simple ones anyway. Easier for banner houses to remember them that way. Not that Potter was likely to become a great house, but one never knew where their path would go.
Sometime after Harry had made his sigil, the king had met him one night on his way while returning to his paddock after dinner in the Small Hall. He hadn't seen much of the man since the tourney, so the lad was surprised to have encountered him in the hallway this late, especially to find that he was unescorted by any kingsguard.
"Your grace!" Harry stammered. "H-how can I help you this evening?"
"I've informed your warden that I'll be coming with you tomorrow on your flight. Make preparations for a journey, perhaps a long one." It was all he said before gruffly turning on his heel and stalking away. For a long moment, all Harry could do was stand there in confusion. He felt a little uncertain with the idea of a long journey, but Lord Eddard had already warned him that this could have been a possibility, so he returned to the paddock and made preparations as the king had instructed.
The next morning, Lord Eddard gathered with his daughters and Septa Mordane for breakfast in the Tower of the Hand, though Arya approached the table with some caution. In her hand she held a little rolled scroll with a waxed seal of the king's sigil.
“Father," she said guiltily. "I uh… sort of crossed paths with the king last night after dinner and was told to give you something, and to not let anyone else see it but you during morning breakfast.”
To that Ned's head snapped up in surprise. He knew Robert had been irritated by something the day before, likely from words with the queen, but he hadn't expected he would start corresponding to Ned through notes passed along by his daughters. It felt greatly childish. “Robert gave you something? Give it here, luv.”
She handed it over and Ned broke the seal to reveal a very brief letter.
Ned,
I kidnaped your ward for a few days. We’ll be back soon. Don’t tell the council.
Love Robert
“Aw, he signed it with love,” Sansa mused reading the note over her father’s shoulder because she was nosey.
“How romantic!” Arya teased. “Although, it seems like you might have some competition, Father.”
While he was glad to see that his daughters were getting along so well, it disheartened him to know that now they could gang up on him with both their wolves and Harry if they dared recruit him.
“Damn that man,” he muttered on a more serious note. The very first thing he planned to do that morning was to inform the council of this and see which kingsguard had gone off with him. “What’s he thinking taking my ward off to who knows where! You both are to tell no one about this, understand?”
“Won’t people notice the king is missing?”
“Yes, dear, they will, but even so, you are to discuss this with no one. Do you understand?”
“Alright,” Arya sighed, biting into some bacon, and feeding a bit to Nymeria.
“What about the royal family?” Sansa questioned.
“No one,” Ned reaffirmed. “This cannot be leaked to the outside. It could put them in grave danger.”
With a more satisfying explanation, Sansa sighed as her sister had, “Alright, yes, I suppose.”
Ned took only a moment to take one last bite of toast before hastily making his way to the small council to get whatever information he could about what had provoked this unexpected escape.
“I see you’ve made yourself a sigil,” Robert noticed as they were flying over a settlement that he said was Caigsaw. The king had been in a bad mood when he had arrived that morning in the paddock just as expected. He had been so short about it all, that Harry hadn’t dared ask him what the matter was. All that Robert seemed to be interested in, was getting as far from the Red Keep as possible, for some reason, and Harry was obliged to do nothing but obey that command.
At the mention of his symbol, Harry instinctively looked down to his new metal pauldron that sported his lightning bolt.
“Yes, your grace,” Harry confirmed. “I fashioned it just two days prior. I was thinking of getting a shield made with it. I know I’m not a knight yet, but I didn’t see the harm of just fashioning it at least.”
“And you’ve chosen a lightning bolt, the same shape of your scar?”
Harry nodded. “The gods seemed to favor the lightning symbol for me.”
Robert went silent as if to consider the shape. “I thought perhaps you would choose Buckbeak to be your sigil.”
“I thought so too, but I’m a little more attached to the lightning bolt,” he cast a smirk at the king while he pointed at the place of his scar under his helmet.
It took a moment for the pun to land, but when it did, Robert barked a laugh. It looked like the king could appreciate a good pun.
“I suppose it suits you well, as does the armor.”
The king now sported his own leather armor as well, made finer than Harry’s and to his precise measurements, accounting for his belly and everything.
“Where are we headed, your grace? I know you said south, but where south? How far do you intend to go?”
“As far as the steed will take us before nightfall.”
“When did you want to head back to the keep?”
“Not tonight. Not for several if I can help it.”
Harry was afraid of that. “Your grace, I can’t in good conscious keep you from the capitol for that long. Your kingsguard should be with you at least. We can turn around and ask Ser Barristan…”
“No. I’ve had enough of all of them for the next few days,” Robert snapped. “I want to clear my head and I’ll not have that done with so many breathing down my neck and waiting on me hand and foot at every turn. If your lord warden complains about your absence, you tell him I kidnapped you both. As the king, you are doomed to obey me.”
Harry frowned beneath his helm but nodded just the same. “Yes, your grace.”
They flew for hours, until the sun was low on the horizon and Harry at last proclaimed they all needed a break.
Buckbeak landed in a dense forest, downing a buck in the same move, to which he immediately began to feast on the carcass. Robert and Harry knew better by now that the hippogriff would share none of his kill with them. So, Robert ordered Harry to set up their camp while he wandered off with a spear to find their supper. Harry attempted to go with him, but Robert would have none of it. He wanted to hunt alone for once.
As a compromise, Harry gave him a whistle in the shape of a skull and instructed him to blow it if he found himself in need of help.
Robert stared bewildered at the strange instrument. It was much different from the sort of whistles he had seen before. Curiosity getting the best of him, he blew it, wondering what kind of tone it would make. To his shock, and a bit of horror, it gave a loud spine-chilling scream.
It was so loud and frightening that Robert jerked it away from his lips and Buckbeak’s head popped abruptly up to stare in horror at the wickedly loud thing the king held.
“What the bloody fuck was that?” Robert demanded, wanting to throw the whistle away from him.
“It’s an Aztec Death Whistle,” the boy explained. He had fashioned it after a toy that Fred and George had owned back during his days in Hogwarts. One foggy October Saturday, Harry had caught the two hiding in one of the towers on the bridge while they used it to scare students whenever they were passing over. Lucky for the twins, Harry thought it had been rather funny and the three had loads of fun blowing it and scaring the snot out of students as they were passing by.
“I made it myself,” Harry explained. “When blown through, it produces such a frightening scream that any potential attackers will flee from it, whereas those who know what it is, will come to your aid at once. See, even Buckbeak was frightened by it.”
Now knowing it was perfectly harmless thanks to Harry’s quick explanation, the king smiled a little slyly, his mind circulating with several useful ideas for the toy. “Oh, I could stay amused with this thing all day.”
“Please don’t use it unless you’re in actual danger, your grace,” Harry implored. “Don’t forget that you wanted to hunt alone. It would completely defeat the purpose if I came rushing after you.”
“Fair enough,” Robert relented. He took up his spear and jogged into the forest.
“If you’re too long in returning, I’m coming after you,” Harry called to the man before he had disappeared completely. “I can’t be responsible for the king falling victim to injuries or death.”
Robert left and Harry went about setting up camp. Once he was sure the king was out of the area, however, he went about erecting their tent with magic. After perhaps half an hour, Robert returned with two pheasants and they both went about cleaning and prepping their own. They roasted them over the fire and paired them with some vegetables that Harry had packed with them.
It was a good meal, and afterwards Robert picked up his sword.
“You know how to spar, lad?”
“Well, enough, your grace. But... are you sure you want to practice with me?”
“What else are we to do until we tire?” Robert questioned. The meal seemed to have sparked his earlier irritation, and it looked like he was eager to work out some of that frustration. “You’ll spar me, boy.”
With that declaration, it looked like Harry had no choice. He got into position across from Robert and they dueled. Normally, Robert favored his war hammer, but there hadn't been room for him to store it in the saddlebags, as far as he knew at least, and he had to settle with a sword. The old king proved to be faster and much stronger than Harry had first expected, and the wizard supposed he would need to be if Robert was considered a legendary warrior. Still, Harry assumed it was nothing compared to what he had been in his prime, and fast or not, Harry was faster.
Even if a win seemed simple, Harry didn’t go for it. He wasn’t sure how the king would take losing to someone who was essentially still the same status of a squire.
“What are you doing?” Robert demanded when he noticed that Harry had refused to strike at an opening that any halfwit who could hold a sword would see, and he had still refused to strike at it.
“What do you mean, your grace?” Harry asked, feigning innocence.
“That was a clear opening!” Robert barked. “Why didn’t you strike me?”
“I… uh… didn’t see it, your grace.”
“Horseshit! You saw it just fine! A blind girl with a stick could have seen it!” Robert raged. “Don’t you dare do that again! Don’t you dare start treating me like some king that needs to be coddled. I’ll not have that from you. You fight me and you fight me like you mean it, or I'll cut you like I mean it.”
They resumed the spar and Harry put more effort into the duel this time.
They traded strikes between themselves, till an opening broke them apart and they circled each other, each mentally deciding how they would overtake the other.
Robert smirked. “You’re fast, boy. Quite fast.”
Harry smirked back, spinning his sword in his hand. He felt a new burst of confidence, which allowed him to use bolder language with the king. “Are you sure you’re not just slow, your grace?”
They reengaged, metal clashing against each other as Robert growled, “Think me slow, eh, boy?”
Harry’s confidence and cheek was revealed the longer their duel grew. “I think a pregnant lady on the cusp of childbirth would make for a better challenger. Her gut would certainly be smaller than yours.”
Robert’s face purpled. “You little shit-talking…”
He now seemed to forget all his skill and just resulted to hacking at the swift-of-foot lad. When he got frightfully too close to spearing him through the gut, Harry chuckled nervously, tapping the end of the sword lightly as if to remind him they weren’t fighting to the death.
“It’s just a spar, your grace. No need to kill me.”
That seemed to remind Robert and his anger for Harry’s earlier quip abated. They reengaged and Harry won with only a few well-placed strikes. Robert looked annoyed but at least it wasn’t the fury he had had when he knew Harry was holding out on him.
They went again and Harry won that one as well.
They had one more spar and Robert managed to cut Harry over his hand, but the lad kept his hold over his sword just the same and managed to trip the king, giving him the advantage and the win.
Robert at last called an end to all of it and they sat on some tree stumps by the fire to catch their breath and drink from their water skins. Harry bandaged the wound on his hand, which thankfully wasn't deep, and Robert soon pulled out a hollowed gourd filled with wine.
“Gods, look at me," Robert said with genuine distaste and sorrow. "I used to be the best warrior in the Seven Kingdoms, now I can’t even beat a squire.”
“You’re just out of practice, your grace,” Harry offered, trying to console him.
“Out of practice and out of shape. Likely out of my mind, too.” He stared into the flames and then down at his big belly regretfully. “What have I done to myself?” With those words, he moved to take another swig of wine, but stopped, looking over at Harry who watched him. “You want some, lad?”
Harry accepted the gourd and took a sip from it. He never really liked the taste of wine, but he had a feeling Robert would insist until he agreed to it, so it was best to just accept and moderate his intake, rather than get into an argument he would lose.
The wine was sour and strong, but Harry forced down his mouthful just the same, handing it back when he had enough. They sat in silence, watching the light fade from the sky and the first few stars appear one by one.
“This was a good day,” Robert finally decided out loud.
“You think so?”
The king nodded sincerely, never mind that he had lost to Harry all three times they had sparred and grieved for the generous size of his gut. They enjoyed the sound of crickets and owls and the crackling fire all with the starry night to blanket and comfort them. Robert eventually grew tired and retired to bed while Harry remained up a while longer. Once he was sure the man was asleep, Harry went about setting the magical security wards up. While Buckbeak was enough to protect them while they were asleep, he still didn’t need to take any chances with the king’s safety.
For the remainder of the night, Harry rolled over on his sleeping mat, contemplating the merits of putting a muting spell on Robert for his relentless snoring, before he finally found his own dreams.
The next morning, Harry awoke to a strange grunting sound outside. When he looked to the other cot beside him, he found it empty, and the king gone. Grabbing his sword, he leaped out of bed and pulled back the flap of their tent. There in the center of the camp, Robert was still dressed in his bedclothes and repeatedly lifting and lowering a large rock that was approximately the same size as a small dog. He must have been at it for a while, because he was sweating profusely. Meanwhile Buckbeak was laying on the ground, one leg crossed over the other as he watched the strange sight with curiosity.
“Your grace…”
But before Harry could ask what all this was about, Robert was explaining himself between lifts. “I had a bit of an awakening last night, and I’ve decided that I can’t die like this. I can’t die as a fat lump. What kind of man am I that I can now be bested by a boy who isn’t even sixteen yet?”
Harry paused as he watched Robert, not sure what he ought to do with himself while the king was working out. “I… do you… what do you want me to do in the meantime?”
“Get that rock there and do it for a bit, too. You’re pretty thin. You could do with building some muscle up on yourself.”
Shrugging and setting his sword to the side, Harry came forward and took hold of the cat-sized rock Robert indicated and lifted it up in the same way. It didn’t take long for his arms to start protesting and after several long minutes, his muscles were absolutely burning. Finally, Robert dropped the rock he was lifting and collapsed on the grass.
“Your grace?”
“Don’t stop what you’re doing. I just need a rest.” But the rest didn’t last all that long as Robert got up and marched towards the stream. “Gunna soak the burn off for a bit.”
While he was gone, Harry paused long enough to take that chance to drop the wards. It would have been very awkward if the king stepped out of them and discovered he couldn’t find camp again when he tried to return. In time, Harry had to stop his own workout and lied in the grass, mentally agreeing that a cool soak in the stream would be ideal as well.
The king was back in no time, carrying a large trout by the tail. “Wash up lad, and I’ll have this roasting up for our breakfast.”
Harry did just that, finding the cool water of the stream the perfect balm for a morning workout burn. The trout they ate for their breakfast was even better. The smell of the food must have wet Buckbeak's own appetite, because when he saw them biting into their meal, he ran off to find his own breakfast.
Just then they heard something. The sound of hoofbeats alerted them and Harry and Robert grabbed their swords at the very same time that a man in a cart came into view. He was an elderly commoner, hunched over the reins that his mule led. Inside his cart were crates of something that smelled very strong. Possibly cheese.
"Seven blessings to you," the goodman greeted.
"And to you," Robert proclaimed with a wave.
"This the road to Wendwater Town?"
"I think so. Where ya coming from?"
"Peekly. I'm just on my way to market." He took in their swords and camp."
"You both some kind of knights?"
“Uh, yes, goodman," Robert decided. "My name is… Ser Bob and this is my squire… Ar-ys?”
Harry’s head snapped towards Robert. Of all the names he could have chosen, that was the one that popped into his head, first. Robert looked like no one regretted his own words more than himself and the face he made in response was something similar to one he’d perhaps make while being forced to eat a living toad.
"Then good day to you, Ser Bob. I'm Corel, and if you happen to be in Wendwater Town or Peekly, you'll find me or one of my sons selling the best cheeses in the Seven Kingdoms."
Robert nodded. "Good day to you then, Corel."
The man continued on his way, but once he was gone, Harry turned to Robert with a raised eyebrow. "Ser Bob? Arys?"
He looked like he was already quite ashamed of it. "It was the first name that popped into my head. Though I already sometimes called myself Ser Bob when I wanted to be discreet if I visited common villages as a lad."
"Is it too late to change my alias?"
"Maybe not. Any preferences?"
Harry thought, but it only took him a moment to decide.
"James. Call me James."