Dreams will be unified

The ride up north was half a test on their drinking abilities- and how well they could handle hangovers in a golden carriage made for the royals.

Two weeks into their travels, Joffrey snarled at empty glass, “If our carriage is the best means of traveling, why in the seven do people travel?” 

Cersei swirled her rosé wine, from the city of Essos, slave master and half dry grapes just to her taste- “Because they have to. We only travel because my husband decided to visit his old friend.”

Draco scoffed into his white wine; west droves, Tully made, sipping it lightly between water. There truly wasn’t anything to do on the road except drink, play games, read, or worse- actually communicate. 

“Not really. The rude old foxes wanted to send me north with the agreement of funds towards the Wall and men, Father was somewhat sober and overheard and decided to join in the act.” Draco snuck the white fur tighter around him.

“They would have tried to send me North alone, with men and budget; try to get me away from the capital.” 

Cersei understood, “They wanted to be alone and scheme, away from us--” She hissed. Her family.

“Doesn’t matter. Jon Array the Hand has joined us up north, if only to check on the Vale and meet Eddard Stark too. They lost this round. And in fairness- they were only petty. We all want the same thing.” Draco looked at Joffrey, then to mother.

“Peace.” 

And peace they will have as they covered up everything the Golden Prince did. 

Their journey up north was mostly drinking and trying wine, playing games, and reading books. The fact that Father rode his own carriage that stank just as much of alcohol like theres, with young girls with brown hair fleeing in the morning, was never mentioned. 

And neither that mother preferred to sleep in the tent with her twin boys, instead of the King tent. The Lioness, the maids cooed, and drew sticks on who would be the one to help the king clean up in his disgusting tent.

From the West Fortress Tyrion Lannister and one hundred eighty men joined them. 

“The miscreants, the shame of the golden family, seem to have joined us.” Cersei looked out of their carriage as the caravan started to stop.

“Jon Arryn wasn’t the snitch this time, I’d bet it was one of the Kings guards.” Draco rolled his eyes, drank his last wine and poured water into his glass.

“This is my proposal that went through, grandfather is sending more men for the plan.” 

Joffrey scoffed- “So, you’re his heir, and he’s sending you aid for your first draft that went into plan.” 

“Close, my first big draft that went ahead. And he’s sending almost double the amount than the crown.” Draco snickered.

Cersei laughed, “It’s a powerplay- a Baratheon, the younger twin, set to inheritage the golden Castle Rock, first major move is approved after 3 years in waiting. Everyone knows the rumors about how Draco tries to win over the council.”

“While you, our darling Crown Prince practice his sword and go out to the common folk to give out food and aid,” Cersei kissed both their foreheads. 

“That disgusting thing I have to do every Saturday, with a fake smile while their filthy hands almost touch me, ” Joffrey sneeres. 

“Indeed, that is one of the worst things you have to sacrifice for your image,” Draco snickers, “Common folk. Touching you. The disgrace!” Draco couldn’t help but feel for Joffrey--after all, wasn’t he the same when he had first started Hogwarts.

Joffrey rolled his eyes as he poured more wine into their cups, ignoring his uncle joining them as Jon Arryn and Sandor Clegane had interpreted them and let them into the ranks smoothly enough.

“I hate this role I am supposed to play, I abhor most folks, and ruling seems like a chore.” Draco forced his twin to every lesson they had in the castle, from septa to nun, economics to politics; Joffrey only got away from his twin with sword training, as Draco, had for some reason picked up the spear, and hated swords.

It also means that the only time he was free to get away from lessons was if he was already preoccupied with sword training. Joffrey found little joy in over-powering men with swords. He wasn’t a prodigy, he was growing as the heir of the Baratheon, slayer of the Dragons, were supposed to be at.

He hated sword fighting. He enjoyed watching lesser bleeds, however. He loved seeing squires from lower ranks die by his hands. Killed by prince Guards sworn to him. 

Joffrey knew he was a sadist, but he enjoyed pain from those that could have risen up. He enjoyed tearing apart those with talents. Those whose simple birth stopped them. It was intriguing how hard he could test them until they died. 

His family hid his habits, and he went out on Saturday to bring ail towards the poor. It was an exchange. 

Draco got out as they stopped for the night, “Dearest Uncle! I have heard much of your librarian escapes, please do tell me more.” 

Cersei scoffed as she held Joffrey by the arm- “None of your nasty habits for months now, darling son,” She kissed his forehead as she guided them towards Father. 

Brother and Uncle will talk about books and all that they seemingly enjoy, while he has to try to at least like Robert while he tries to touch mother or servant personnel around their fire. 

Joffrey cast a long look towards Draco. Fucking Seven, he wish he was the Heir of Castle Rock so he could sit by that fire instead of the Baratheon Fire that smelled of sex workers, wine and bad talking points.

Fucking hell, he looked towards his half burned Clegance- he might even take a night sword training with the way his disappointing father reeked.

“Uncle Tyrion! What a wonderful thing to meet you up so soon to Winterfell, hope your ride has been merciful.” Draco said as he sat with his mother, never looking at the thing they shared blood with.

“Fear not, the men are heading straight towards the Wall, with provision from the West. They will not set foot in the Northen Capital.” Tyrion, ugly as one could be smiled. 

Draco had seen house-elfs with better looking faces. A child only a mother could love, was so fitting as she died giving birth to the ogre looking child. Love was something uncle Tyrion will never feel, and was why Draco liked him- very easy to be bought with whores.

———

The servants of Winterfell had paved and cleared the courtyard, ready to accommodate the King and Queen of The Seven and their offsprings.

The whole courtyards had been scrubbed clean- not even Bran would be able to climb the inner walls! White ice flowers that usually grew unhinged had been trimmed down, creating a beautiful atmosfear he had never seen.

The northern lord that visited this entry of the Kings Road never cared for how the entré looked; they cared for strength and the ice free training grounds.

This cultivated ice beauty felt foreign to Harry. But mother had spent six weeks remaking the yard to fit the southern King and it showed. 

Gone were the rogue paths that horses shit and travel as they announced their coming; Ice carvings of Direwolfes scattered around the corner- rough stone without horse shit, white flowers at the gate. 

A Southern greeting.

Father stood in the middle, Robb to his right, Harry next. Brandon, almost seven, had the important duty to hold Rickon by his neck. Next to them, the Ward of Theon Greyjoy, and next to him, Jon Snow the bastard.

Mother stood to fathers left, with Sansa and her striking Tully red hair in a complicated southern braid, holding onto Arya with her wild dark hair in a loose bun and forced into a dress.

It was a welcome none of the northern Lords would ever want. “Imagine Lady of the Bear Island or another northern lord would ride into this. I think I’d combust in shame.” 

“I’d imagine the greedy Boltons would enjoy it,” Robb said back with a snicker- the flayed men were more southern and seemingly enjoyed flaying and southern graneour. 

“I believe Mother has created a beautiful welcome.” Sansa said matter of factly- “This is very much something new to the North, but I adore the flowers! Father, please tell me that they will be curated by the gardener!” 

Ned Stark could only chuckle, “Of course my sweet, my dearest wife have made this possible, and my oldest daughter loves them. How could I ever take them away.” He kissed his wife on the cheek.

Bran gagged, “Gross!” But didn’t let go of Rickon. What a good little brother. Sansa held her tight grip on Arya who desperately tried to get away.

Harry himself couldn’t fault his younger siblings. He wanted to run away and play with a sword, and go to the Godforest. Anything than greet the Southern King that was his father’s brother in anything but blood. But he will stand tall, and a stern look at her, so will she.

The carriage was decorated in gold, lions and dead white horns heads. The King came out of the one decorated in Baratheons stags, and while pale flesh could be seen inside, none went out in the northern cold.

King Robert Baratheon in full silver arms and legs armor; the rest a black fur coat over his fat self. Nothing screams Ours is the Fury than a King too fat to get into the most important part of the armor.

The second carriage opened up, the Kingslayer and Kingguard held open a hand for the most beautiful women in the whole of Westeros. Cersei Baratheon was clad in gold and red, her house colors.

The twins that followed her out towards the king couldn’t have been more alike, while so different. White and gold, and in black southern silk clothes. 

The crown prince, filled with golden hair and golden lions mounted on top of his shoulders stood tall against his mother.

The one with silvery platinum-- there was no way to say gold or silver; platinum silver steel of the Targarians that brought the north to its knees. The second twin was dressed in silver. It was a mockery towards the north-

And just as much towards the east and south. Look, there is only one Prince, and that is the Golden one.

Eddard Stark took a step forward. “King Robert Baratheon, of the Seven Kingdom.” He said to his blood brother.

Robert took him into a hug, “Ned Stark! Most honorable one!” He clapped his back, “You’ve gotten fat, old friend!” 

Ned looked at his face and between his belly.

“Let’s get to the grave of Lyanna!” Robert Baratheon commanded.

Eddard Stark shook his head, “Let us introduce our family before we visit the Catacombs.” 

________________________

“I had my suspicion that you would have somehow been involved in this magical mishaps with rebirth- when I woke up as a babe, my first thought was ‘ What have Potter done now?’ and lo and behold.” Draco sneered into Harry’s cheek.

Harry had manhandled him into some nook in the hallway when he was supposed to show the way to the washroom. Harry held him tighter and the rocks were unforgiving against his back.

“Fuck, it really is you, you git,” Harry breathed out against his neck, as he held him tighter to his body, and Draco could feel his bone were fragile close to breaking “I really thought I was alone here in this world, until I heard about Prince Draconis Baratheon with platinum silver hair and grey eyes.” 

Draco hugged back just as tightly, “Yeah.” He could hold in the sob, but his eyes were filled with tears. He really though he was alone- why the fuck would he guess that some normal second born would be The Saviour, Golden Boy Extraordinary, and now just Harold Stark of Winterfell. 

“Main course is done, let’s go to the Weirwood trees. It almost feels like magic there.” Harry proposed and started to drag him towards the forest.

“Give me a moment to gather my white fur cloak-” Draco started, but with a command of Harry's open hand, a silent accio the fur came around his shoulder. 

“How?” Draco whispered, wide-eyed. He held some of his magic -but he had forgotten how overwhelming Harry’s magic was.

He rolled his eyes and nonchalantly cast a notice me not, disappearing charm as they walked towards the Heart forest. 

“You do know they will see this as we’ve been fornicating with each other; you were supposed to help me to the washroom, yet alas, you let me here- defenseless into the forest-” Draco started as he walked behind the raven haired boy.

Harry casually sent a hex back with the swiftness of his finger. Draco swore.

“Nothing about you has ever been defenseless. Come on, let’s meet this old Magick.” 

Draco marveled against the low level of defense -“Why would you not have a knight towards the outer spice garden through the kitchen? It is a glaring hole of defense.”

“Against what? The Stark are united, and there will be no civil war for the throne. So the only openings that need protection are the outer walls opening.” Harry said back- he had heard from Sansa’s fairy tail stories of the bloodbath of the south. 

“Oh, so the lord savior himself will not usurp the throne of the first born? Eddard Stark really named his firstborn son after my father?” Draco snickers. “Robb Stark. A Strong Northen name. Who is he named after? A drunken fool.” 

Harry dragged him to another path as he snorted, “Seems like you got a shit dad once again. I like my family, so don’t talk shit about them Draco. You won’t like the consequences. My Older brother will be a good Northern Warden.” 

He continued the path towards the forest.

They were both quiet as the magic filled up in the air as they walked towards the groove. 

Harry swore it was a longer walk than normal, like the children of the forest enjoyed their bickering and made them walk around in circles before they found themself in the Godswood.

“Oh.” Draco fell to his knee. 

Harry looked around, it was snowy and wild magic wrapped around everything, so icy and white yet a stream of water existed. He breathed in and out, and felt himself relax.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked.

Draco closed his eyes, put two fingers to his forehead then his mouth- and with hesitated motion towards his breastbone . Not Heart. And then the two fingers flicked out as if waiting.

Harry did know some Pureblood greetings, mostly from reading in the Black library and Hermione talking- and that was some intime greeting towards old magic not your own. Like something one would do towards the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts with three millenniums magic.

And Harry knew that this Weirwood was at least eight millennia old. Shit . Have he been rude, before, when he just whistle wash visited just to fuck around and find magic? 

Draco was in awe as he silently rose. He carefully walked around the grove, “This has been in your family since?

Harry took a seat at one of the grooves, “You know I’m not good with class or what the septa said. The Children of the forest have always been here-” 

“Children of the forest? Are they not the weirwood themself? That is what our southern understanding ends.” Draco cuts him off sharply.

“No?” Harry isn’t sure how to explain it- it does feel the same , like they are of the same branch, but not right.

Draco snorts as he takes a seat in front of the heart tree, “Of course you can feel the difference. Can you stop being so stupidly powerful?”

It was probably a rhetorical question.

“Nope, sorry, I just am.” Harry grinned.

“So Children and Weirwood are different. I have read of Brandon the Builder, millennials ago, who built the wall. There was one who felled the Winter. Who built the first wall-- Winterfell.”

“The first Night King was said to be slayed by Brandon or is Brandon. Winter Fell, and pushed north, the Forest of the Children pushed some Stark to rise the Wall.” 

“That is the story I could gather from the Southern Libraries, I hope you know more. Especially for what I know from the southern Fire God who’s invading in belief in the slave cities.” 

Harry paused a moment to gather all his feeling into a fist, then hit the ground- and scream a loud “Fuck!” when he realised how little he fucking knew. 

He was supposed to proudly display this magic oasis and Draco came with facts, while Harry had for once just enjoyed life.

“Every great Northern Lord has been named-- Bran- My nine year old brother, fuck, do you think?” Harry looked back at Draco.

“No, maybe. I wasn’t there when he was baptized, you’re the one who should know if he was a prophesied Brandon.” 

Draco held his pose at his knees. “Please.” He said simply, “May I Introduce myself.” Harry could only nod.

Draco rose to his feet, to walk with the magic around him. “In either way, let me say my greetings.” Draco stopped by the grove and slit his wrist open. “My southern tree had been absolutely starving,”

“Oh,” Draco opened his wound and poured blood onto his face, “Why haven’t you buried the executed ones? The trees are absolutely dehydrating of blood and flesh.” 

Harry looked at Draco’s perfect skin, “What?” 

“It’s starving, worshiping only goes so far. Give it blood and flesh, and it will smile more often.” Draco bowed again, this time starting from his navel, to his mouth, to his head- with blood left.

Should he do the same? He looked at Draco. Then casually sliced up his right wrist with a wandless, wordless diffecio spell.

Draco looked back, rolled his eyes at him and the tree-- the Godtree with its smiling face, and opened up his right arm with a slice. 

“Go to your knees, do not bow your head , keep it steady-” Harry thought that Draco had bowed, but he would be a fussy one, so he kept his stare right into the eye of the Weirwood Godtree.

“You’re already bleeding all over your fingers so it’s you to choose from- Thumb, stability; pointy finger, guidance; middle finger, stability; ring finger, prosperity; little finger -- I’m not sure.”

“No one ever uses little fingers in the rituals; if you’ve come this deep into blood rituals you usually do not have one.” Draco’s soothing voice said.

Harry snorted, looked deep into the forest, eyes bleeding into his other hand, and with both little fingers took his greeting.

He bit his thumbs and smeared his blood- “I will follow whatever Draco tells me to.” 

Both bloody little fingers towards his forehead, towards his mouth, and following Draco, he let his bloody pinkies rest against his sternum as he never blinked. 

He could feel tears welling up-- Draco had closed his eyes, but Harry looked on as the Tree grinned, cried tears of blood once again and the smiling face was all around him, laughing- he have should go south north, go east, go west, go and bring us WITH,

BRING US.

Harry woke up with a slap. Draco was sitting in front of him, absolutely terrified. 

“Were they too much? I know that you are powerful, but you’re still just a half blood-”

“Don’t worry,” Harry said, but he did worry. 

“How do you feel after it?” Draco asked instead. 

Draco looked at him, searching, “I felt what they would give, and what I could give. I think I might have to go to the Wall with you.” 

“That’s so dumb.” Draco smiled.

“Help me in front of the Tree,” And Draco helped him until they were both in front of the smiling Tree.

“It’s a pleasurable one-- do you think it wants my piss?” Draco stared into its crying blood, “What more can I give? Semen?” 

“You want to fuck infront of it?” Harry asks from where’s he’s seated

Draco snorted, “You have too much magic, I would love to fuck in front of the tree while our blood would dry up.”