Escape...?
Daemon and Rhaenyra didn’t hear what was said.
But Aemond did.
He stood near the doorway, posture stiff, arms crossed, and expression carefully schooled into indifference. Yet, the moment the words left Harry’s lips, his eye narrowed ever so slightly. He had heard.
He watched closely as Harry sat cross-legged beside Helaena, speaking softly with her as if the entire world beyond them did not exist. Their conversation soon turned to the absurd of things Aemond could make neither heads nor tails of.
“The watgwats are shy today,” Helaena mumbled, tracing lazy circles on the stone floor with a finger.
Harry hummed in agreement. “They usually are when nargles are about. Sneaky little bastards.”
Aemond’s brow twitched slightly. He didn’t interrupt, though he was clearly bewildered by their nonsense. For a time, he simply watched, arms tightening against his chest as he listened to their strange musings.
Daemon, on the other hand, let out an exaggerated sigh, clearly losing interest.
“She’s speaking nonsense again,” he muttered irritably under his breath.
Rhaenyra’s lips pressed into a thin line. Her eyes lingered on Helaena for a moment longer, hesitation and guilt warring within her gaze, before she turned to Daemon and gave a curt nod. Neither of them could be bothered with talk of imaginary creatures or cryptic childlike games.
Without another word, they left, their footsteps fading into the corridor beyond.
Only Harry, Helaena, and Aemond remained.
The moment they were alone, Harry turned to face him, his sharp emerald eyes unusually calm and clear, yet piercing in their intensity. For once, he wasn’t smirking or rolling his eyes. He wasn’t taunting or teasing. His expression was steady, serious.
“You too, Aemond,” he said softly, his voice almost too gentle for the weight of his words. “Do you really want to take part in this war over a throne?”
The words struck like a knife.
For a moment, Aemond faltered. The throne, the war, the very thing he had stained his hands with blood for. His purpose, the only thing left to him after Lucerys, after Vhagar’s vengeance, after he had lost his eye and whatever childhood he might have had.
And yet…
Harry’s words were like a splinter beneath his skin, prickling at the rawness he tried so hard to ignore.
Escape.
The very thing he had once dreamed of, fleeting and foolish, a childish fantasy. But Harry was offering it to him now, with those maddening green eyes, as if it were as simple as walking away.
For one breathless moment, he almost refused. His pride, his stubbornness, all the sharp edges of his bitterness screamed at him to scoff and turn away.
But then Helaena reached out. Her fingers brushed over his hand, featherlight, her eyes half-lidded and faraway. And somehow, she was the one who made the decision for him.
“Yes,” Aemond rasped, his voice quiet but immediate. There was no hesitation. Only the raw, desperate truth.
“Yes,” he repeated, firmer this time, almost hopeful.
Harry nodded, the barest hint of a smirk twitching at his lips. But his eyes were serious, steady and resolved. He ran his hand over the moleskin pouch resting against his chest and drew in a slow, measured breath.
“Here’s how this is going to work,” he began, his voice low but firm, eyes flicking between the two silver-haired Targaryens.
He reached into the pouch and pulled out a small, unassuming trunk no larger than a jewelry box. Its surface was made of dark, polished leather, worn smooth with age, and adorned with faint runic carvings along the edges. To anyone else, it would seem utterly ordinary, just another trinket.
But the moment he flicked it open, the lid popped with a faint shimmer of magic.
The trunk expanded before their eyes. It grew larger and larger until it sat comfortably on the floor, now the size of a proper travel chest. When Harry swung the lid open fully, it revealed the impossibly large space inside, an entire pocket-dimension hidden within the confines of the enchanted trunk.
Aemond and Helaena stared in disbelief.
The interior was enormous, a multi-roomed expanse with stone floors and high, vaulted ceilings. The main chamber was warmly lit, lined with wooden shelves, a cozy sitting area, and a small kitchen tucked to one side. Beyond the main room, there were several doorways leading off to individual rooms, a washroom, and even a small garden with softly glowing magical plants.
It was less a trunk and more a self-contained home.
“You’ll be staying in here,” Harry explained matter-of-factly. “The entire trunk is going into my moleskin pouch.” He tapped the pouch against his chest for emphasis. “Which means you’ll effectively be around my neck the entire time.”
Aemond stared at him as if he were mad.
Helaena, on the other hand, clapped her hands softly and beamed, her eyes wide with childlike delight. “Like a snail with its home,” she murmured dreamily.
Harry’s lips twitched. “Exactly like that, Moon,” he humored her softly, giving her a small wink.
Aemond, however, wasn’t so easily placated. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, his lips parting as if to argue. But before he could speak, Harry leveled him with a firm look.
“It’s the only way we can get out unnoticed,” Harry said sharply, voice leaving no room for argument. “I’ll be using the excuse of going to see my patient to check up on him, which I actually need to do, since your fool of a brother is still barely clinging to life.”
Aemond’s mouth clamped shut.
Harry’s eyes narrowed slightly. “So unless you want to try walking out the front gates of the Red Keep with dragons trailing behind you, we do this my way.”
Aemond exhaled slowly through his nose but eventually gave a stiff nod, clearly still suspicious of the bizarre plan but unwilling to argue the point.
Helaena, meanwhile, was already climbing into the trunk with an airy giggle, exploring the cozy interior like it was some grand adventure. She ran her fingers over the shelves of books and cooed at the softly glowing garden plants.
When Aemond eventually followed, he stepped inside with slow, measured movements, his eye sharp and analytical as he took in every detail. He tested the floor with a light stomp, ran his hand over the stone walls, and inspected the archways as if expecting them to vanish into mist. But they remained solid, stubbornly, impossibly real.
Harry watched them both for a moment before reaching for the trunk lid.
“Make yourselves comfortable,” he said calmly. “I’ll be back soon.”
He gave them a brief nod before swinging the lid shut. With a sharp flick of his wand, the entire trunk shrank down once more, returning to its compact form.
Harry ran his fingers over the runes along the edge, casting a final spell of concealment before carefully slipping the miniature trunk into his moleskin pouch. It nestled securely against his chest, warm and heavy with the presence of the two dragon riders within.
He exhaled slowly, steadying himself. His fingers grazed over the pouch briefly, reassuring himself that they were safe.
Then, with a curt nod to himself, he turned and walked toward the door, ready to pay Aegon another visit.
Harry slipped the miniature trunk into his moleskin pouch, feeling the reassuring weight of it press lightly against his chest. He tugged his hood over his head, casting his face into shadow, and made his way toward the exit.
As he neared the hall, a young servant hesitantly approached him, offering a stiff bow.
“Apologies, my lord,” the servant said, keeping his voice low and respectful, “but Prince Daemon is requesting your presence.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed faintly beneath his hood. He briefly considered refusing, but it would draw suspicion. With a curt nod, he gestured for the servant to lead the way, silently cursing the interruption.
They wound through the stone corridors of the Red Keep, past the guards and wary-eyed courtiers, before finally entering a dimly lit chamber reeking of wine and sweat.
Daemon was slouched in a chair by the hearth, a half-empty goblet dangling loosely from his hand. His silver hair was slightly disheveled, and his eyes were glassy with intoxication. The wine stains on his tunic made it clear he had been drinking for some time.
He hadn’t seen Harry yet.
The prince raised his cup in a half-hearted salute, slurring slightly. “To victory,” he sneered, then chuckled bitterly. “Though some of us were too cowardly to finish the job.”
Harry froze.
Daemon took a slow, deliberate sip, swirling the wine in his mouth before swallowing. Then, with a cruel glint in his eye, he spoke the words that made Harry’s blood run cold.
“Helaena’s brat squealed like a pig,” he rasped, his tone dripping with contempt. “You should have seen it, healer, how the little bastard clawed at the sheets. How he cried for his mother.”
Daemon laughed softly, cruelly.
“Didn’t even fight when Cheese put the wire round his neck. Just whimpered.”
He tossed back the rest of his wine, unbothered by the weight of his words. His lip curled into a smirk. “Helaena will never forget the sound of it. Nor should she. That’s the price of war.”
Harry stilled.
The weight of his moleskin pouch pressed against his chest, the steady thrum of Aemond and Helaena’s presence grounding him, but barely. The rage came swiftly, like a tidal wave, crashing against his ribs.
His knuckles whitened as he clenched his fists at his sides. She’ll never forget? No… he would make sure Daemon never forgot either.
Without a word, he stepped closer. Slowly. Deliberately.
Daemon, too drunk to care, barely glanced at him.
The hearthlight flickered, stretching their shadows across the stone walls. The room suddenly felt colder.
Harry’s hand slipped into his cloak, fingers curling around his wand, but he didn’t raise it. No, this required more than a spell. It required something permanent. Something damning.
His emerald eyes narrowed, and in a low, steady voice, he whispered the words of the curse.
“Sanguinem in manibus vestris videatis, et laventur milies, sanguis manebit.”
Daemon blinked sluggishly, clearly missing the meaning at first. He sneered, lips curling into a mocking grin.
“What…?” he started, but his voice cut off.
He stared at his hands.
The wine goblet slipped from his grip, clattering to the floor.
The blood was there. Thick, crimson, and cloying. It coated his fingers, staining the creases of his knuckles, dripping down his wrists.
His breathing quickened. He staggered back a step, raising his hands before his eyes. The blood clung to his skin, slick and wet, as if fresh from a kill.
Daemon stumbled backward, slamming into the chair, his eyes wide with confusion.
“What…?” he gasped, staring at the blood coating his fingers. He rubbed them together frantically, only to smear it further.
And then he saw it.
The vision struck him like a blade to the chest.
The chamber of Jaehaerys’s death flashed before his eyes, the child’s corpse, small and pale, slumped lifeless on the floor. The indents of the garrote still carved into his throat. The blood, so much blood, seeped into the sheets, staining them deep scarlet.
Daemon stumbled back against the wall, his breath hitching. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the image was burned there, seared into his mind.
No matter how tightly he shut his eyes, it remained. The bloodied hands. The child’s glassy, lifeless stare.
He scrubbed at his palms violently, nails raking over his own skin. He rubbed them against the rough fabric of his tunic, scraping at the imaginary blood.
But it wouldn’t come off.
“No,” he rasped, voice hoarse. He staggered toward the washbasin, plunging his hands into the water. He scrubbed viciously, sloshing the water over the stone floor, but the blood remained.
The scent of it filled his nose, the sharp, metallic tang. It clung to him, staining his skin, his nails, his very soul.
And through it all, Harry stood motionless, watching him. Expressionless. Cold.
Daemon’s breath came in ragged, broken gasps. His hands shook violently.
“What did you-?” His voice was a hoarse whisper, broken and desperate. “What did you do to me?”
Harry’s voice was quiet, but merciless.
“I let you see the truth,” he said simply.
Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Daemon to the torment of his bloodstained hands and the ghost of his murdered nephew.
Harry didn’t spare Daemon a second glance as he turned on his heel and swept out of the chamber, his boots hitting the stone floor with cold finality. His cloak billowed slightly with the movement, and the weight of his moleskin pouch pressed reassuringly against his chest.
As he walked through the winding corridors of the Red Keep, he slowed only briefly when he spotted a young maid scurrying down the hall, clutching a bundle of linens to her chest. She glanced up nervously when he approached, eyes wide.
Harry gave her a brief nod, his voice low but firm.
“Inform anyone who asks that I have a patient to attend to,” he said, his tone brooking no argument.
The maid blinked once, then quickly dipped her head in agreement before hurrying off.
Harry didn’t wait to see if she followed through. He slipped into the shadows, tugging his hood further over his face, and left the keep through one of the less-frequented servant entrances. The familiar tug of a disillusionment charm shimmered over him, making him a fleeting blur as he moved swiftly through the streets of King’s Landing.
The city was restless tonight; tension clung to the air like damp wool. People hurried along the cobbled streets, heads down, avoiding eye contact. The looming presence of Rhaenyra’s forces weighed heavily on the city, and whispers of blood and fire filled the taverns and alleys.
Harry cut through the backstreets, making his way toward Flea Bottom. The stench of unwashed bodies, rot, and stagnant water hit him before he even reached the narrow, winding alleys. Rats scurried between the refuse heaps, and the occasional desperate beggar called out for coin.
Finally, he came to the small, rundown hovel where Aegon was being kept. He knocked once, then twice in quick succession, Larys’ signal.
The door opened just a crack, and one of Larys Strong’s men peered out, his suspicious eyes scanning the empty street behind Harry. With a grunt, the man let him inside.
The room was dimly lit by a handful of flickering candles, their wax pooling sluggishly on the wooden table. The air was thick with the smell of damp wood and stale wine.
And there, wrapped head to toe in bandages, was Aegon.
Harry stopped short.
The last time he had left Aegon, the man had been unconscious; his burns were so severe that even breathing had been a labored effort. Yet now, despite still being heavily bandaged, the prince was up and moving.
The man, still wrapped head to toe in fresh bandages, was now leaning heavily against a battered wooden chair, his hands gripping the back of it for support. His hair was damp with sweat, and though his movements were sluggish, he was stubbornly pacing.
Harry narrowed his eyes, watching as Aegon gritted his teeth and turned toward the man standing beside him.
Larys Strong.
The cunning lord stood by the door, his hands loosely clasped behind his back, his expression carefully neutral as Aegon glared at him.
“I said I’m leaving,” Aegon snapped, his voice hoarse but filled with a bitter, desperate resolve.
Harry frowned, stepping further into the room.
“You’re in no state to-“ Larys began mildly, but Aegon cut him off with a snarl.
“I don’t care!” Aegon barked, slamming his bandaged fist against the chair. His eyes were wild with frustration. “I want no part of it! The throne, my family, this godsdamned war, it can all burn. I won’t be their puppet king for Otto to move around his board like some, some piece!”
His chest heaved, each breath shaky and strained from the effort.
Harry’s expression darkened. His hands clenched at his sides, the faintest pulse of magic sparking at his fingertips.
Aegon’s knees suddenly buckled, his legs trembling beneath him. He caught himself against the chair, but just barely.
That was the final straw.
Harry’s boots struck sharply against the stone floor as he marched over. His voice was a low, authoritative growl.
“What in Merlin’s name do you think you’re doing?”
Aegon’s head jerked toward him, startled.
Before he could speak, Harry was already at his side, grabbing him firmly by the arm. Aegon winced slightly at the touch, but didn’t pull away.
“You should be in bed, resting, not stomping around like a fool with a death wish,” Harry snapped, his voice sharp with genuine anger. His emerald eyes bored into Aegon’s, unyielding. “Do you want to tear open half the wounds I just spent hours closing?”
Aegon glared at him stubbornly, opening his mouth to argue, but Harry wasn’t having it.
Without giving him a chance to protest, Harry tightened his grip and guided him back toward the cot. His hands were firm but steady, brooking no room for defiance.
“In bed. Now,” he ordered curtly.
For once, Aegon didn’t argue. His knees were already shaking from the exertion. Reluctantly, he allowed Harry to lower him back onto the narrow mattress.
As soon as he was down, Harry placed a hand on his shoulder, pressing him firmly against the thin pillows.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Harry growled, his voice low and threatening. “You’ll tear yourself apart if you push any harder, and then you’ll never leave this bed again. You will rest if I have to stun you to keep you here.”
Aegon’s lips parted slightly, but the retort he had prepared died in his throat. Something in Harry’s tone, the steely authority of someone who had seen too many people die, made him fall silent.
He swallowed hard and sank into the mattress with a defeated exhale, closing his eyes.
Larys, who had been watching the exchange with an impassive expression, took a step back. His calculating eyes flickered briefly to Harry, taking in the healer’s commanding presence, the glimmer of power behind his words.
Without a word, the clubfooted lord inclined his head in a faint, approving nod. Then, with his usual limp, he turned and made his way toward the door.
Harry’s sharp eyes followed him.
Larys paused at the threshold, glancing back once more. His lips curved into a subtle, unreadable smile.
And then he slipped away, leaving Harry alone with Aegon.
The chamber was quiet save for the faint crackle of the small fire in the hearth and the ragged, uneven breaths of the man on the bed.
Harry drew in a slow breath, forcing his frustration to simmer down.
Harry sat by Aegon’s side, methodically unwrapping the layers of linen bandages from around his torso. His movements were steady and practiced, his fingers deft as he peeled away the cloth. Beneath it, the once-angry burns were already fading, healing far faster than they should have. Patches of raw, blistered skin had smoothed over into a pale, fragile layer of new flesh, faintly pink but no longer weeping or inflamed.
He hummed softly in approval, his emerald eyes narrowing slightly as he inspected the edges of the wounds. Good, he thought. The healing charms are holding.
Without a word, he dipped his fingers into the fresh salve he had prepared earlier, a shimmering blend of healing herbs and enchanted ointments that glimmered faintly with golden light. As he smoothed it carefully over the burns, his fingertips glowed with the faintest pulse of magic, guiding the salve deeper into the tissue, accelerating the regenerative process.
Aegon exhaled softly, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly under the soothing, numbing effect of the magic. His eyes remained closed, his breathing slow and steady, clearly drowsy from the exhaustion pulling at his battered body.
But Harry didn’t let him drift off.
He paused, his hands still pressed lightly against the half-healed burns. His voice was quiet but firm when he spoke.
“Aegon.”
The man stirred slightly, cracking his eyes open with a faint frown.
Harry’s emerald gaze locked onto his, intense and unyielding.
“I can help you escape,” he said softly, his tone low but unwavering.
Aegon’s eyes widened slightly, sluggish confusion flickering across his face.
“What?” he croaked, his voice hoarse.
Harry’s hands remained steady on his torso, his expression utterly serious.
“I’m leaving this gods-forsaken place. Tonight,” Harry explained quietly, his voice calm but determined. His eyes flickered with an unyielding resolve. “Helaena. Aemond. The dragons. I’m taking them somewhere far away from here, out of reach of your family, your enemies, and anyone else who thinks they have a claim on your life.”
He leaned in slightly, his tone lowering as he added, “If you want out too, I’ll take you.”
For a moment, Aegon simply stared at him, blinking slowly as though trying to process the words. His breath hitched slightly, his gaze flickering with disbelief.
“You-“ he rasped, his voice faint, barely above a whisper, “You’re serious?”
Harry’s jaw tightened slightly, his eyes hardening.
“Dead serious.”
Aegon’s lips parted faintly. For a heartbeat, he simply stared at him, his eyes wide and glassy with disbelief.
And then, without hesitation, he gave a faint, shaky nod.
“Yes,” he croaked, his voice hoarse with desperation. “Take me with you.”
He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as he forced out the words, his voice rasping with raw emotion. “I want nothing to do with any of this. I-I just want out.”
Harry nodded once, sharply.
Without another word, he reached into his moleskin pouch and pulled out the small, unassuming trunk.
With a flick of his wand, he opened the lid, revealing the impossibly vast, expanded interior, the same magical space where Helaena and Aemond were already hidden away, waiting.
He turned back to Aegon, his expression firm but surprisingly gentle.
“You’ll need to get inside,” he instructed, moving swiftly but carefully.
Aegon’s brow furrowed slightly. He glanced down at his heavily bandaged body and frowned. “you just told me I’m not allowed to stand, let alone-“
But before he could finish, Harry’s hands were already moving.
With a murmur of a levitation charm, Aegon’s body gently lifted from the bed. His limbs sagged slightly, weakened by his injuries, but the magic held him securely.
Harry guided him slowly through the trunk’s opening, the enchantment keeping him comfortably suspended. The bandaged man drifted smoothly into the expanded space, settling gently onto one of the cots inside.
Aegon blinked in surprise as he was set down. His hands weakly grasped at the blanket, confused but dazed enough not to argue.
Harry knelt down beside the cot for a brief moment, placing a steady hand on Aegon’s shoulder.
“Rest,” he ordered quietly, his voice firm but steady. “You’re safe now.”
Aegon stared at him with bloodshot, weary eyes, his lips slightly parted in a faint gasp of disbelief.
“Thank you,” he whispered, barely audible, his voice hoarse with emotion.
Harry gave him a curt nod but said nothing.
With a flick of his wand, he closed the trunk and sealed it shut. He stood swiftly, gripping the shrunken box in his hand. With a fluid motion, he tucked it back into his moleskin pouch, safely hidden against his chest.
And then, he ran.
He slipped through the alleyways of Flea Bottom, his boots striking against the damp stone in swift, silent steps. His hood was pulled low, his disillusionment charms shimmering faintly around him, making his form flicker like a mirage.
The stench of the slums clung to him, the reek of rot and filth, but Harry barely noticed it. His entire focus was on moving swiftly and unseen, his heartbeat thundering steadily in his chest.
He passed the crooked hovels and the narrow, winding streets. The few eyes that lingered on him quickly slid away, unable to hold his image in their memory due to the layered charms.
Harry’s boots pounded against the cobblestones as he ran, his breath measured and steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins. The narrow alleys of Flea Bottom bled into broader streets, each step bringing him closer to the towering silhouette of the Dragonpit in the distance.
His fingers clenched tightly around the moleskin pouch, the weight of it a reassuring presence against his chest. Helaena. Aemond. Aegon. Safe and tucked away inside the trunk. One more step, one more piece.
The looming shape of the Dragonpit rose ahead of him, its once-proud dome fractured and blackened with age and battle. The heavy iron doors groaned faintly against the wind, the ancient structure barely maintaining its hold against the chaos of the capital.
Without pausing, Harry slipped through the crumbling archway, the shadows swallowing him whole.
The air inside was thick with the musky scent of dragon scales, old ash, and the faint acrid tang of sulfur. The cavernous interior was dimly lit by shafts of moonlight cutting through the cracked ceiling, casting jagged beams over the scarred stone floor.
With a flick of his wrist, he unlatched the trunk and carefully opened it.
Helaena was the first one out. She crawled from the trunk with surprising grace, her eyes wide and sharp despite her weakened state. She glanced around quickly, scanning the cavernous space as though already seeking Dreamfyre.
Harry offered her his hand, steadying her.
“Alright, Moon,” he murmured softly, his voice low but steady. “Let’s go find your girl.”
Her fingers tightened around his with a surprising strength, and she nodded once. The slightest spark of determination flickered in her eyes, faint but still there, a glimmer of the dragonrider she had once been.
Without another word, Harry led her deeper into the pit.
The heavy scrape of claws echoed faintly in the darkness. The scent of sulfur grew stronger, and the faint, rumbling sound of deep, rhythmic breathing vibrated in the stone around them.
Dreamfyre.
The she-dragon lay curled in the farthest corner of the pit, her massive body coiled protectively around herself. Her scales were a brilliant shade of cerulean, shimmering faintly in the moonlight. Silver accents traced the edges of her wings, glimmering like liquid metal.
Her eyes snapped open the moment Helaena approached, her serpentine pupils narrowing as she stared down at them. A low, warning growl rumbled in her throat, deep and throaty, vibrating through the cavern.
The massive dragon’s head lowered slightly, her teeth bared in a display of protective wariness.
Harry, sensing her agitation, slowly stepped in front of Helaena, shielding her instinctively. His hands remained at his sides, palms slightly turned outward in a show of non-aggression.
Then, without hesitation, he hissed softly under his breath.
“Peace, proud one,” he whispered in Parseltongue, his voice low and soothing. The serpent-like language slithered from his lips, liquid and melodic, carrying an almost otherworldly weight.
Dreamfyre’s golden eyes snapped onto him, narrowing sharply. Her growl faltered slightly, confusion flickering in her gaze. Her pupils dilated as she tilted her head, watching him with wary curiosity.
“Easy,” Harry murmured softly, his voice like a gentle breeze, barely above a whisper. “She is yours. And you are hers. She needs you now more than ever.”
Helaena took a slow step forward, her breath catching slightly.
“Dreamfyre,” she whispered hoarsely, her voice trembling with emotion.
The dragon’s eyes shifted instantly to her, and the low growl turned into a faint, almost questioning rumble.
The bond between them flared to life.
Dreamfyre let out a low, throaty coo, deep and resonant, a sound of recognition. She lowered her massive head, nudging gently at Helaena’s hand.
The young woman’s eyes filled with tears as she slowly stroked the dragon’s snout, her fingers trembling slightly against the smooth, warm scales.
“Good girl,” she whispered brokenly, her voice thick with emotion.
Dreamfyre let out a soft, vibrating purr, the tip of her tail flicking faintly as she pressed closer.
Harry watched quietly for a moment, allowing them their reunion, before he stepped forward.
“We have to move,” he said softly, though his voice was firm.
Helaena gave him a shaky nod, reluctantly pulling away from her dragon.
Dreamfyre huffed softly in protest, but stilled when Harry stepped closer. His emerald eyes locked onto the dragon’s, his expression calm and resolute.
Once more, he hissed in Parseltongue, his voice gentle but commanding.
“Follow me into the trunk, proud one. I promise you will be free soon.”
The great she-dragon narrowed her eyes slightly, her nostrils flaring. For a moment, she seemed to consider refusing.
But then, with a deep, reluctant sigh, she lowered her wings slightly, coiling them against her back. Her massive form slowly, carefully shrank as Harry whispered the shrinking spell, reducing her to the size of a massive hound.
Harry opened the trunk and gestured inside.
“Trust me,” he murmured in Parseltongue, his voice low and reassuring.
Dreamfyre let out a low, rumbling sigh, then slowly padded forward. With a soft snort, she slipped into the trunk’s expanded space, her tail flicking faintly before she disappeared within.
Harry quickly snapped the lid shut, sealing her inside.
He turned back to Helaena, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder.
“Let’s go.”
Helaena humped back into the truck and Harry slipped out of the pit, moving swiftly but carefully through the darkened streets.
Every now and then, a hand would reach out from the crowd, a grubby palm catching the edge of Harry’s cloak, or trembling fingers brushing against his sleeve. The smallfolk whispered his name in reverence and awe.
“Harylos,” someone murmured faintly, their voice choked with disbelief.
“The Immortal Healer,” another breathed.
Harry kept his head down, his face shadowed beneath his hood, but he could feel their eyes on him, hungry, hopeful, desperate.
Fingers snatched at his cloak as he passed, but he didn’t slow, weaving through the grasping hands and anxious murmurs.
The pressure in his chest tightened. Keep moving.
He barely made it out of the city, slipping through the final gate and into the wooded outskirts.
Once he was certain they were far enough away, he tugged the trunk from his pouch, knelt beside it, and carefully opened the lid.
Helaena, Aemond and Aegon were still inside, waiting in the expanded space. Aegon was awkwardly propped on one of the cots, still heavily bandaged but clearly awake. His eyes narrowed faintly, watching Harry with cautious suspicion.
Without a word, Harry gestured for Aegon to come out.
The prince slowly, stiffly, shifted himself to the trunk’s edge, wincing faintly as he moved. He glanced at the ground, clearly hesitant to step out.
Before he could struggle, Harry snapped his fingers. With a flick of his wrist, he conjured a magic-infused wheelchair, a sleek, sturdy construction with silver-accented wheels, enchanted with self-stabilizing spells and gentle cushioning charms.
He leveled a firm, no-nonsense look at Aegon.
“You’re not walking,” Harry ordered sharply. “Get in.”
Aegon blinked, clearly taken aback, but reluctantly complied. With a faint grunt, he settled into the chair, adjusting slightly against the cushioning spell.
Harry’s sharp gaze flicked over to Aemond, then to Helaena.
“Alright,” he said quietly, his voice steady but firm. “Let’s go.”
And without looking back, he began leading them further into the night, beyond the reach of the crown.
The four of them moved swiftly through the woods, their steps muffled by the damp earth beneath their feet. The forest was still, the occasional call of a distant nightbird breaking the silence, but none of them spoke for some time.
Aemond walked beside Harry, his brow furrowed slightly, the dim moonlight catching the faint iridescent gleam of his new eye. He glanced at the moleskin pouch slung securely around Harry’s neck.
His gaze drifted toward the trunk’s subtle outline, the faintest flicker of curiosity and confusion flickering in his eyes.
Finally, he broke the silence.
“What were the empty cushions for?” he asked, his voice low but clear.
Harry slowed his pace slightly, glancing over at him with a small, almost nostalgic smirk.
“Oh, those?” he said lightly. “That’s just where the ‘other passengers’ would’ve gone if I still had them.”
Aemond frowned faintly, his head tilting slightly.
“Other passengers?” he echoed.
Harry let out a soft hum, brushing a branch aside as they walked.
“Yeah,” he said casually, his voice taking on a more wistful edge. “When I first got here, Westeros, I mean, I didn’t just sit around healing people. I traveled. Spent years moving between regions, exploring, looking for safe, isolated places.”
Aemond shot him a confused look, clearly not understanding.
Harry exhaled softly, his gaze distant.
“Places where I could release them,” he clarified, his voice quieter.
Aemond blinked, his steps faltering slightly.
“Release who?”
Harry’s lips twitched faintly, his eyes half-lidded as he stared into the forest ahead.
“Them,” he said simply, his voice carrying a soft fondness. “The creatures from my home.”
Aemond stiffened slightly, glancing sharply at him.
“You mean the creatures from the heavens above,” he muttered, the realization dawning on him.
Harry thinks for a while before reluctantly nodding.
“Yeah,” he murmured softly. “I carried their eggs and young with me when I came here. I wasn’t about to let them die in that ruined world, not when I could save them. But they needed places they could thrive, places similar to the habitats they came from.”
Aemond stared at him, his jaw slightly slackened.
“You…” He trailed off, glancing at the pouch. “You saved entire species?”
Harry’s expression turned faintly sheepish, almost as though he hadn’t thought of it in such grand terms.
“I just… couldn’t let them die out,” he shrugged, almost apologetically. *"The Thestrals, the Hippogriffs, the Nifflers, even the little Pygmy Puffs…" he smiled slightly, shaking his head, “they deserved a chance.”
Aemond blinked, momentarily thrown by the string of names he didn’t recognize.
“The… what?”
Harry chuckled softly.
“Doesn’t matter,” he smirked faintly. “They’re all out there somewhere now. Hidden away where they won’t be hunted or caged.”
Aemond was quiet for a long moment, staring at him, slowly processing the scale of what Harry had done.
He saved them. Entire species from another world carried with him like some wandering god of beasts. Not for profit, nor power, simply because he could.
For the first time in years, Aemond felt something unfamiliar flicker in his chest.
Respect.
They walked the rest of the way in relative silence, with Aemond occasionally glancing at Harry, his expression pensive.
The scent of brine and saltwater greeted them as they finally reached the rocky shores where Vhagar awaited. The massive she-dragon was curled along the jagged cliffs, her hulking form partially illuminated by the pale moonlight.
She cracked one golden eye open at their approach, rumbling softly in greeting.
Aemond stepped forward immediately, walking up to his mount with a familiarity that only years of partnership could breed. She lowered her head slightly, allowing him to run a hand along her scaled snout.
Harry unlatched the trunk, releasing Aegon from the magical space. With a wave of his hand, the prince’s floating wheelchair gently lowered onto the uneven ground.
Aemond quickly mounted Vhagar, settling into his saddle with the ease of long-practiced experience. His sharp gaze flicked down toward his brother.
“Come on, then,” he said flatly, though the corners of his mouth twitched with the faintest hint of amusement.
Harry flicked his wand, levitating Aegon smoothly into the air.
“Alright, hold still,” he muttered, strapping Aegon into place behind Aemond with several sturdy harnessing spells.
Aegon scowled.
“I’m not a child,” he grumbled, though he made no move to resist as the enchantments secured him tightly to the saddle.
“You’re more like a broken toy right now,” Harry shot back dryly, giving the straps an extra tug for good measure.
Aemond snorted softly at the comment, smirking faintly at his brother’s glare.
Once the prince was secure, Harry turned back to Helaena.
The soft moonlight glimmered against her pale hair, making it appear almost silver. She stood quietly by his side, her gaze locked onto Vhagar with a flicker of longing.
Harry stepped closer, gently touching her arm to draw her attention.
“You ready?” he asked softly.
She turned toward him, her purple eyes steady and calm. Without a word, she nodded once.
Harry whistled softly, reaching into the trunk and releasing Dreamfyre.
The cerulean dragon slithered out of the expanded space, growing swiftly to her full, magnificent size. The great beast stretched her wings with a faint, irritated snort, giving Harry a brief, haughty look as though annoyed by her temporary confinement.
He smiled faintly, murmuring in Parseltongue.
“I know, I know. It was only for a little while, proud one.”
Dreamfyre let out a soft huff, then lowered herself slightly, making room for them to mount.
Without hesitation, Harry swung himself onto the dragon’s back, extending his hand down to Helaena.
She took it without hesitation, her grip firm despite her delicate appearance. With his help, she swung herself into the saddle behind him, her arms slipping naturally around his waist.
The moment her fingers curled into the fabric of his coat, he could feel the faintest tremble in her hands.
Without a word, he reached back and covered her hands with one of his own, squeezing gently.
Then, with a sharp click of his tongue and a whispered command in Parseltongue, Dreamfyre spread her wings and leapt into the sky.
Vhagar followed swiftly behind them, her massive wings blotting out the moonlight
They soared high over Blackwater Bay, the stars glimmering like scattered diamonds against the ink-black sky.
The journey was swift, and soon, the familiar sight of the rocky shores of Claw Isle came into view.
As they descended, Harry’s eyes narrowed, scanning the rocky crags until he spotted the glimmer of gold and crimson amidst the jagged stones.
And his heart sank.
Sunfyre.
The magnificent dragon was a broken, ruined shadow of his former self. His once-glorious golden scales were blackened and cracked with charred wounds. His wings hung limply, scorched and riddled with mangled tears. His limbs were twisted unnaturally from his attempt to flee on foot, the broken bones left to heal improperly.
Aegon’s breath caught sharply behind Aemond, his voice hoarse.
“No…” he choked out.
Harry’s eyes hardened. Without a word, he dismounted from Dreamfyre and approached the ruined dragon.
“No sudden movements,” he muttered softly to the others.
Aegon gawked in horror as Harry murmured in Parseltongue, gently coaxing the broken creature closer.
Without hesitation, Harry shrank Sunfyre with a smooth flick of his wand.
“WHAT?!?“ Aegon started, eyes wide with horror.
But Aemond, to Harry’s surprise, only laughed softly at his brother’s reaction.
“Calm yourself,” Aemond said dryly, smirking faintly. “He’s just making it easier to carry your oversized lizard.”
Without another word, Harry scooped the shrunken Sunfyre into his hands and began casting diagnostic and healing spells, his eyes cold and calculating as he meticulously realigned the dragon’s broken bones and began bandaging the burnt scales.
The flight back was long but steady, the vast landscape of Westeros gradually fading beneath them. The cool wind whipped at their faces as the dragons sailed through the sky, their powerful wings carrying them swiftly eastward.
The journey took two and a half days, with brief stops along the way to rest and allow the dragons to hunt. They moved mostly under the cover of night, keeping low and avoiding populated areas, steering clear of watchful eyes.
During the trip, Harry remained mostly quiet, flying alongside Aemond and Aegon with Helaena’s arms loosely wrapped around his waist. She rested her head against his back more often than not, the steady rhythm of flight lulling her into rare moments of peace. He still hated the idea of riding a dragon but Helaena was too tired to take the reins.
Aemond, in contrast, was more alert, his sharp eyes constantly scanning the horizon. Occasionally, he would glance over at Harry with a mixture of curiosity and wariness, still piecing together the puzzle of the man who had somehow become their savior.
Aegon, bound securely to Vhagar behind Aemond, remained mostly silent, fatigued from both the journey and his still-healing wounds. He occasionally dozed off, the wind stinging against the patches of skin exposed between the bandages.
Aemond, ever the watchful protector, kept his eyes trained on the landscape, Vhagar’s massive wings cutting through the sky with powerful strokes. Helaena rode Dreamfyre beside Harry, her eyes bright with a mix of anticipation and quiet understanding. Aegon, still recovering, sat secured in the modified harness on Vhagar, the wheelchair Harry had crafted for him making the trip a little less cumbersome.
The mountains were impressive up close, sprawling, untamed, and full of hidden dangers. As they neared the foothills, Harry spoke over the wind, his voice steady as he turned slightly to look at them.
“I’ve set up wards around these mountains,” he began, his tone casual but serious, the weight of his words sinking in as he glanced at each of them in turn. “They’re a little more… unconventional than what you might be used to, but they’ve kept the place secure for years.”
Aegon, his brow furrowed, glanced around curiously. “What kind of wards?” he asked, his voice hoarse but intrigued.
Harry smiled faintly, his lips twitching with a hint of pride. “Well, when someone enters the perimeter, they’re hit with a bit of an illusion, making the monsters seem farther away. The deeper they go, the more they start to see these… creatures. If they’re not used to the magic, they turn and run.”
Helaena’s eyes widened slightly. “You’ve been protecting this place for a long time?”
“Years,” Harry confirmed. “I’ve been planning on turning it into a sanctuary, a place where dragons can thrive, free from the politics of the kingdoms. And I thought…” He glanced at them, his expression softening. “Since you all ride dragons, it only made sense for you to run it.”
Aemond, ever the skeptic, raised an eyebrow. “You want us to manage this place?” His voice was a mixture of disbelief and curiosity.
Harry nodded. “Not just manage. I’m going to add you to the wards, you and your bloodlines. If you decide to stay here and help me, this will be a home, one that’s safe for you and anyone you care about.”
He extended his hand then, a deep, powerful pulse of magic radiating from his fingertips as the air around them seemed to hum with energy. “You’ll be added to the wards, and your descendants will be protected here as well. But there are rules. You follow them, and this sanctuary will be yours. Break them, and the wards will expel you. You won’t be allowed to return.”
Aegon, ever the defiant one, spoke first, his voice sharp. “What kind of rules are we talking about?”
Harry met their gazes evenly, his tone steady, but carrying an unmistakable weight. “The first rule is simple: No incest. No inbreeding. We’re not going to repeat the mistakes of the past.”
Helaena nodded silently, her expression unreadable, though her eyes held a flicker of relief.
“Second,” Harry continued, voice unwavering, “No racism. No discrimination of any kind. Bloodlines or titles mean nothing here. We’re building a family, not a kingdom.”
Aemond’s lips tightened, but he said nothing. His sharp gaze remained fixed on Harry, though he seemed to understand the seriousness.
“Third,” Harry said, his voice firm and resolute, “No abuse. No abuse of each other, the creatures, or anyone else. This place is a sanctuary. If anyone harms another, you will be cast out. There’s no place for violence here.”
Aegon grumbled under his breath, but wisely remained silent. He knew better than to argue when Harry’s tone was so severe.
“Fourth,” Harry added, “No rape. This one should be obvious, but I’m making it clear anyway. Anyone who violates this rule will be thrown out immediately. This is a place of healing, not destruction.”
The air hung thick with tension, and Aemond seemed about to protest, but Harry held up his hand, silencing him. “I mean it,” Harry said quietly. “Everyone here is deserving of respect. This is not a place for abuse or harm.”
Harry then straightened, his gaze hardening as he addressed the final rule, one he made sure to emphasize. “No homophobia. We accept people as they are, whether they love the same gender, want to be the opposite, or neither. It doesn’t matter who you love or how you identify; here, you will be respected, not mocked or excluded.”
Aemond’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. Aegon, to Harry’s surprise, seemed to accept the rules without argument.
Harry took a deep breath before adding, “These rules are non-negotiable. If any of them are broken, the wards will reject you. You won’t be allowed to stay here, and you won’t be able to return. This place is meant to be a refuge, not a battleground.”
“Everyone deserves the right to choose freely, to be treated equally, and to live without fear or abuse,” Harry added, his voice growing stronger. “Consent matters here, whether it’s about love, marriage, or just respect. We are not here to hurt each other or force anything.”
He made eye contact with each of them in turn, his gaze unwavering. “Remember that. These aren’t just rules; these are the foundations of how we will treat one another.”
“Also“ Harry added, his tone now calm but serious, “We must also respect certain boundaries on things like drinking, sex, marriage, and childbirth. I know these are not common practices here in Westeros, but we need to set rules to protect everyone, especially those too young to make such decisions for themselves.”
He paused for a moment to let the gravity of the statement sink in.
“First, drinking. No one under the age of 18 will be allowed to drink, regardless of status. In the past, it was common to start young, but that’s not acceptable here. You need to be fully capable of understanding the consequences.”
Aegon shifted uncomfortably at the mention of drinking, but Harry pressed on.
“Second, sex. No one under the age of 16 will be allowed to engage in sexual activity. It is essential that everyone is mature enough to understand the responsibilities and emotional weight that comes with it.”
Helaena’s face flushed slightly, but she nodded solemnly.
“Third, marriage. No one under the age of 18 will be allowed to marry. Arranged marriages are not acceptable unless both parties are of an age to understand the commitment they are making. We will not repeat the mistakes of the past, where children were forced into marriages they were too young to choose for themselves.”
Aemond scowled, but his eyes softened as he considered Harry’s words.
“Finally, childbirth. No one under the age of 18 will be allowed to bear children. Childbirth is a life-altering experience that requires maturity, both physically and mentally. We must protect the well-being of our people, and that means setting age limits on when it is appropriate for someone to bear the responsibility of raising a child.”
“If you break any of these,” Harry concluded, “the wards will reject you. You won’t be allowed to stay here, and you won’t be allowed to return. This place is meant to be a refuge, not a battlefield.”
The air around them seemed to thrum with the power of the wards as Harry’s magic settled over them, binding their fates to the mountains, and with it, a promise of safety, and a warning of what would happen if that safety was ever broken.
Helaena, who had been silent throughout the exchange, placed her hand lightly on Harry’s arm, her voice soft but steady. “We understand. We will follow your rules.”
Harry nodded, his gaze flicking between them, his eyes scanning their faces for any sign of hesitation. Seeing none, he smiled, the relief in his shoulders obvious.
“Good. Then welcome to your new home.”
With a final wave of his hand, the wards shifted, and the mountains were now theirs, a sanctuary for those who needed it most. In that moment, Harry allowed himself to truly relax for the first time. He had built something lasting, something that might just be their salvation.
Yet, even in this rare moment of peace, a sigh escaped him. His expression, weary and heavy, was that of someone who had reluctantly parted with something precious. Glancing at the group, he muttered, “Alright, alright.” He didn’t seem thrilled about the idea, but he was resigned. “You can each pick five books from my Muggle collection, don’t ask me what that means, just trust that it’s...different from what you’re used to. And I’ll throw in a couple books on dragon rearing for good measure.”
He waved a hand dismissively and began duplicating the books as they walked around the trunk, choosing what intrigued them. His fingers moved swiftly, the air around him flickering with magic, and soon the books were reproduced in perfect copies, stacked neatly for each person to take their pick.
Aegon, ever the curious soul, browsed through the collection before settling on his choices. He picked up: “The Drunken Botanist: The Plants That Create the World’s Great Drinks” by Amy Stewart, “The Art of Fermentation” by Sandor Ellix Katz, “The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fck”* by Mark Manson, “The Tao of Pooh” by Benjamin Hoff, and “The Innovators: How a Group of Hackers, Geniuses, and Geeks Created the Digital Revolution” by Walter Isaacson.
Aemond, ever the intellectual, was more methodical in his selections. He picked out “The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-5)”, “The Warrior Ethos” by Steven Pressfield, “The Psychopath Test” by Jon Ronson, “The Science of Cooking: Understanding the Biology and Chemistry of Food” by Peter Barham, and “Outliers: The Story of Success” by Malcolm Gladwell.
Helaena, her expression thoughtful, carefully perused the shelves before choosing her own set: “The Year of Magical Thinking” by Joan Didion, “The Merck Manual of Diagnosis and Therapy”, “The Complete Herbal” by Nicholas Culpeper, “The Gifts of Imperfection” by Brené Brown, and “The Night Circus” by Erin Morgenstern. Harry, who had been watching them choose with a slightly bemused but indulgent look, saw her hesitate for a moment before adding “Women Who Run with the Wolves” by Clarissa Pinkola Estés to her stack, offering her a sixth book with a small smile.
Once they were done, Harry handed over the duplicated books with a wave of his hand, the copies appearing neatly in their hands. He then gestured for them to follow him, moving with quiet purpose. He bent down to gently push Aegon’s wheelchair, guiding them up the winding path toward a large manor at the top of the hill. The building, majestic and grand, had been crafted entirely with his magic, designed to be a place of comfort and safety for them.
“This place is yours now,” Harry said, his tone soft but firm. “I’ve also built a couple other buildings around the area, in case you need them. Plenty of room to stretch out.” His eyes flicked to the dragons flying gracefully around the large mountain range, their wings cutting through the sky like living shadows.
He paused for a moment, glancing back at them, his expression softening just a touch. “I’ll stay until I finish healing Sunfyre,” he added, then nodded toward the manor. “There should be plenty of clothes in the wardrobes. Get comfortable. You’ll be safe here.”
Aemond, for the first time, seemed to relax slightly as he took in the surroundings, a quiet appreciation flickering in his eyes. Harry gave him a brief, knowing look before continuing on, pushing Aegon’s chair as they entered the grand manor, the doors closing behind them with a soft, final thud.