It's 'Saving' not Kidnapping!
Several days later, Harry knelt beside Sunfyre, carefully unwinding the last of the bandages from the dragon’s shimmering golden scales. The burns, once angry, had completely healed, leaving no trace of the agonizing wounds that had marred his majestic form. The dragon, now free of pain, purred softly, nuzzling into Aegon’s chest with a low, affectionate rumble.
Aegon clung to Sunfyre, arms wrapped protectively around the dragon’s neck. Relief poured from him in waves, his grip only tightening as if he were afraid the moment might somehow slip away.
Harry sat back on his heels, wiping his hands on a cloth. “He’s good now. No more burns,” he said evenly, watching Aegon closely. “You can put him down.”
For a moment, Aegon hesitated, reluctant to let go. His fingers dug slightly into the dragon’s gleaming scales, but when Harry gave him a pointed look, he slowly loosened his grip. With great care, he placed Sunfyre down onto the ground, still small enough to fit easily in his arms.
Without a word, Harry flicked his wand. Sunfyre’s form shimmered, stretching and expanding as the golden light enveloped him. The dragon grew rapidly, his limbs elongating, wings broadening until he stood at his true, majestic size. His scales gleamed brilliantly in the sunlight, and he let out a powerful, joyous roar that echoed across the mountains.
Aegon stumbled back slightly, momentarily overwhelmed, before a grin split his face. “Gods, look at you,” he breathed in awe, reaching up to stroke Sunfyre’s snout as the dragon lowered his head with a soft croon.
Harry watched the pair with a faint smile before turning to Helaena. Without hesitation, he strode over and wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly. She melted into the embrace without a word, clinging to him just as she had when she was a child.
“I’m leaving,” Harry murmured softly, his voice low enough for only her to hear.
Helaena’s hands tightened around him, her fingers gripping his robes as though she could anchor him there. She didn’t speak, only pressing her forehead against his chest, as if trying to commit the moment to memory.
After a long pause, Harry pulled back slightly, brushing a loose strand of her pale hair behind her ear. He reached into his moleskin pouch and handed her a small collection of protective charms. “These will keep you safe,” he said quietly. “Use them if you need to. And don’t be afraid to call me if you do.”
Helaena, swallowing hard, nodded and tucked the charms away carefully, her fingers lingering on them.
Harry turned to Aegon next, smirking faintly. “And as for you…” he began, pulling a small pouch of dried herbs from his pocket. He held it out with a smug look.
Aegon’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What’s that?”
“Your prize,” Harry said with a teasing glint in his eyes. “You won the bet, after all. You actually managed to follow my strict orders as your healer and stayed bedridden.” He tossed the pouch into Aegon’s hands. “Those are herbs. You can use them to brew your own alcohol. Think of it as a parting gift for being such a good patient.”
Aegon’s expression lit up instantly. “You magnificent bastard,” he said with a grin, clutching the pouch like it was a chest of gold. “You’ve just made my year.”
Nearby, Helaena arched a delicate brow, glancing at the pouch. “No,” she said simply, already seeing where this was going.
Aegon’s grin widened devilishly. “You don’t understand. I need to plant them.”
“Absolutely not,” Helaena deadpanned, crossing her arms.
“Come on!” Aegon whined dramatically, already moving toward her greenhouse. “I’ll put them in the corner. You’ll barely notice. I’ll be so careful, I swear, “
Harry shook his head, watching the scene unfold with a fond chuckle before turning toward Aemond.
Over the past few days, Harry and Aemond had ventured into nearby villages, quietly acquiring supplies and livestock. Aemond, with his keen, calculating eye, had taken charge of most of the negotiations, ensuring they built a solid foundation of animals and provisions. The once-barren fields surrounding the manor were now dotted with pens and enclosures, home to goats, sheep, and even a few horses.
While Aemond focused on securing their livestock, Harry had quietly worked alongside Helaena, teaching her the art of healing. She proved to be an eager and attentive student, soaking up every bit of knowledge he shared. Before they left, Harry gifted her a fully stocked greenhouse, filled with rare, medicinal herbs, each carefully cultivated and enchanted for lasting potency.
Aemond stood on the manor’s balcony, his sharp gaze scanning the newly established pens and fields below. The wind tousled his hair as Harry approached, breaking the quiet of his contemplation.
“How’s the setup?” Harry asked, leaning against the stone railing beside him.
Aemond glanced over, his lips curling into a faint smirk. “Better than expected. You’ve done well with this place,” he replied, his voice as calm and precise as ever. “The livestock is settling in fine, and the fields are more than enough to sustain us. Everything is in place.”
“Good,” Harry said, nodding in approval. “But there’s one thing I didn’t get the chance to tell you before. I wanted to make sure you were prepared for the next step.”
Aemond raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment, waiting for Harry to continue.
Harry pulled out a small, intricately woven pouch from the folds of his robe, handing it over to Aemond. “This is for the future. Supplies for any future needs. Don’t give it to Aegon. He’s not ready for this kind of responsibility.”
Aemond’s eyes flickered to the pouch, his curiosity piqued. He didn’t question Harry’s instruction; instead, he simply nodded and tucked the pouch into his own cloak, knowing full well that Harry never gave anything without a reason.
Aegon, who had been walking up from the gardens, caught the tail end of their conversation and frowned. “What do you mean by that?” he asked, his voice tinged with an offense as he approached them. “You don’t think I can handle it?”
Harry looked at him, expression unchanged. “It’s not about that, Aegon. It’s just that some things require discretion, and I know your… enthusiasm can sometimes get the better of you,” he said, his tone gentle but firm. “Trust me, this is better left in Aemond’s hands for now.”
Aegon opened his mouth to argue, but the stern look from Aemond silenced him almost immediately. His brother’s calm expression was enough to stop Aegon in his tracks, and with a sigh, he folded his arms across his chest in frustration.
“Fine,” Aegon muttered, turning away.
Harry shook his head slightly, a quiet smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched the exchange. “You both need to work on your trust with one another. But,” he continued, turning back to Aemond, “I’m leaving now. I wanted to let you know that there are creatures you need to watch out for in these mountains. Keep an eye out for them. They’re not the usual type of beast.”
Aemond furrowed his brows, intrigued but confused. “What kind of creatures?”
“Bowtruckles, Hippogriffs, Unicorns, Jarveys, and Thunderbirds,” Harry replied, his voice serious, though there was a flicker of something in his eyes that suggested he wasn’t entirely concerned. “I released them here over forty years ago. They’re no threat to you, but you should be cautious. I’m sure they’ll keep to themselves, but still, better to be safe.”
Aegon, overhearing, looked baffled. “What in the Seven Hells are those?”
“They’re magical creatures,” Harry explained, though his tone was a bit more distant now. “I released them into the wild here, and they’ve been thriving since. You’ll know them when you see them, trust me.”
Aemond was quiet for a long moment, then gave a slight nod. “Understood,” he said, though his thoughts were clearly turning over the strange names and what they might mean.
Harry clapped him on the shoulder lightly, a final touch before stepping back. “You’re on your own now. I’ll be around, but you’re in charge of things here. Make sure to keep the peace.”
Aegon raised an eyebrow, looking to Harry for more explanation, but Harry just turned, giving him a wry smile.
“Don’t worry, Aegon. You’ll figure it out.”
With that, Harry began to walk away, heading toward the trees once more. The distance slowly swallowed his figure, leaving Aemond, Helaena and Aegon to manage the strange new world thrust upon them.
Harry’s broom glided smoothly through the cool evening air, the dark sky above dotted with faint stars as he approached Pentos. He carefully maneuvered through the scattered clouds, keeping a low profile as he neared the pier. A quiet determination settled over him, knowing that his destination, Oldtown, would bring both answers and challenges.
He landed near the water’s edge, taking a deep breath and pulling his hood low over his face to avoid recognition. Though he wasn’t concerned about being identified here in Pentos, it was always better to remain discreet. He stashed his broom in his moleskin pouch and made his way to the dock.
The boat ride across to King’s Landing was uneventful, the small craft bobbing gently on the waves as the city’s silhouette grew ever larger. Harry, despite his typical wariness, let his guard down somewhat, knowing the boat ride was a quiet one. He watched the city approach in silence, but in the back of his mind, he kept thinking about his purpose.
Arriving at King’s Landing, Harry wasted no time in avoiding the bustling crowds and the heat of the city. He slipped through narrow alleyways, walking swiftly to the gates that would take him toward the road to Oldtown. His destination was Bitterbridge, a small town halfway between King’s Landing and Oldtown, and from there, a last stretch would take him to the cult-like group who had been so eager to learn his healing ways.
Upon reaching Bitterbridge, Harry, feeling a familiar unease settle over him, decided to rest at the tavern called Hogs Head. It was a small, nondescript place, nestled at the edge of the town, and as Harry stepped inside, the warm glow of the hearth met him. He made his way quietly to a shadowed corner, pulling his hood even lower to keep his face obscured.
The tavern was relatively empty, save for a couple of travelers and some local townsfolk. The soft murmur of their conversation filled the air, but Harry’s focus remained fixed on the door, watching for anyone who might take too much interest in him. He didn’t need attention, at least, not right now.
The innkeeper, a stout man with a thick apron, shot him a brief glance before turning back to a row of mugs and a pot of stew. Harry took a seat, keeping his head low and his eyes scanning the room.
As he settled, the low hum of distant chatter continued, but something felt off in the air, like an undercurrent of tension. Harry couldn’t quite place it, but it was there, lingering in the background. He shook it off for the moment; he was just passing through.
Nevertheless, he kept his guard up, knowing that even in a quiet place like this, things could go wrong in an instant. He checked the pouch of supplies at his waist, reassuring himself that everything was still in place.
But now, there was a slight unease gnawing at him. Was it possible they were asking for more than healing skills? He pushed the thought aside, no need to jump to conclusions. He would find out soon enough.
Harry’s unease persisted, gnawing at the back of his mind, and he couldn’t shake the sense that something was off. He glanced around again, eyes lingering on the quiet faces in the tavern, but it was when he noticed the stable boy watching him that his attention truly sharpened. Clearly, the child was intrigued because Harry hadn’t ordered food yet.
Sighing, Harry pulled his attention back to the table and spoke to the innkeeper. “I’ll have a meal, but no alcohol, thank you,” he said, his voice soft but firm. He didn’t like how it made him feel, the way the world blurred when he drank. And right now, he needed clarity.
The innkeeper gave him a quick nod and turned to prepare the meal. The stable boy, noticing that Harry had spoken up, quickly disappeared into the kitchen to help out. Harry let his mind wander back to his journey ahead, he couldn’t afford distractions, especially not with the unease he was feeling. Still, he couldn’t shake the nagging thought of those who had been asking for more than just healing skills.
His food arrived a little while later, and he picked at it absentmindedly, thoughts swirling. But the sudden entry of a man carrying a child interrupted the quiet evening. The stranger was well built, his muscles defined but strained under a layer of exhaustion, as though the weight of the world was bearing down on him. He wore a cloak that obscured most of the child, but Harry could tell the little one was wrapped up tightly and hidden from view.
The innkeeper, after a quick exchange with the man who asked for a room, apologetically shook his head and muttered that all rooms were occupied. Harry could see the weariness on the man’s face, and something about the situation tugged at him. The child... it looked young, too young to be in whatever situation had brought them here.
After a brief moment of thought, Harry stood up and caught the man’s eye. “If you need a place to stay, you’re welcome to join me in my room. I have plenty of space, and I don’t need to sleep,” he said, offering the man a kind smile, though it felt a little awkward.
The man looked hesitant, his tired eyes flicking over Harry warily, as though weighing the offer. After a long pause, he gave a small nod, clearly desperate but reluctant. “Thank you,” the man murmured, voice hoarse with fatigue. He slowly made his way over to Harry’s table, his steps unsteady, and the child in his arms remained silent, hidden beneath the cloak.
Harry gestured to the empty chairs. “Please, sit. I’ll buy you both some dinner. You must be hungry after traveling.”
The man looked uncertain for a moment but then sat down, gently setting the child on his lap. Harry guessed the little one was probably about three years old, but they were too bundled up to make out much more. Harry’s concern deepened. There was something strange about the way they had entered, the secrecy surrounding the child.
As the man settled, Harry leaned forward slightly, attempting to engage him in conversation to put him at ease. “Where are you headed? I’m on my way to Oldtown,” Harry remarked casually, his voice carrying just enough warmth to invite trust.
The man’s eyes flickered up at the mention of Oldtown. There was a slight change in his expression, a spark of interest. “Oldtown...” He paused, as though considering something, then answered, “We’re headed there as well.”
Harry raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Really? It’s not often you meet someone on the road to Oldtown. Would you like to travel together? I’m not in any rush, and it could be safer with company.” His voice was friendly, though he couldn’t help but remain on alert, sensing that there was more to this man and his child than met the eye.
The man hesitated for a long moment, then looked down at the child in his lap, as if checking for reassurance. When he looked back up, his expression softened. “Yes, I think that would be helpful. Thank you.”
Harry smiled, though his mind remained sharp, constantly searching for answers. There was something familiar about the situation, but he couldn’t quite place it yet. Either way, he’d help them, he didn’t have the heart to turn them away.
As the man accepted his offer, Harry knew that the road ahead was bound to bring more questions than answers.
The man and child ate in relative silence, their hunger evident in the way they quickly devoured the meal Harry had bought them. The little one barely spoke, only looking up at Harry occasionally with curious eyes, while the man, Rickard, seemed to eat more slowly, his movements heavy with exhaustion.
When they finished, Rickard quietly stood, stretching with a quiet groan of relief, and made his way up the stairs to Harry’s room. Harry followed behind, careful not to draw attention to himself. Once inside, the weight of the long day seemed to fall from Rickard’s shoulders as he allowed himself to relax for the first time since their arrival.
Gently, he placed the child into bed, ensuring the blankets were tucked in tight, before turning to unpack his bag. He pulled a large, worn leather pack from his shoulder and placed it heavily on the wooden table. As he did, something fell from the pack, something that made Harry’s sharp eyes catch the odd glimmer of its smooth, hard surface.
A soft thud. A bundle wrapped in dark cloth had fallen free of the pack, revealing the unmistakable shape of a dragon egg.
Rickard froze. His face drained of color as his eyes widened in horror. For a moment, he couldn’t move. His gaze flickered between the egg and Harry, confusion and dread warring in his expression.
Harry, meanwhile, watched the egg for a moment before sighing. He’d seen this before.
“You need to keep it in fire,” Harry said in a calm, nonchalant tone, walking toward the hearth. “Keeps the foetus from freezing. It’s fragile.”
Rickard’s breath hitched. “What?” he managed to say, his voice low, almost disbelieving. “What do you mean fire?”
Harry gave him an absent smile as he reached out, taking the dragon egg from the table without hesitation. Rickard’s mouth went dry, and he seemed too stunned to react. The egg was warm, but it wasn’t nearly warm enough.
Without a second thought, Harry extended his arms toward the fire, the flames crackling to life in the hearth as he placed the egg gently into the heart of the flames.
Rickard stood frozen in place, his mind struggling to process the sheer absurdity of the situation. The flames should have scorched Harry’s arms; they were open flames, hot enough to burn anyone foolish enough to put their hands in them. But Harry, Harry just placed the egg in the fire as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
Rickard blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. How was Harry… not burning? How could anyone be this close to an open flame without suffering the consequences?
Harry finally looked up, his expression absent of any shock. His lack of concern for almost being burned alive was evident. “It’s all right. The heat is necessary,” he said in an offhand manner, as if it were a matter of course.
Rickard was still reeling from the shock of seeing a dragon egg, of all things, fall from his bag, and now this? A man who didn’t burn in fire, simply carrying out tasks like it was nothing? The confusion and fear were too much. It didn’t make sense.
He swallowed hard and finally spoke, his voice shaky. “What… What are you?” he whispered.
Harry didn’t answer directly, instead glancing over at him with a soft smile. “I’m a healer, Rickard. Nothing more, nothing less. Just a healer.”
Rickard wasn’t sure whether that answer comforted him or made things worse, but before he could process it further, Harry was already turning toward the bed. “Get some sleep,” Harry said, his tone soft but firm. “You need it. We’ve both had long days.”
Rickard nodded, his movements slow, as though he was still trying to adjust to the reality of everything that had happened. He lay down on the bed, his eyes heavy with exhaustion, but his mind still racing. The questions piled up in his head, but sleep overtook him quickly, the weight of the day dragging him under.
Once Rickard was finally asleep, Harry pulled down his hood, his face now fully revealed in the dim glow of the hearth. He prepared a potion at the table, his expression focused and almost serene. The bubbling brew filled the room with a pungent but oddly comforting scent. Harry worked with precision, his hands moving with practiced ease, preparing something that would help ease the burden Rickard carried, though Harry wasn’t entirely sure what that burden was yet.
For now, though, all Harry could do was wait and watch. Tomorrow would bring more answers.
The morning light filtered through the small windows of the tavern, casting a faint glow over the room. Rickard Thorne awoke, his body sore from the travels and the strange events of the previous night. His mind still buzzed with questions, all centered on the man who had so generously allowed them to stay in his room. The more Rickard thought about it, the more unsettling everything had seemed. The man, if he could even be called that, had shown no signs of being human. He’d placed his hands in fire without so much as a flinch, didn’t seem to need sleep, and Rickard swore he hadn’t even heard him breathe the entire night.
The man was strange. Eerie, even.
He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts as he stood up, glancing over at the small bed where Prince Maelor lay, still fast asleep. The boy, wrapped in his head wrap to hide his true appearance, had been silent all night, only the faint rise and fall of his chest indicating that he was alive. Maelor had yet to speak, and Rickard couldn’t help but worry about the boy’s safety. A prince in hiding, and now this strange companion. How could he protect Maelor in a world full of dangers, especially when one of those dangers seemed to be right in front of him?
Rickard silently gathered his belongings, careful not to disturb the sleeping child. He made his way downstairs and into the tavern’s common area, where a fire still burned in the hearth. The food was already on the table, placed by the same hooded figure from the night before. The man, or whatever he was, sat at the table, still cloaked, his face hidden in shadow. He didn’t look at Rickard or the prince, but Rickard could feel his presence, unsettling and ever-watchful.
The food was warm, the smells faintly tantalizing, but it didn’t ease Rickard’s unease. The man didn’t touch the food. He merely waited, his hands folded on the table, his body unmoving. It was as if he existed solely to watch them.
Rickard felt his pulse quicken, but he didn’t let it show. Instead, he took a seat across from the strange figure, urging Maelor to sit beside him. The boy glanced at the food but didn’t make a move to touch it.
The figure finally broke the silence, looking up from beneath the hood. His voice, when it came, was soft but clear. “Eat,” he said simply, as if it were the most ordinary request in the world. He pushed the food toward them, and Maelor blinked at the warm meal, hesitant. The figure then handed the boy a small vial of liquid, its contents a sickly pale color.
Rickard’s suspicion flared immediately. “What is that?” he demanded, his voice a low growl.
The figure sighed, as though dealing with a minor inconvenience. He dipped his pinky finger into the vial and brought it to his mouth. He didn’t flinch, didn’t show any signs of being affected. “See? No poison,” he said, then handed the vial to Maelor. “It’s nutrition for the boy. He’s small for his age.”
Rickard’s brow furrowed, his suspicion growing. He couldn’t help but glance at the strange man’s hands, noticing the absence of any tremor or hesitation when he’d placed the liquid on his tongue. “You could be lying,” Rickard pressed, his tone sharp. “Prove it. What if you’re using that as a trick?”
The figure sighed again, this time more deeply, as though dealing with an overly inquisitive child. “I’ve already shown you,” he said, his voice tired. He then passed the vial to Maelor, who took it hesitantly and drank the contents. There was a long pause, as if everyone was holding their breath, waiting for the boy to collapse or show some sign of distress.
But Maelor simply blinked, and after a moment, he licked his lips, looking at Rickard with wide eyes. “It’s fine,” he said softly.
Rickard let out a slow breath, though his distrust remained firmly in place. His instincts were screaming at him to be cautious. Still, there was no immediate danger, at least, not from the food or liquid.
The figure nodded as though nothing of consequence had occurred. “Now, eat. You’ll need your strength.”
Rickard gave him a stern look but obeyed, placing a portion of the food on his plate. Maelor hesitantly followed suit, though his eyes never strayed too far from the hooded figure. They ate in silence, though Rickard’s mind was racing, trying to piece together the puzzle of the strange man in front of him. Who was he? What did he want with them?
When the meal was finished, the figure stood, moving gracefully to gather his things. “We leave in a couple minutes,” he said flatly, looking at Rickard and Maelor. “Get your things. We have a long way to go.”
Rickard’s instincts flared again, and his protective nature over Maelor kicked in. He turned to the prince, lowering his voice. “Be cautious, my prince. This man... he’s not what he seems.”
Maelor nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on the strange figure, who was already moving toward the door. Rickard’s gut told him something wasn’t right, but for now, all they could do was follow.
As they gathered their belongings, Rickard couldn’t help but keep his eyes on the hooded figure, wondering if he was making a grave mistake by allowing this man into their lives.
They’d be in Oldtown soon enough, but Rickard couldn’t shake the feeling that their journey had just taken a far darker turn.
Rickard’s eyes narrowed as the strange figure, still cloaked, still enigmatic, settled his payment at the counter and made his way toward the door. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was deeply wrong, but for now, he had no choice but to follow. The journey to Oldtown had been long, and there had been too many strange moments to count, but now, as they mounted their horses and began the ride into the city, Rickard was increasingly aware of how little he truly understood about the hooded figure traveling with them.
His own mount, a sturdy destrier, felt steady beneath him as they made their way through the winding roads. But it was the figure’s horse that caught Rickard’s attention, jet black, unnaturally so. Its coat gleamed as if it had been dipped in shadow, and its eyes, the same unnatural black as its coat, seemed to shimmer with an eerie gleam. At times during the ride, Rickard could have sworn the horse’s eyes had flashed white, and the animal had seemed to grow gaunter, almost otherworldly. The way it moved, fluid and unnatural, sent a chill down his spine.
Yet, despite the strangeness, Rickard kept his focus on their destination. They had finally reached Oldtown, the city of knowledge and old secrets, and the closer they got, the more he felt a gnawing unease. Prince Maelor, still clutching the wrapped egg like it was his most precious possession, rode quietly beside them, his face hidden beneath his head wrap. He looked small and fragile in the saddle, but there was a strength in his posture, something that told Rickard the boy was far more resilient than he seemed.
When they reached the drop-off point, a place where travelers dismounted and waited for their connections in Oldtown, the atmosphere shifted. The city was alive with the bustle of people coming and going, but all Rickard could focus on was the strange behavior of the hooded man.
They halted, and as Rickard glanced around, his gaze landed on Prince Daeron. The young prince, a striking figure with dark hair and a presence that carried the weight of royalty, dismounted his dragon, Tessarion, a dazzling creature with scales that gleamed like polished sapphire. Daeron ran toward his nephew, tears streaming down his face as he embraced the boy. It was a powerful moment, a display of raw emotion that Rickard hadn’t expected in the heart of such a busy city. Maelor, still clutching the egg, was welcomed by his last remaining family with open arms.
The figure behind them jolted in surprise at the sight of the reunion. Rickard caught the slight twitch of the man’s body, as if he hadn’t anticipated this moment. The man stepped forward, his eyes narrowing under the hood as he surveyed the scene with an almost unnatural intensity.
He asked, in a voice that seemed to have lost its usual detached tone, “Who are they?”
Prince Daeron, never one to shy away from his status, looked at the stranger with calm pride. “I am Prince Daeron, the brother of King Aegon,” he said, his voice steady and sure. “And this here is Prince Maelor, the three-year-old son of King Aegon and Queen Helaena.”
The figure’s eyes flicked between the two princes, a strange gleam in his eyes as he processed the information. He asked, in an almost curious tone, “How old are you?”
“Sixteen,” Daeron replied, a hint of pride in his voice. “I’m an adult.”
The hooded figure nodded slowly, his gaze lingering on the two princes for a moment longer. “Sixteen. A child should never be part of wars,” he said softly, almost as if he were speaking to himself.
Rickard furrowed his brow. What did that mean? The remark seemed out of place, almost as though the man wasn’t referring to anything specific at all.
Before Rickard could voice his concerns, the figure moved. The speed was so sudden, so unnatural, that Rickard barely had time to react. In the blink of an eye, the hooded figure was standing before the princes, his hands reaching out to touch both Daeron and Maelor’s shoulders plus Prince Daeron’s mount Tessarion talon. A sharp pop filled the air, like the crack of thunder, and before Rickard could draw breath to warn them, the two princes, along with the man, vanished in an instant.
Rickard stood frozen, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword, but the moment had passed too quickly. They were gone.
His heart raced. What in the seven hells just happened?
The air around him felt charged, as if something was unsettled. The magic, whatever it was that had transported the princes, still hummed in the space where they had just been. He turned slowly, eyes scanning the street, looking for any sign of the cloaked figure, but there was nothing, no sign of the strange man or the princes.
Rickard took a slow breath, trying to calm the chaos in his mind. But one thought remained at the forefront: What was that man? And where did he take them?
As they appeared in the Velvet Mountains, a peculiar sense of awareness tugged at Harry. He could feel the subtle shifting in the air, the familiar hum of magic that surrounded the sanctuary hidden within these mountains. It had been years since he’d visited, but it always seemed to resonate with a kind of calm, until now, that is. Something had shifted. He didn’t know what, but he felt the pull of danger, the weight of something pressing on the edges of his consciousness.
His suspicions only deepened when a figure emerged from the shadows ahead. The young man was about fifteen, with messy brown hair that reached his shoulders, his brown eyes weary beyond his years. The tanned skin of his lean, wiry frame was evidence of many days spent under the sun, and the calloused hands showed he wasn’t unfamiliar with hard work. There was an air of quiet determination about him, though Harry couldn’t help but notice the lack of innocence in his gaze.
“Luke,” Harry greeted, his tone warm. “It’s been a while.”
The young man nodded with a small, cautious smile, his eyes flicking quickly to the group Harry had brought. The moment he caught sight of the pair of dragons, his expression darkened briefly, but it was gone just as quickly.
“I trust you’re not here for trouble,” Luke said, his voice quiet but firm.
“No,” Harry replied, his tone more serious. “I need to use the waypoint in the sanctuary. I suspect the Muggles won’t manage another Apparition without, “ Harry glanced at the group, his gaze settling on the still-wobbly figures of the Muggles who had accompanied them. “, vomiting again.”
Luke’s lips twitched slightly in amusement. “No problem, Harry. You know the way.” He turned toward the sanctuary, his hand gesturing for Harry to follow. “Arrax’s landing nearby, let’s move.”
It only took a moment for the dragon to touch down, its massive wings folding in on itself. The air was still thick with the energy of its arrival when suddenly, there was a violent screech, Daeron’s dragon, Tessarion, had reacted.
The enormous creature flared its wings, letting out a warning growl as it turned toward the newcomer. Harry immediately held up a hand, the calming, melodic hiss of Parseltongue slipping from his lips as he faced the dragon. “Calm, Tessarion. I mean no harm. I’m taking you and your rider to a safe haven, away from the war.”
The dragon’s tension slowly eased, its agitated growl quieting to a low hum as it regarded Harry with cautious eyes. Its nostrils flared, testing the air, but Harry’s presence seemed to steady it.
Daeron, his face pale and stricken, reached down to scoop up Maelor. The boy, still clutching his wrapped dragon egg, squirmed in Daeron’s arms as his uncle tried to move. But Harry wasn’t done.
With a flick of his wrist, vines erupted from the earth, twisting and twining around Daeron’s legs, binding him in place with a forceful but controlled grip. Daeron grunted, pulling futilely against the vines. Harry simply sighed, as if this were another day in the life, and addressed Luke.
“How’s everything here?” Harry asked nonchalantly, turning to the young man.
“Everything’s fine. The usual stuff. You know... quiet. But, uh, the war’s getting closer to us.” Luke’s words trailed off, the unspoken weight of the conflict hanging in the air.
“Good,” Harry said. “Keep it that way.”
Then, without missing a beat, Harry turned back to Daeron, who had now begun to struggle against the vines more intensely. Harry didn’t wait for Daeron to make a last move. With another wave of his hand, he muttered “Pertrificus Totalus!”
The spell hit its target instantly, freezing Daeron in place. Harry walked over and, bending slightly, gently scooped Maelor from Daeron’s arms. The boy was small, too small, for his age, and Harry couldn’t help but feel a slight pang of sympathy for him. He was not meant for this life, not at all.
Carefully, he dragged Daeron over to the waypoint, still frozen in his paralyzed state, and stepped through the shimmering threshold into the Velvet Hills. The moment they arrived on the other side, Harry practically tossed Daeron into Aegon’s waiting arms. Aegon caught him with surprising ease, though his face twisted in confusion at the sudden arrival.
“I’m sorry for the quick return,” Harry said, his voice soft but urgent. “But we needed to get here.”
Aegon opened his mouth to protest, but Harry was already stepping back through the waypoint. Maelor, still in his arms, had barely stirred in his sleep, wrapped tightly in Harry’s cloak. Harry gently transferred the child to Helaena, apologizing once again.
“I’ll explain everything later,” Harry murmured, then turned to head back through the waypoint, quickly closing the distance between himself and the others. He stepped through just as the waypoint flickered behind him, reappearing on the other side.
Turning to face Tessarion, Harry spoke quietly in Parseltongue again. “Come, Tessarion. You’re safe now. I will guide you through.”
The dragon, with a hesitant step, followed Harry through the shimmering threshold, its wings slightly drooping as it passed into the hidden sanctuary. As the two of them passed, Harry offered a short explanation to the beast, though it probably didn’t understand much beyond the calm assurance in his voice.
“The Velvet Hills. It’s hidden, through the waypoint, and it’s a second safe haven, for now. Stay here, and let the world outside move on without us.”
Harry turned, and with a final flick of his cloak, the waypoint closed behind him, leaving the others back in confusion and wonder. It was always a delicate balance to maintain, but Harry had learned long ago how to stay ahead of the game.