Chapter 429 - bh

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A Discordant Note by Noodlehammer

 Harry Potter & A song of Ice and Fire Xover Rated: M, English, Words: 351k+, Favs: 9k+, Follows: 9k+, Published: Aug 13, 2018 Updated: Sep 20  7,139Chapter 18: A shockingly brief storm

Ericaldrius – I loved Borderlands 1 and 2, but Borderlands 3 is pure garbage in my opinion. Granted, this might have been influenced by my hatred of the publisher's scummy business practices, weird social engineering agendas and the general stupidity that mainstream gaming as a whole has descended into, but the fact remains that I wouldn't touch any of their games again even if you paid me to.

Penne Pastel – I don't know. The bigger question is why do whiny little bitches like you cry 'misogyny' whenever they come across something they personally disagree with? Only a woman could be so worthless as to use that as the answer to everything (there, I put in some actual misogyny to validate your hollow existence, because I'm a nice guy).

Credit for being an awesome beta goes to Joe Lawyer.

XXXXX

26th day of the 3rd moon, 281 AC. Harrenhal.

It was a small thing that did it in the end, as it often was.

Oberyn made some kind of quip about Eddard Stark's not-so-subtle crush on Ashara Dayne, which got the overly stoic teenager flustered, which then sent his brothers, Robert Baratheon, Hagen and Brok into roaring laughter. None of these men were particularly quiet and their laughter easily reached Aerys' ears.

The king, being both tremendously narcissistic and insanely paranoid, immediately assumed that all those powerful men were laughing at him as they plotted his doom. Consumed by irrational fear, he ordered his Kingsguard to seize them all without a moment's thought for the consequences.

XXXXX

Tywin had a lifetime of practice at hiding his emotions, so nothing showed on his face as he entered Harrenhal's kitchens.

What was a high lord like him doing in the kitchens? Chasing Angmar's unpredictable Witch-Queen, who had decided to help cook instead of watching the joust. When questioned on why someone of her station would do this, she simply said that it was because 'all those boys will be hungry after playing at war'.

Many a knight's pride had been dented by that one and Tywin was secretly amused, even as he scoffed at how she lowered herself to perfoming the duties of servants. Still, it made pinning the elusive sorceress down for a conversation quite the hassle. Thus far, he had heard that she had spent hours helping out in the stables and chatting with an absolutely terrified stable boy, playing with the smallfolk children, feeding the castle's bats, suggesting to the castle septon that he take a swim in the God's Eye to 'cool off' and then proceeding to take her clothes off right in front of him and do so herself after he refused,...

For most of these activities, she ended up dragging along whichever noble was speaking to her, most often Oberyn Martell, Robert Baratheon or one of the Starks, but sometimes it would be whichever hapless lord or lady was nearby. This time she had taken along her most frequent victim, Queen Rhaella.

What a bizarre woman, and his conversations with Lady Adrastia only served to tell him that she was odd by Angmari reckoning as well. Her advice was to simply play along, because expecting her to behave normally was futile.

Tywin would have scoffed at that, knowing how the world had a way of beating down anyone who didn't conform to it, but he supposed things were different if you were an immortal magic user.

To have such power...House Lannister would have reigned supreme for all eternity.

"L-Lord Hand!" One of the cooks exclaimed fearfully upon spotting him.

That reminded Tywin that his term holding that office was almost over, which reminded him of why it was almost over, which briefly pulled an angry scowl onto his face before he mastered himself. Damned Aerys and damned Jaime. Fools, both of them.

Tywin ignored the terrified cooks and strode towards the two extremely out of place women.

"Lord Lannister." Queen Rhaella greeted politely. There was a kitchen knife in her hands and her eyes were puffy from cutting up onions.

"Your Grace." He returned with equal cordiality.

"Hello!" The sorceress chirped cheerfully. "Did you come to help out in the kitchens, too?"

"No, Your Grace, I came to speak to you." Tywin replied calmly, reminding himself that she hadn't meant that as the slight that it sounded like to him.

"Well, we can talk while we work, and please call me Luna." The enormous woman said, gesturing to the spot next to her, which had recently been vacated by a frightened cook.

"Luna, high lords do not cook." Rhaella said in exasperation.

"Well if he wants to just stand there awkwardly then that's fine too, I guess." The seven foot woman shrugged.

Tywin's face twitched, feeling as if he had been insulted.

Rhaella sighed, a fond smile briefly curling her lips before she once more turned to face the lord of the Westerlands. "Apologies, Lord Lannister. As you might have noticed, Luna cares littler for the proprieties of the Seven Kingdoms."

"Indeed." He replied neutrally.

"Soooo, what did you want to talk about?" The sorceress asked, still having her back turned to him as she continued working.

Tywin was insulted again, but, seeing as he wanted something from this woman, he ignored it. He did not forget it, however. He never forgot a slight, no matter how small. "Your Grace-"

"Luna." She instantly corrected.

"Luna." He agreed. "I wished to speak to you regarding important matters between our Houses."

"Harry or Adrastia usually handle that stuff." The sorceres admitted.

But Tywin would not be deterred. "I have already spoken to Lady Adrastia and she referred me to you, and your husband is apparently unavailable."

"Alright, I guess." The dreaded Witch-Queen of Angmar pouted. Pouted! "What did you want to talk about?"

"Lady Adrastia mentioned that you might have recovered my family's ancestral Valyrian steel blade during your expedition to the home of the dragonlords." He went straight to the point.

"Oh, that thing." Luna said, putting down her knife and finally turning around to face him, spreading her hands a certain distance apart. "A greatsword about this big, pommel in the shape of a golden lion head, red hilt with gold accents?"

"That does sound like Brightroar." Tywin nodded, hiding his eagerness. "I would trade for its return to my family."

"If it was up to me I would just give it to you, seeing as we don't have any use for it." Luna admitted, returning to her cooking. "But Harry doesn't like it when I hand out his stuff for free."

Yes, Tywin could imagine how a man might be displeased to have his wife simply giving away priceless objects like that. He still remembered his own rage at his father's careless generosity and how it had nearly driven House Lannister to ruin. He could respect a man that knew the value of what he had, even if it was inconvenient for him at the moment.

"What would be acceptable in trade for it, then?"

He would have offered gold, but his talks with Lady Adrastia had already confirmed the rumors that the Raven Lord did not value gold at all.

"I don't know." Luna shrugged.

Rhaella chuckled, but did not comment.

Tywin frowned at the unhelpful response. It was becoming clear to him why the sorceress did not engage in negotiations.

"Perhaps a marriage and lands?" He tried. "I have a son, Tyrion. He is a dwarf, but still a Lannister. If he wed a woman from Angmar, Brightroar could be given as a dowry and I would give them ownership of either Castamere or Tarbeck Hall and the surrounding land."

That would be an excellent solution to him, as it would bring one of those ruined but rich lands back into the fold under Lannister control, get him Brightroar and get some use out of the dwarf. He would even pay for the restoration of the castle.

True, it would mean that Brightroar would be given to Tyrion, but he was sure he would be able to get it away from him.

But Luna immediately shook her head in denial. "We don't do arranged marriages in Angmar. You could send Tyrion to stay as a guest in Dol Guldur and see what happens, but arranged marriages are a big no-no."

That sounded awfully uncertain to Tywin. Truly, he did not understand why the Angmari had such an aversion to arranged marriages. Disgust at being offered a dwarf as a husband at least made sense.

"It does not bother you that Tyrion is a dwarf?" He asked instead of dwelling on that.

"Why would it?" Luna shrugged again.

Tywin could name a great many reasons. Still, even if it didn't help him get Brightroar back, this did present an opportunity to get rid of the dwarf without insulting anyone or becoming a kinslayer, and he would get some use out of him as well. Yes, sending him to the frozen roof of the world, out of sight and out of mind, seemed like a more excellent solution the more he considered it.

"I would also be more than happy to look after Joanna's son." Rhaella added wistfully. The two had been friends. "And he is of an age to be fostered if memory serves."

He was just opening his mouth to speak further when Luna suddenly stiffened and straightened up to her full height, the knife clattering forgotten to the ground. Her previously casual demeanor vanished, replaced by a sense of such raw power that Tywin found himself taking a step back without even realizing it.

"Luna?" Rhaella asked worriedly. "What is it?"

A rumble of thunder shook the walls. The sound was muted by the stone around them, but had clearly originated from nearby.

Tywin frowned in puzzlement. There had been nothing but clear skies for days.

XXXXX

"We should not be doing this." Jaime muttered.

"That just makes it more exciting." Adrastia teased, 'accidentally' poking at a bruise on his chest and delighting in his hiss of pain.

They were in his tent, Jaime having just taken off his armor after being knocked out of the lists by Ser Oswell Whent. Theoretically, they could be caught at any moment. Practically, the spells she'd cast on the tent before entering would prevent it from happening, as well as blocking the passage of sound either in or out.

This was the first time they would be together since the king's arrival, Adrastia giving him the excuse of wanting to comfort him after his loss. In truth, she'd spent the past eight or so days winding him up in a vaiety of ways and was now essentially pouncing on her wounded prey. The 'one last time before we part' aesthetic would give it more impact.

"But..." He protested, only to be silenece with a steamy kiss.

"Shhhh, just let me take care of everything." She whispered hotly into his ear and directed him to lay on his back.

But before they could get busy, the air suddenly seemed to thicken. Pressure built up and the day visibly darkened even through the thick material of the tent. A deafening peal of thunder roared directly above, ignoring the sound-blocking ward.

Adrastia and Jaime both peeked out of the tent, disregarding any concerns about being caught, and stared upwards at the roiling black clouds.

The storm had formed far too fast to be natural and there was no mistaking the feeling of presence. The panicked running of people and the vast murder of ravens and crows approaching from all directions was also distinctily unnatural.

"Uh oh." Adrastia said softly, knowing intuitively that Harry was terribly angry.

XXXXX

A little earlier…

There was a moment of utter silence as everyone processed the fact that the king had just ordered the arrest of a Lord Paramount, a prince of Dorne, all the Stark children and important guests from their neighbor to the north. For no apparent reason. Under guest rights.

Then chaos erupted. People all but flung themselves away from the group in a desperate effort to not get involved, women shrieked and all smallfolk in the vicinity ran for the hills. The Kingsguard advanced to obey their king's command, blank-faced and nearly robotic. Hagen and Brok brandished the weapons that they had absolutely refused to part with, no matter how many times they were told that is was discourteous and unnecessary carry them around everywhere, while Robert Baratheon, the Starks and Oberyn Martell cursed themselves for having nothing bigger than daggers on them.

Prince Rhaegar had been preparing for his own turn in the joust and had to waddle forward somewhat awkwardly in the extra heavy jousting armor that was not really meant to be walked in.

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!" He roared over the panicked yelling of the bystanders. "KINGSGUARD! STAND DOWN!"

"ARREST HIM, TOO!" Aerys shrieked and cackled. "ARREST ALL THE TRAITORS!"

The Mad King had been forcibly calmed down by Luna or stealth Imperio'd into sensibility by Adrastia so many times over the past few days that finally getting to act on his paranoia and sadistic impulses was a massive relief. Given the fact that burning people alive had started to arouse him in recent years, it wouldn't be incorrect to say that he'd been getting blue-balled.

Although their duty was to protect and obey all of the royal family, the king was still the highest authority to the Kingsguard, so they had to obey no matter how insane the orders were. And it got worse, as several other knights also moved to do as he said in an effort to curry favor.

The stands made the situation even more awkward. Footwork was made difficult and escaping to call for Luna was impossible.

"I don't suppose you have some magic that would be of help here?" Oberyn asked tightly, eyes roving back and forth as the Kingsguard approached from both sides.

"If we were in a forest they wouldn't know up from down." Hagen replied grimly, tightening his grip on his warhammer. "Out here in the open, though? No."

"I was afraid you would say that." The Dornish prince sighed.

"Drop your weapons and come quietly." The Lord Commander ordered flatly.

"Fuck that!" Robert spat back angrily, knuckles white around the hilt of his dagger.

The others all agreed with the sentiment. Under no circumstances were they willing to be the Mad King's prisoners for any length of time. Some of that was pride and some of it was the lunatic's sheer unpredictability. There was no guarantee that they would be treated appropriately for their station. In fact, the opposite was highly likely. Moreover, none of them had a solid grasp on the full extent of Luna's power and weren't willing to risk being used as hostages against her.

"Uncle Lewyn, Ser Arthur, this is madness." Oberyn adressed the two knights in white that he knew best. "Surely you must see that this will cause a war that will tear the realm apart?"

"Our duty is to protect and obey the king, not question him." Ser Gerold cut in hollowly, not giving his subordinates a chance to speak and – in his mind – tarnish the honor of the Kingsguard.

Brok scoffed in disgust, but it was Hagen who spoke. "Now I see what Grandfather meant when he said you were the worst kind of slaves. Killing you will be a mercy."

Oswell Whent and Jonothor Darry had been closest to Prince Rhaegar when the order to seize him came and had reluctantly obeyed. With Jaime otherwise engaged in his tent, that left four of the Kingsguard to arrest the group of six men and two women.

All else being equal, Hagen's threat would have had more weight to it. As it was, he and his brother were the only ones properly armed, but still unarmored as they faced off against the finest knights of the Seven Kingdoms while having to protect those behind them. Brandon, Robert, Ned and Oberyn wanted to fight as well despite their woefully inadequate armament, but space was limited and they were essentially relegated to guarding the flanks that no one was intending to attack.

Oh, and there were more knights coming to back up the three Kingsguard, smelling an easy victory. That included a few archers. The situation was altogether grim.

And then it got worse.

"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?! ATTACK!" Aerys bellowed impatiently.

Having already been stretching the boundaries of their oaths to the limit, the knights of the Kingsguard moved.

The lack of room to maneuver favored heavy weapons of the sort used by Hagen and Brok, brutal things designed to smash through defenses rather than get around them. If they had their armor, the knights would have had a devil of a time trying to fight them like this, but they didn't have their armor and swords were excellent against unarmored opponents as well as having more range.

There was also the unseen factor of Gerold Hightower's and Barristan Selmy's longstanding grudge against Angmar. They had never forgiven either themselves or Harry for the loss of Queen Rhaella. Even if she was much better off in Dol Guldur than at the Red Keep, they had only learned that recently and the resentment had festered for years. As fortune would have it, they were the ones at the front while Arthur Dayne and Lewyn Martell clambered onto higher ground.

A few probing attacks with the points of their swords, a swing of axe and hammer, a dodge and a thrust before balance could be regained was all it took to end the fight.

XXXXX

Astral Plane.

Harry became aware of it mere moments before it happened.

Most of his focus was to the east, on his struggle against R'hllor. As a god, he should be aware of all things that happened within the realm of his influence, but he was deliberately keeping his focus narrow instead of splitting it into countless fragments. It was what let him choose his agents in the material world wisely, gave him an edge over the fire god's brute force approach and allowed him to slow down the dilution of his soul.

The situation in Westeros had been stable. Luna and Adrastia had Aerys mostly contained. What glimpses of the future he could see gave no hint about the danger to his grandsons.

Harry abruptly became aware of a distinct smugness coming from the Seven and understood. There hadn't been any danger to his grandsons, until suddenly there was. Aerys was a staunch believer in the Seven and insane to boot. His actions and possible actions were shrouded to him at the best of times. When the multi-part god wanted to hide something about the man, he was as good as invisible.

He had been ignoring the Seven, deeming the creature to be a minor threat that could be dealt with at leisure. Problem was, it suffered from the same basic lack of understanding of humanity as R'hllor. The Seven did not grasp that prodding Aerys towads murdering his grandsons would backfire horribly, just as most of its followers did not understand that direct action against the Old Gods religion would only empower it since they lacked the force to destroy it outright. Nobody in this world had ever heard of Machiavelli's caution against dealing your enemies a small injury.

The moment of time before his grandsons would be killed stretched on infinitely. Harry could not act directly, nor could he contact anyone to act on his behalf. Even Luna would not be fast enough. His current existence may not be fully beholden to the linear progression of time, but it was not fully outside of it either. There was nothing he could do.

For the first time in a very long time, Harry found himself being helpless and it was infuriating. Further, this pseudo-ascension of his had taken millions of tiny pick axes to the wall of ice around his heart. His followers in the east believed him to be a compassionate god and most of the souls in the weirwoods had family they loved in life. He was literally incapable of being numb to loss in his current state.

It hurt to feel the life leak out his grandsons, to feel their souls join him in the weirwoods, flash briefly in recognition before letting go and fading into the whole.

The hurt was quickly followed by rage, rage which pulled everyone with even a hint of talent for the Greensight that happened to be within a few miles of a weirwood into a vision of what had happened. That notably included all of his offspring, who were every bit as aggrieved and furious as him.

XXXXX

As Hagen and Brok fell, the air seemed to thicken, muting the screams from Lyanna, Gerd and the various panicking bystanders.

The Kingsguard froze, their well-honed instincts screaming that there was danger everywhere. Robert, Brandon, Ned and Oberyn sensed it as well and closed ranks even further, looking around wildly.

The clear skies darkened in a matter of seconds, casting all of Harrenhal in shadow that felt darker than it should. Lightning flashed in the black clouds above and thunder followed soon after, loud enough to make the ears ring painfully.

"Get the king inside!" Ser Gerold Hightower bellowed, abandoning any notion of completing his orders in the face of the massive threat he could feel.

The other Kingsguard was quick to move, retreating back to their charge. Ser Oswell and Ser Jonothor dragged a protesting Rhaegar with them.

They didn't quite make it before the skies above Harrenhal were blotted out by innumerable screeching ravens and crows. The tide of black birds dive-bombed towards the now terrified Aerys in an attempt to tear him to pieces. The Kingsguard had to push him to the ground and huddle over him as they dragged the gibbering monarch into the castle. Their armor kept them safe from the worst of it, but none of them got out completely unscathed.

Even once they got away, the ravens and crows didn't stop screeching. More and more of them arrived, filling up every spare bit of space and circling the skies.

The Starks and friends huddled close together around the bodies of their fallen, silent except for Gerd's crying.

The birds abruptly quieted when Luna arrived, a very subdued Rhaella at her side. Tywin had split off from them the moment he was told what had happened and was already giving orders to prepare for a return to the Westerlands.

The ancient witch knelt sadly beside the bodies of her grandsons. They weren't her blood, but she had loved them all the same and losing them hurt.

"Granny!" Gerd wailed, looking at her with desperation. "You can heal them, right?"

But Luna could only shake her head. If they had been merely badly injured she could have saved them, but the Kingsguard were not called the greatest knights in the Seven Kingdoms for nothing. Striking an instantly fatal blow against unarmored opponents who were significantly less experienced than them was child's play. The two demi-giants had been dead almost before they hit the ground.

"We're going home." She declared softly, but with unmistakable finality.

"Aerys has gone too far this time." Oberyn said grimly. "There will be war."

"Damn right." Robert growled in agreement. "I'm going to bash that mad fucker's head in. Ned! We need to find Jon and tell him to call his banners."

"Aye." The Quiet Wolf nodded grimly.

Luna didn't say anything, just called the Nimbus Cloud and loaded Hagen and Brok's bodies onto it. She knew that they were right, there was no way that Havel was going to just let go of the fact that his sons had been murdered, nor would any of his brothers. She didn't approve of such widespread violence, but it wasn't her place to tell people how to live their lives.

Besides, even if she went against her nature and killed Aerys and the Kingsguard herself it probably wouldn't achieve anything. Maybe delay things for a few years or decades while confusing it further. Plus, Havel was going to want to make an example of Aerys and wouldn't be happy if she denied him his revenge.

"The madman has my sister and niece to use as a hostage against us." Oberyn said darkly. "Lady Luna, I beg of you to help me return them to Dorne where they belong."

Ser Oswell and Ser Jonothor had grabbed Elia while they were fleeing from thetide of carrion birds with Rhaegar. Not that they had anything to worry about, as none of the birds had approached them.

Luna blinked as if waking up from sleep and nodded at him. "Come with us and we'll grab them on the way back." Elia and Rhaenys were dear to her as well and she wouldn't have left them around Aerys either way, not after this.

"Thank you." Oberyn exhaled with relief.

Feathers fluttered loudly as the birds parted to let another approach.

"Ah, so that's what happened." Adrastia sighed, looking upon the bodies of Harry's grandsons with worry in her eyes.

Their loss didn't pain her the way it did Luna. She was a thoroughly selfish woman that didn't really form human attachments well, and that was back in her twenties. Time had only served to make her more 'herself' as it scraped away the rough edges from her soul, leaving behind a smooth and featureless sphere of personality. Harry and Luna were the only two people she could be said to have any attachment to, due to the sheer amount of time they had spent in each other's company.

No, Adrastia's thoughts were not on grief or revenge, but on fear. She was supposed to have been keeping an eye on Aerys and using her immense mastery of the Imperius Curse to keep this exact situation from happening. She had decided to have some fun with Jaime instead, figuring that she could afford to take a little break and have a brief, steamy tryst with the boy before coming back. She wasn't going to be gone for more than an hour or so. What kind of absurd bad luck was this?

Luna was pretty much a saint and wouldn't exact any punishment for even this bad a screw up, or mention it at all for that matter, but Harry definitely would. The only bright side was the fact that he couldn't do anything until he came back from playing at being a god and his anger would thus have time to cool. Hopefully, her centuries of loyal and competent service would offset the worst of it.

With everyone gathered, they quickly set off. Robert, Brandon and Eddard were the only ones that elected not to go with Luna, citing the need to talk to Jon Arryn and get their respective entourages moving.

Tywin Lannister was also quick to organize a retreat back to the Westerlands for his family, leaving his son behind with extreme reluctance, but he simply could not be seen to be blatantly violating the customs of the Seven Kingdoms and too many people had seen a white cloak draped around Jaime's shoulders.

None of them were particularly concerned with any further outbursts from Aerys. The ominous black clouds above, roiling angrily with constant flashes of lightning and booms of thunder, and the malicious stares of thousands of ravens and crows kept everyone cowering inside Harrenhal.

The handful of Ironborn that had been present at the tourney gibbered fearfully about the Storm God, but were for the most part ignored by the mainland nobles.

XXXXX

Later that day.

It had been hours and Rhaegar still could not believe how quickly things had spiralled out of control. Just this morning he had been thinking of how to propose to his mother the idea of Visenya being fostered with him and Elia, now they were on the brink of war and his father had imprisoned him and Elia in their chambers.

Was this the will of fate? Would war with Angmar somehow end with Visenya and Aegon being brought together? How did his father's paranoid suspicions fit into it?

Such thoughts plagued Rhaegar's mind while his wife sat on the bed and watched him pace the room.

Then the door opened and it wasn't the servants bringing them dinner.

"Elia!" Oberyn cried as he rushed towards his sister.

"Oberyn!" She cried back and hugged him tightly. "I was so worried!"

"Luna," Rhaegar greeted cautiously, spotting the tall sorceress in the doorway. "Why are you here?"

"Oh, we're just picking up Elia before going to King's Landing for Rhaenys and then delivering them safely to Dorne." She said, lacking her usual good cheer. "Do you want to come along? I don't think your father is very safe to be around right now."

That was undeniably true, especially with the contempt Father had shown towards Elia and Rhaenys in the past. Still, this was not something he could allow.

"Elia is my wife, the crown princess of the Seven Kingdoms. You cannot simply take her away." He argued.

"And how do you propose to stop us?" Oberyn asked, far more insolently than was the norm even for him.

"Oberyn!" Elia hissed, staring wide-eyed at her brother.

Rhaegar had to admit it was a good question. He could see the guards at the door staring blankly ahead, clearly under some form of enchantment, and his own martial skill would be woefully inadequate to fend off a witch of Luna's power.

"You know that my father will declare war on Dorne if you do this?" He questioned.

"Your father will be lucky if Dorne does not declare war on him for attempting to arrest me." Oberyn retorted angrily. "And he will have more pressing concerns to worry about very soon. Havel the Rock is already mustering an army to take vengeance for his murdered sons, and all of his brothers will support him."

Rhaegar felt ice crawl up his spine. It had only been a few hours, how was Angmar already mustering armies? That damnable flying cloud, it had to be. It was too fast, far faster than a raven. Had it not been so far away, the Seven Kingdoms might have been defeated before they even had a chance call their banners.

"So, are you coming?" Luna prompted, unaffected by the tension in the room.

"I...cannot." Rhaegar sighed. "Despite my father's actions, I have a duty to my family. And it is because of duty that I must ask you not to take Elia away from me, at least not yet. She has not yet given me an heir."

Oberyn's expression grew thunderous, while Elia merely looked sad.

"Elia is already pregnant." Luna obliterated the tension. "I don't know what gender the baby is, though."

"I am?" Elia asked in shock, getting a nod from the much bigger woman. "My moonsblood is late, but I was not certain..."

All the pieces now fell into place in Rhaegar's mind and he suddenly knew how events had to play out.

"I see." He sighed in relief, absolutely convinced that his Aegon was already on the way. "Then all is well. Take Elia back to Dorne with my blessing, they will be safe there."

"Rhaegar..." Elia murmured, hearing the goodbye in his tone.

Rhaegar smiled at her before looking towards Luna again. "My lady, you have told me before that your husband was once a king?"

"Uh huh." Luna nodded and cocked her head to the side curiously.

"Then could I ask that, after this war is over, my son be fostered with him? It will secure the peace once the fighting is done and prepare him for his destiny."

It all made perfect sense. Aegon would be the Prince That Was Promised. To that end, he would need the best training, and who better to raise him than one who had ruled for centuries before handing over power to his son? Not only that, but it would also place him in the same household as Visenya, allowing fate to bring them together. Rhaegar doubted he would live to see it, but he was more relieved to have finally found his role to play than he was afraid.

XXXXX

The war that some clever maester with a fondness of wordplay would later name 'The Avalanche' began on a confusing note.

After the disappearance of Princess Elia from Harrenhal and Princess Rhaenys from the Red Keep – and their subsequent reappearance in Sunspear on the very same day – Prince Rhaegar abruptly shed his bardic image and became a driven military general. After a period of suspicion, King Aerys allowed his son to take control of the war effort against the expected invasion from Angmar.

Mustering men for the war effort was a frustrating endeavor for both sides. Unlike his father, Prince Rhaegar was well regarded and could gather support fairly easily, even if he was doing it in his father's name. Unfortunately for him, this was stymied by the fact that Aerys had attempted to arrest the lords, heirs or other important family members of no less than three Houses Paramount, two of whom had close ties to yet another two, and this was in addition to his main offense of provoking Angmar, all of it for no discernable reason whatsoever. In fact, aside from the Faith of the Seven, to whom Aerys had been quite generous over the years and who had religious reason to oppose anything Angmar was after, the crown could lay claim to very little unstinting support.

When Tywin Lannister received the command to muster his armies, he did so...but only a quarter of them, and he kept them doing training drills near the border between the Westerlands and the Riverlands. It was a gamble, but he was hoping that Jaime's inexperience with leading a war and Aerys' paranoia would keep him safely inside the Red Keep where he could act as both a knight of the Kingsguard and a hostage. With a little luck, his son would survive the war and he could join whichever side looked to be winning.

The Riverlands noted this and became very nervous, not knowing what the ruthless Old Lion intended. Hoster Tully had been at Harrenhal when it had happened and his daughter was to marry Brandon Stark, but many of his bannermen refused to turn against the king, either because of their oaths or because they didn't want to ally with Angmar. He was paralyzed dealing with these internal issues and grimly resigned to the fact that his lands would once more become a battlefield. That was the doom of being situated right in the middle of everything.

Jon Arryn in the Vale was experiencing similar problems. The knights of the Vale were renowned for their honor and weren't eager to break their oaths to the Iron Throne. Then there was the additional issue of religion and many lords equating Angmar with the mountain clans that constantly troubled them. Robert, Brandon and Ned had made their way to the Vale with Jon Arryn, intending to use the port in Gulltown to sail for their respective homelands. Unfortunately, the miniature civil war that erupted over the issue of which side to take in the coming war kept them grounded for a long while.

The Reach was...surprinsingly unified. Usually they were the second most politically divided region of the Seven Kingdoms after the Riverlands, but in this case very few of them put up any kind of fuss. This was largely due to the fact that the Faith of the Seven was strongest there and because Angmar had indirectly hit them in the profit margins by trading with the North. Adrastia also hadn't gotten the opportunity to mess with Mace Tyrell too much, as the man was surprisingly loyal to his wife despite being a dimwit. That his mother hovered over his shoulder almost the entire time also helped.

Dorne was doing essentially the same thing as the Westerlands; rattling sabers along their border and making the Reach nervous. They had no real intention of supporting anyone except for Elia's children, but didn't tell that to anyone.

The Stormlands were less divided than the Riverlands or the Vale, but they were also the least informed kingdom. Word from Harrenhal was conflicted and confusing, so the lords of the land did nothing more than argue with each other. Violence would not erupt until Robert arrived, at which point the young lord would have to subdue his own bannermen before he could act.

Much to Rhaegar's shock, the Iron Islands actually sent a strong force to fight at his side. Quellon Greyjoy didn't really want to do that. Indeed, he was more inclined to join up with the rebels. Unfortunately, it had become an established fact around the Iron Islands that the Sorcerer of Dol Guldur hated them, as they had eventually cottoned on to the fact that every single raid they sent into 'Old God territory' would be somehow foiled. Coupled with his raven connection and display at Harrenhal, the superstitious pirates became convinced that he was the Storm God made flesh and thus an enemy to be fought at all costs.

Beyond the Wall, Havel and his brothers had their own problems. Unlike the feudal system of the Seven Kingdoms, they couldn't simply conscript people into an army. That wasn't how their society worked. Instead, a call for volunteers had to be sent out.

This still got them plenty of willing fighters, but the muster was slow despite the fact that it started happening almost immediately after Hagen and Brok were killed. After all, it was the tail end of winter in a land where the only seasons were winter, extra winter and super winter.

Other logistical issues were a pain as well.

The first was related to the mustering itself and the fact that about five hundred or so women had volunteered in addition to the men. Personal experience had taught them that the vast majority of these women were likely to chicken out, get pregnant before the fighting started, or discover that war wasn't as fun as they thought it would be after the first battle. It was swiftly decided that having a few extra fighters wasn't worth the chaos that women caused with their mere presence when they were part of an armed fighting force. There were some accusations tossed around about them acting just like 'the southron lordlings' when they barred the women from joining the army, but they refused to budge on the issue.

Food rations weren't much of a problem, as they had been stockpiled for literally decades. The endless winter never allowed the Angmari to forget that their home would kill them if they took it lightly, so they put squirrels to shame with their hoarding ever since the option had become available.

Weapons and armor were somewhat more scarce, but there was still plenty to go around. Not everyone was happy about having a King-Beyond-the-Wall that was actually something more than just the leader of a huge raiding party and raiders were a fact of life for anyone living in what was considered to be Angmar.

The real issue was transportation. Pulling a cart through the True North was an exercise in futility, the snows were simply too deep. Sleighs worked much better, but would useless once they made it south. The solution they came up with was for Garm and Grond – being in charge of Hardhome and Skagos, respectively – to use their fleets of ships to move the more unwieldy parts of their baggage train into the Gift while the main army passed through the Wall on foot.

Of course, the Night's Watch and the North weren't terribly enthused about this plan...

XXXXX

12th day of the 7th moon, 281 AC. The North, Winterfell.

Rickard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, resisted the urge to groan in frustration.

"I understand your grievance, my lady, truly I do, but I cannot allow a foreign army free passage through my lands." He said.

"I can assure you that we will not approach any of your settlement or castles, there will be no raiding or harrassment of your people, and any supplies we might need will be paid for with gold or otherwise fairly bartered for." Velka promised, flapping her wings slightly to brace against the wind.

"Be that as it may, my bannermen will never tolerate such a thing. Though relations between our peoples have improved greatly over the past decades, it is not yet to the point where my people could feel comfortable having an Angmari army in their lands." Rickard argued back.

"Then why not join with us so that you could keep us in sight?" Velka proposed reasonably. "The madman attempted to take your children captive as well, and would have surely had them executed before long. You cannot possibly be at ease serving such a king."

Indeed, Benjen and Lyanna were both pushing for war here, Brandon and Ned were doing so in the Vale and his bannermen were ready to go avenge that insult as well, but the truth was that if people didn't know for certain that Angmar was going to war, then there would be no war. The only ones to have died were two men that had little to no connection to the power games between the noble Houses of the Seven Kingdoms.

Still there were other considerations. He and Havel were friends and may be family one day if Benjen and Gerd were to marry. Luna had surely saved his children from the grim fate that Velka had mentioned. Honor demanded that he act, but if the North went to war against the Iron Throne at Angmar's side...well, Rickard honestly didn't know what the full consequences of that would be. Internal wars in the Seven Kingdoms were common enough, but Angmar was an outsider despite being part of Westeros. Aegon's Conquest and the Andal Invasion were the last two such occurences and both had heralded great change.

"I am not at ease." He admitted, answering Velka after a long moment of consideration. "And it is likely that war is unavoidable if what I have been hearing from the south is true, in which case I would not turn aside an alliance with Angmar. Still, there remains the issue of the Night's Watch. I have no authority over them and I doubt Lord Commander Qorgyle will be willing to allow you passage."

Rickard would foreverafter swear that he saw the giant crow smile at him, despite her beak not allowing for such a thing.

"I am certain that we will be able to come to an agreement." Velka said confidently.

XXXXX

What Rickard Stark didn't know was that Adrastia had been subtly suborning the Night's Watch through economics. An order like theirs needed things and were optimally positioned to act as the main land-based trading hub between the North and Angmar.

Logistics got the denizens of the True North past the Wall where brute force had so often failed. Lord Commander Qorgyle was convinced to open the gates with a mixture of veiled threats, bribery, promises of good behavior and just a touch of the Imperius.

Logistics was also the main topic on the minds of Harry's sons as they led their army of fifteen thousand volunteers southwards. Or their disgust at how badly it was being handled by the Northmen at any rate.

Harry was a man born in a more technologically advanced age, where everything was regulated to a downright pedantic degree. He may loathe the bloated bureaucracy of his early days – which he was convinced had contributed heavily to the downfall of their civilization – but he would never dispute the need for organization. His sons had been drilled mercilessly on the importance of it.

As men of the feudal age, the lords of the North...hadn't. Not by his standards.

The Umbers were the first to encounter the descending Angmari army, being the hold closest to the Wall.

Greatjon Umber was a loud and proud man, unafraid to shout his opinion and challenge people. Black Iron Tarkus –having joined his brothers via the secret mirror portals Harry had set up to connect his far flung children to Dol Guldur – was bigger, louder and twice as brash.

"The fuck are your men doing?!" Tarkus roared at the smaller man. "Get them up and start packing up our shit!"

It wasn't even dawn yet.

"It's still dark, you fuck!" Greatjon roared back, experiencing the novel sensation of being shorter than someone. "If we don't wait for the sun so that we can see what the fuck we're doing we'll lose half our supplies before we even make it to Winterfell!"

"That's only because you still haven't learned to not just leave shit lying around when we stop for the day!" Tarkus roared some more. "Fucking hell, we even had to teach you to wash your hands after wiping the shit off your ass. How are any of you still alive?!"

To be fair, carrying enough soap to supply an army would be pretty hard without using alchemy to cheat. A few drops of concentrated soap in a large basin was easily enough to service thousands, whereas there probably wasn't enough regular soap in all of the Seven Kingdoms to supply this army for even a month. Still, that didn't change the fact that hygiene among the Northmen had been deplorable and was still far from ideal.

The Angmari, in contrast, did not dare get anywhere close to their food or water supply without scrubbing their hands thoroughly. Some of them might think it was ridiculous, despite having seen proof back home that hygiene drastically lowered the chance of sickness, but none of them doubted that they would get their skulls bashed in if they were caught.

"Then show my men how to do it if it bothers you that much!" Greatjon roared one final time and stormed off. He would never admit it, but it was embarrassing to see his men still getting themselves together while the larger Angmari force waited for them.

"I'll do exactly fucking that!" Tarkus got in the last word. He heard the subtext loud and clear.

Despite the unnecessary volume of the conversation, the two of them actually liked each other.

The formation of Angmar had reduced wildling raids on the North to nearly zero. Why would raiders bother scaling the Wall when they could just go after Angmari villages? The danger was about the same anyway.

Because of this, much of House Umber's hatred for anything coming from beyond the Wall had cooled down as the old guard died. There was still plenty of suspicion – hence why Greatjon had decided to join up with the Angmari army and keep an eye on them – but no personal grudges.

Now having the explicit approval of their lord, Tarkus turned to loom over the man's officers and grinned widely under his bushy salt and pepper beard.

"You heard him, your asses are mine now." He growled menacingly. "By the time we get to the actual fighting, I'm going to have you bunch of pussies beaten into a proper army."

The officers – a collection of lesser nobles sworn to House Umber – shuffled nervously. They were also fairly indignant at being called 'a bunch of pussies' by someone they weren't sure even qualified as a noble, but the extra two feet of height and two hundred kilograms of muscle he had on them kept them quiet.

Tarkus' brothers got in on the action as well, being just as irritated by the lack of organization displayed by the Northmen, especially once they passed Winterfell and their combined numbers swelled to thirty-five thousand.

Unbeknownst to everyone, Harry's influence also helped a great deal in smoothing over tensions. All of them were believers in the Old Gods, which gave him considerable sway over their feelings. He was able to gradually shift the undercurrent between them from [ancient enemies] to [allies of circumstance] now that they had a common enemy and would further shift things into [brothers in arms] as they fought together.

XXXXX

Rhaegar was keenly aware of how precarious his position was. Enemies on all sides, opportunists waiting patiently, unreliable allies...

Thirty thousand men raised from the Crownlands, ten thousand from the Iron Islands and a hundred thousand in the Reach...it was an army large enough to overwhelm any foe, or so it seemed.

In truth, the Ironborn would likely be more trouble than they were worth. They were fierce warriors at sea, but on land they were little better than undisciplined brigands. Just keeping them from preying on the smallfolk everywhere they went would be difficult.

And of the vast numbers from the Reach, most would be peasant levies with no armor or proper weapons. The Reach had some good cavalry, but it was often said that if you put any number of Reachmen against an equal number of men from another kingdom, led by an equally skilled commander, they would almost certainly be defeated.

Rhaegar could block Cousin Robert from raising the armies of the Stormlands by laying siege to Storm's End. He could prevent the Dornish from stabbing him in the back by sending men to guard the Prince's Pass. He could send aid to the loyalists in the Vale and the Riverlands. He could pre-emptively attack the Westerlands before Old Tywin made his move.

He could not, however, do all of these things at once. If he did, then he would lack the numbers to challenge the armies of the North and Angmar.

But then, he wasn't really trying to win. He doubted victory was attainable in the first place, as he knew nothing of Angmar's sorcery or how to counter it. His true intention was merely to give a good accounting of himself so that his son would not be shamed for having an incompetent father, yet not so good that anyone could claim young Aegon's fostering with the Sorcerer of Dol Guldur as a peace offering was unnecessary. It would also be good if casualties could be kept down to a minimum, as those men would no doubt be needed in the fight against the darkness to come.

All this meant that he needed to die heroically while Angmar reaped most of the glory of the victory.

Rhaegar formulated his strategy with these objectives in mind.

First, he took all of the Kingsguard except Jaime Lannister with him, knowing that Tywin would not act against him for fear of Aerys' wrath. Despite that, he also sent s sizable portion of the Reach army to guard the Ocean Road, ostensibly to prevent the Old Lion from circling around out of the south to take them in the back. In truth, it was more of a subtle way of insinuating that Tywin Lannister was considered untrusworthy and a way to get the Reachmen out of the way. Men would remember that Prince Rhaegar didn't believe the Lannisters were his allies despite not having declared themselves enemies.

He did this because Tywin Lannister was a cunning and ambitious man who would surely argue against fostering the crown prince in Dol Guldur, if only for his own purposes. The weight of his voice had to be lowered.

Next, he sent another portion of the Reach army into the Stormlands. This was both to keep charismatic Cousin Robert and his men out of the war when he eventually made it to his castle and to further diminish the inevitable death toll.

The Dornish he ignored, certain that they would do nothing. They already had Elia and his children after all. No matter how things went, they would come out of it the winners.

Once that was all done, there was only one thing left to do. Meet his fate with an army of fifty thousand behind him.

XXXXX

15th day of the 11th moon, 281 AC. Kingsroad just outside the Neck.

The commanders of the combined army shielded their faces as Velka landed next to them.

"Prince Rhaegar is crossing the Green Fork at Darry." The great crow revealed.

"Darry?" Rickard Stark repeated in bafflement. "Why would he cross there?"

Everyone else was similarly confused. They had expected him to turn west and head for Riverrun in order to defeat the Riverlands army before they could join up with it. That would have been the sensible choice. By choosing to go up the Kingsroad instead, Rhaegar had put himself in a position to be pincered in between them, the Riverlanders and the knights of the Vale. It was a suicidal decision.

"He must be intending to beat us before the Vale can get its shit together, or hoping that the war will end with us dead." Havel frowned.

"It's the only thing that makes sense." Grond agreed with a frown of his own. "Still stupid as fuck, though."

"All the better for us!" Greatjon Umber roared, smashing his fist against the table. "If he wants a fight I say we give him one!"

"We are still considerably outnumbered, Lord Umber." Rickard replied with a nearly imperceptible long-suffering tone.

"Naw, the midget is right." Tarkus weighed in, ignoring Greatjon's indignant 'I am not a midget!'. "Even if they outnumber us, we've got better gear and they have too much cavalry. Best not pussyfoot around and just fight them."

It was true that they were better equipped. The glass trade that the North had gained from Angmar hadn't been around for long enough to make a huge impact on their population just yet, but it had certainly done wonders for their coffers. One of the effects of this was a substantial improvement to the gear of their soldiers.

Combined with what their wizards and skinchangers could do to a cavalry charge made it entirely possible to win the battle.

Still, Rickard would prefer not to fight at a disadvantage if it could be avoided.

"That is too reckless." He disagreed with the demi-giant. "If we cross the Twins we can add the men of House Tully to our numbers and be assured of decisive victory. Why gamble if we do not need to?"

"In this instance, caution may betray you." Velka cut in. "If they move quick enough, they could catch us mid-crossing."

"And you said yourself that the lord of the Twins is a cunt." Sindri added.

"I said that he was untrustworthy." Rickard corrected.

"Same thing."

There was a muffled chuckle from several of the Northmen. It had taken them a while to get used to the unapologetic lack of formality of the Angmari, but now they could appreciate it.

It also helped that none of the things they'd feared would happen if they let 'wildlings' past the wall had happened. In fact, their own men had caused far more damage to the smallfolk with their passing than the Angmari, which were kept under iron-fisted control by Harry's sons.

"I suppose we could try sacking the Twins, but it would be a near thing even if we somehow manage to do it in a single day." Garm mused. "Like you said, why gamble if we don't need to?"

"Fighting now would also spare us from having to listen to the southrons whine about magic." Sigmar snorted.

Everyone murmured their agreement to that. While the Northmen had been a little uncomfortable around magic at first, they were never taught that it was evil the way that those brought up worshiping the Seven were. Even the Manderly men, who had been staunch followers of the Seven ever since their exile from the Reach, hadn't protested overmuch.

Although Harry's stealthy campaign to root out all traces of the Seven from the North might have something to do with that, but none of those present knew about that.

"Fair points." Rickard admitted. "Very well, I retract my objection to engaging in battle immediately."

"Then it is agreed, we face them now?" Havel asked.

"Aye!" They all chorused.

XXXXX

22nd day of the 11th moon, 281 AC. Just off the Kingsroad.

Rhaegar had not expected there to be parley, yet the flag was raised. Even if he didn't think there was anything to talk about, curiosity got the better of him and he agreed to it.

He took the Kingsguard with him and met the enemy leaders in the middle of the field between their armies.

Rickard Stark he recognized, both from his similarity to his children and by the design of his armor. The six men in black armor that he realized with some shock was dragonbone must then be the Sorcerer's sons. They ranged in size from merely tall to huge and made for an intimidating picture with their blatantly magical weapons. It was difficult to reconcile the grey in their hair and beards and know that they must be approaching fifty years of age, when he had seen their still youthful-looking father only a few years ago.

By far the strangest of those gathered before him, however, was the giant crow. Rhaegar had only heard rumors and legends about her.

"We should be wary, Your Grace." Ser Gerold whispered urgently. "They may try to cast a spell on you."

"Have no fear, Ser Gerold, they will not violate the terms of parley." Rhaegar replied just as quietly. The Hightower knight was a dutiful man, but far too narrow-minded at times.

Ser Gerold didn't look happy, but said nothing more, as they had come within speaking distance to each other.

"Before we begin, I need to know something." One of the two giants started, the one with the intricately braided beard and enormous poleaxe. "Which one of you killed my boys?"

This must be Havel the Rock, then. He was aptly named, as his growled question sounded like rocks being crushed and his emerald green eyes were as hard as gemstones.

"Ser Barristan and I were the ones to swing the sword." Ser Gerold admitted stiffly.

"Then you die." Havel declared darkly, briefly glaring at the two knights before his gaze swung to Rhaegar. "Leave these two dead men behind and get out of my way, boy. My business is with them and your father alone, I have no interest in anyone else and I don't want to upset your mother by killing you."

Although irked at being called a boy, Rhaegar spoke up before the Kingsguard could take offense at the insult. "I cannot do that."

"I figured you'd say that." Havel nodded, unsurprised. "Alright then, I guess we're doing things the hard way."

"For what it is worth, I am sorry that my father's madness led to this." Rhaegar said.

"Yeah, so am I."

And with that they returned to their respective armies, an air of resignation between them.

Rhaegar felt an odd peace come over him. Death was near, but it was alright. Fate demanded that events play out in this fashion, that was why this entire war felt so absurd if looked at without that missing piece.

XXXXX

Rhaegar was convinced that his defeat in this battle was ordained by fate, so he saw no need to hold back.

The Ironborn were placed at the front, in the position of 'most glory'. This was both because the pirates were largely useless anywhere else and to make sure that as many of them died as possible. They had caused no end of trouble the entire campaign and everyone would be happy to be rid of them.

The Northmen and Angmari were also happy with this, as they hated the Ironborn and were gleeful at the opportunity to kill them en masse.

XXXXX

Tarkus was having a great time. Swinging Stormcleaver through row after row of pirate scum was almost as fun as doing it against the Dothraki. These Ironborn didn't squeal in quite the same kind of confused rage, but seeing them cower and flinch at his approach was a pleasure of its own.

His massive size made him a natural rallying point and he had several of his sons fighting with him, all of them nearly as big as him. Together, they made for a human battering ram that was almost as effective as cavalry at trampling through the enemy ranks.

Then there was the other bit of entertainment.

"You're falling behind, Umber!" Tarkus roared at the Northman that was fighting on the front with him.

"Fuck you and your magic sword!" Greatjon roared back furiously as his mundane greatsword got stuck in a pirate's shoulder, a problem that Stormcleaver never experienced. "That's cheating!"

"If you're not cheating you're not trying!" Tarkus quoted his father.

The banter did terrible things to the Ironborn morale. It was by no means a one-sided slaughter, but the small horde of demi-giants was completely wrecking what little formation they had and causing their lines to buckle.

"Reinforcements!" Greatjon roared a few minutes later, spotting a more troublesome enemy approaching. "That's Arthur Dayne!"

"He's mine!" Tarkus called dibs, wanting to match himself against the so-called 'deadliest of the Kingsguard'.

Oddly enough, the rank-and-file soldiers on both sides obliged his request. Either because they wanted to get away from him, because they felt that it would take someone special to stop him or simply out of a desire to see a duel between great warriors, the end result was a small island of peace in the middle of the battle.

Neither of the two men spoke. Tarkus nodded with his teeth barred in an aggressive grin and Arthur raised his sword in front of his face in a knight's salute. Then they clashed.

Tarkus would have known immediately that the pale white sword was something special, even if he hadn't heard stories about Dawn before. That was a legendary weapon and something to be wary of.

The demi-giant was not really used to fighting against enemies that could actually get through his armor, so caution was an unfamiliar concept. On the other hand, Arthur also knew that he couldn't take this foe lightly.

They each began their duel with light probing attacks, designed more to get a feel for their opponent than to do any real harm.

The real fight was over almost as soon as it began. Tarkus had never needed to employ or watch out for feints in his battles before, so he fell for it when Arthur made to attack high and then went low.

Dawn sank into the thick armor plating on Tarkus' massive thigh, cutting almost down to the bone. That the sword had gone that deep through the enhanced dragonbone was a testament to its craftmanship, but Arthur had missed. He had been aiming for the less armored knee joint.

Tarkus, so hopped up on adrenaline that he barely felt the injury, swung Stormcleaver with a roar. The magical greatsword was far too large to escape from, especially as Arthur wasted a precious moment tugging Dawn away from the demi-giant's leg. The armor of the Kingsguard was well made, but not nearly well enough to protect him from that blow, so Stormcleaver went right through his left arm and sank halfway into the legendary knight's chest.

Tarkus huffed out a shaky breath of air as the loyalists let out a cry of despair at seeing one of their champions fall and looked the dying knight in the eyes. "Good fight."

He picked up Dawn and handed it over to one of his sons with an order to keep it safe. The usual custom would be to keep it for himself, as he had slain its previous owner, but Tarkus suspected that Dawn wouldn't allow itself to be wielded by just anyone. Even if it did, this wasn't Angmar and they hadn't come south to steal shit.

XXXXX

At the same time elsewhere on the battlefield, Garm and Grond were fending off the push of the Crownlands infantry.

"They are using heathen magic!" A lesser noble shouted when he saw half dozen men being launched through the air by Grond's magically-emporewed mace.

There was also a religious undercurrent to this battle that pervaded the conflict, something that some were oblivious to and some were not.

"Who're you calling a heathen, you Andal fuck?!" Grond roared back at the man, smashing aside more men. "You don't even belong on this continent!"

It should be noted that, as the ones in charge of Angmar's ports, Garm and Grond had a lot more exposure to the south than the rest of Harry's sons. It generally wasn't a problem, but every once in a while, some religious friction would flare up and Harry hadn't raised his kids to half-ass anything, so they were taking this opportunity to vent some aggression.

"Brother, we appear to have caught the attention of the Kingsguard!" Garm called out in warning, spotting two of the white-cloaked knigths approaching.

It was only natural, seeing as the Crownlands army was having a lot of difficulty maintaining cohesion in the face of their assault and were losing numbers at an alarming rate.

"About fucking time!" Grond grinned. The battle was going more or less as planned and he was eager to bash in the skulls of the ones that had killed his nephews.

XXXXX

Rhaegar observed the battle from atop his horse, staying in reserve with the heavy cavalry.

It was going about as he expected. Despite having the advantage of numbers, the Stark/Angmari force was holding strong. They had chosen such a battlefield that one of their flanks was covered by the outreaching swamplands of the Neck, making it impossible to charge through there with cavalry. Further, the areas where Harry's sons were stationed were carving through his men with ease, disrupting the cohesion of the army and destroying morale.

Rhaegar sent Ser Arthur, Ser Jonothor and Ser Barristan to reinforce those areas. They protested, feeling ill at ease with the idea of being separated from their prince. Ravens and crows circled above, led by the giant Lady Velka, an ill omen. Still, they obeyed, knowing that he would only be safe if the battle was won.

Rhaegar felt saddened at sending them to what he knew was certain doom, but he also knew that none of them would survive this battle. Fate had decreed that they die here, the only thing they could do was make sure it was glorious.

"Your Grace, we should charge them." His old friend, Jon Connington, motioned to the opposing army's left flank, which had become exposed during the course of the fighting. "They have not enough heavy horse to match us, nor spears to stop us. One good charge would sweep them away."

That was true. The only heavy cavalry that the enemy had was from the North. Angmar had nothing but infantry, their frozen homeland's terrain not allowing for mounted combat. It was also true that the ground leading up to the left flank was merely soggy, rather than swampy. Not ideal for a cavalry charge, but their horses would not get bogged down either. With so much of their army busy holding off the Ironborn and Crownlands infantry at the front, they would not be able to defend themselves from a charge.

Rhaegar didn't trust it. There had to be some kind of trick to it. Even if he had surprised them by boldly pushing forward instead of subduing their Tully allies and bolstering the size of his own army further with Riverlands loyalists when he had a chance, they had to know that the composition of their armies favored him. Even more than the difference in numbers, a single cavalry charge could break an army and he had a lot more heavy horse.

"Your Grace?" Jon's concerned voice broke him out of his contemplation.

The croaking of the black birds above sounded like a death knell to Rhaegar's ears. Yes, perhaps it was time.

"Come, we charge!" He called out, getting a roar of acknowledgement from his men. They were all so eager to fight, believing in the rightness of their cause.

Rhaegar regretted that their deaths were a necessary sacrifice to stave off the fated ruin, but it had to be done. It would all be worth it once his son banished the darkness.

XXXXX

"Here they come." Havel growled. "Get ready."

"Brother, we have been ready since the battle started." Sindri drawled, twirling his spear.

Sigmar was ignoring everything around him as he muttered under his breath, holding Ghal Maraz in front of him with eyes closed.

The men around them balked and shuffled nervously as the thousands of horses of the enemy heavy cavalry thundered towards them. They had no polearms to receive them with and weren't even properly formed up. If they hit, they would be crushed.

But that was the trick that they were betting the battle on. It was possible to win a battle when severely outnumbered, but not without heavy casualties. A great strategy was needed to counter. A strategy that magic could provide.

When the front of the cavalry charge was a mere hundred meters away, Sigmar opened his eyes and roared as he swung his warhammer at the ground. The impact should have made little to no sound, but instead there was a reverberating crack and the earth rumbled in response.

The horses of the enemy reared up in panic, some lost their footing and fell. Then great sinkholes began opening up in the ground and swallowing dozens of the mounted soldiers each.

Angmar had brought a cadre of wizards with them, the first and second generation of those trained by Harry to wield their powers. Being of the First Men, their magic leaned towards earth, wood and stone. They had used their powers to manipulate the ground, ground which still remembered the power of the Earthsingers when they cast the Hammer of the Waters on the nearby Neck.

Sigmar smashing Ghal Maraz into the earth was the trigger that made it heave.

"CHARGE!" Havel bellowed, raising his massive poleaxe into the air as he started running.

Confidence surging at the display of power from their leaders, the reserve forces of Northmen and Angmari roared back and ran for the downed cavalry force.

Havel made a B-line for Rhaegar and the Kingsguard, conveniently visible in their distinctive armor. By some miracle they hadn't fallen into a sinkhole, but they had still been forcibly dismounted as the horses panicked.

The distance was enough for those men to get back on their feet, but not nearly enough to form cohesive battle lines, much less remount andresume the cavalry charge. Even from a distance it was clearly visible that they were badly rattled at the sudden reversal of fortunes. It wouldn't take much to break them completely.

But Havel only thought about that peripherally. His focus was on getting revenge for his sons and here was one of their killers, Gerold Hightower, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. He ignored their shouts, urging the Targaryen to flee, and swung his poleaxe at the man.

The Hightower dodged, knowing better than to attempt blocking it, and tried to close the distance to deny Havel the reach advantage. Unlike his sons, Havel was fully armored and had plenty of combat experience. He knew how to deal with this.

He hadn't swung hard enough to lose control of the huge weapon's momentum and was able to halt it in a guard position. However, instead of blocking the swing he allowed it to land on his armor and used the Hellslayer's shaft to make a mighty shove.

Gerold Hightower was known as the White Bull for his great strength, but he couldn't hope to compare to a demi-giant. The hit sent him reeling backwards with badly bruised ribs and he only barely regained his balance before Havel was on him again.

It was an altogether unfair match up. Unlike Ser Arthur, Gerold's sword was completely mundane and had no hope of piercing the enchanted dragonbone platemail. The only weakness was the throat, which Havel knew well how to guard. Furthermore, the demi-giant also had a far superior weapon. Even disregarding the magical nature of it, a poleaxe was close to ideal for fighting armored foes.

To his credit, The White Bull put up a good fight, but defeat was inevitable. It ended when Havel managed to use his weapon's spiked tip to wound the knight's leg, crippling his mobility.

Ser Gerold's leg buckled under him and all he could do was watch in resignation as Havel brought the Hellslayer's axe head down on his shoulder with a furious roar, nearly splitting him in half.

Havel snorted out an angry breath and glared around him, unsatisfied by the kill. The Kingsguard were just tools after all, the real murderer of his sons was holed up in King's Landing.

All around him, the enemy army was losing heart, but they were being rallied by Rhaegar, who was cutting down any Northman or Angmari that came near him with a Valyrian steel blade while shouting commands to his men.

Nearby, Sigmar was still engaged in a duel with the other Kingsguard while Sindri had already killed the important looking red-headed man he had initially charged at and was now opening up the throats of dozens of foes with unerringly accurate thrusts from Gungnir.

Some distance away, he could see Rickard leading a heavy cavalry charge at the already breaking lines of Crownlands infantry. The ironborn had already routed and were fleeing in droves.

The battle was as good as won, but there was a way to end it faster. Havel stomped over towards Rhaegar, cutting down anyone that got in his way.

The Targaryen prince came to meet him came to meet him with a strange confidence in his body language, which confused Havel. It wasn't the swagger of a man certain of victory, or the grim resignation of a soldier who knew that death was near. He couldn't make sense of it.

"You can still surrender!" Havel shouted over the din of combat as Rhaegar came close enough to hear. He would really prefer not to upset Rhaella. The poor woman had lost enough children already.

"I cannot!" The Silver Prince called back, almost cheerfully. "We are fated to do battle here, you and I!"

Oh, this shit. Father had grumbled something about the Targaryen's fixation on prophecies. Even Rhaella had been known to sigh in exasperation when the topic came up.

"Have it your way!" He roared and stepped forward to attack.

XXXXX

Astral Plane.

Harry watched the battle through a thousand eyes and saw Rhaegar die to his son's poleaxe with a winner's smile.

The fool. It wasn't hard to guess the idiot's plans with the information he already had. Why did everyone who fixated on prophecy develop tunnel vision?

Well, that was a dumb question. Of course they developed tunnel vision. The thought of being important enough to play part in the machinations of fate would be intoxicating to anyone even vaguely self-important. But they weren't the ones that could see the threads twisting, the intricate web becoming snarled and knotted as the universe attempted to compensate for the anomaly.

Harry had noted the change in the world before and knew that he was responsible for it. He, Adrastia and Luna, the foreign objects in the tapestry of this reality. It began with their arrival and was now reaching culmination as the disturbance they caused grew to a magnitude that was impossible to smooth over. Everything up until now could have eventually been washed away by time and fate's inertia, it may have taken centuries or millennia, but it would have happened and the course would be restored.

Now, however…..there was no going back. He couldn't pinpoint the exact moment where the scales were tipped, because this event, this war, echoed both backwards and forwards in time. The threads of fate, though seeming infinitely strong and infinitely malleable, snapped under the strain.

The chaos in the Astral Plane was both beautiful and kind of amusing. Gods were dull creatures when you really thought about it, an ideal that only changed during cataclysmic times or through extremely prolonged periods. As such, they had no capacity for dealing with the unexpected. They were mere minor deities, in some ways even less free than mortals. To them, fate was like a roadmap into the darkness of the future and they feared to walk forward without it.

Unlike Harry, who hadn't been a god for so long that he'd forgotten what it meant to be mortal and face that uncertainty. Unlike him, to whom the freedom of uncertainty was better than predetermination.

R'hllor, seeing his foe getting away, trailed after him furiously. He knew that if he stayed behind, he would be defeated and that could not be allowed.

The other gods were more skittish about it, but they all followed eventually. Some were less blinded than others, and some had closer ties to him, but they all knew that if they stood still that the world would forget them in this time of change.

Unfortunately, boldness came with a price. The threads of fate, seeking to regain equilibrium, needed to attach themselves to both people and events. The Outsider that had started this mess and who was now braving the darkness was the most obvious choice.

"Fuck." Harry grumbled. This was going to be troublesome, he just knew it. Meddling with fate was what had gotten him blasted out of his original dimension, after all.

XXXXX

When word went out that Prince Rhaegar had fallen in battle, the realm was left reeling in shock. They had all expected a bloody, drawn out war, only to have it finished in a single battle.

Nobody could figure out what Rhaegar had been thinking. Certainly, forcing a battle while you had the advantage and before the enemy could gather more men was a valid strategy. Risky, but cunning in a bold way. What nobody could figure out was why Rhaegar dispersed so much of his available forces before heading north. Could he really have been so afraid of an attack from behind?

More than just confusion, though, the high lords of the Seven Kingdoms were also angry. By not participating in the battle, they were also denied any of the glory. Many had hoped to distinguish themselves and gain advantage for their families. Or in the case of Robert, he was merely furious at missing out on the fun.

They all raced towards King's Landing, knowing that by the time they arrived it would more than likely be too late. News took time to travel, time that the Stark/Angmari army would have spent marching.

XXXXX

7th day of the 12th moon, 281 AC. King's Landing.

"I don't think I can knock down that gate." Grond commented wrily.

"Me neither." Sigmar frowned.

"Of course you can't fucking knock it down!" Greatjon Umber yelled. "We need siege equipment!"

The rest of Harry's sons rolled their eyes, knowing that it was only the size of the gate and the defenses around it that prevented the two blunt weapon users from battering through.

"We'd best start making camp and building the siege equipment." Rickard Stark determined. "Lords Tully and Arryn should catch up and reinforce us before either the Tyrell or Lannister hosts can get any ideas."

"I don't like the thought of just sitting out here in the open while we bash open the gates." Havel scowled.

"None of us do, but..." Rickard trailed off and stared in shock.

Nobody called him out on it, because they were all busy doing the same thing.

The gates were opening, practically inviting them in.

"What the fuck?" Tarkus demanded of nobody in particular.

"Well then, that makes things simpler." Sindri commented sardonically.

Sigmar shook off the shock and turned to address the army. "LET'S GO! AND REMEMBER TO KEEP YOUR FUCKING HANDS TO YOURSELF! WE'RE HERE TO KILL A CUNT OF A KING AND NOTHING ELSE!"

The men, having almost gotten swept aside by the excitement of the capital being opened to them so easily, froze for a moment before continuing with more restraint. There had been a great many dire threats issued on the way to King's Landing about what would happen to them if they were caught abusing the regular citizenry that had nothing to do with the war. Because if they did do that, then they would have made liars of their leaders, who had promised that the Angmari would be on their best behavior. The army itself had also been restructured into small units that were better suited for urban warfare, each led by a trusted commander, coincidentally making it easier to keep control.

There would still be some collateral damage suffered by the smallfolk, but not nearly as much as one would expect when what was technically an enemy army had free reign of a city. None of Harry's sons was interested in sacking the city and Rickard Stark was a stickler for honorable conduct.

XXXXX

Varys moved through the Red Keep at his usual sedate pace, but it was a struggle to maintain it. Having an enemy army in the city could do that to a man.

Everything had gone so very wrong. How had Angmar won the war? And how had they done it so swiftly? How had Rhaegar blundered so badly? Who had opened the gates of King's Landing?

Varys was used to knowing more things and knowing them sooner than everyone else. Being in the dark like this was frankly terrifying for the eunuch. Things weren't adding up.

He suddenly realized that he was in one of the Red Keep's many secret passages and stopped walking. When had he come here? It was unlike him to get so lost in his thoughts that his feet carried him off like this.

Varys tried to resume his pace, but found his body frozen in place. The feeling was far too familiar.

"Lord Varys, what an honor to finally meet you." A woman's voice came from ahead.

She stepped out of the shadows as if she was part of them, tendrils of darkness clinging to her as if loathe to let go. Her feet made no sound.

"Lady Adrastia?" Varys was fairly certain that his guess was correct. There was only one Summer Isles woman of note in Westeros.

"Yes, little spiderling, it is I." She confirmed with a smile that would have been charming if not for the coldness in her eyes.

Varys had so many questions. Why was she here? How was she here? Why couldn't he move? He feared the answer to those questions, old memories rising up from the depths of his mind.

"I am a witch." The dark lady confirmed his worst fears. Could she peer into his mind as well?

"Yes, I can."

Varys desperately tried to blank out his thoughts, but the memory of his unmanning kept surging to the fore.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" He tried to keep his voice even, but knew it was a fruitless effort.

"I am here to abduct you and take you back to Dol Guldur with me." She stated honestly.

If he could, Varys would be shaking in fear. Sorcery terrified him, it was one of the reasons why he had always cautioned Aerys to be suspicious of Angmar. By all accounts, the man in Myr who had taken his manhood was less than a hedge wizard in comparison to the Sorcerer of Dol Guldur. What manner of horror would he be subjected to there?

"Shhhhh." Adrastia hushed, stepping closer. She ran a hand over his bald head and held him close as if he were a child. "Be not afraid, my egg-shaped friend, there are no knives or tortures waiting for you. All I need is your spy network. You have been so very diligent in setting it up. If I could I would keep you as my minion, but alas, you lack a certain something that I could use to control you."

Her other hand groped at his crotch to illustrate her point. Was she truly so confident in her skills that she thought she could have controlled him if he was not a eunuch? She was a beautiful woman to be sure, but it seemed a little far-fetched. Then again, there was probably magic involved.

"Why are you doing this?" Varys questioned, calming down a little now that he was on more familiar ground. She may be a witch, but she was here for the politics, not magic. "Your master's realm is separate from the Seven Kingdoms and he has never shown much interest in our affairs. Why now?"

"Oh, Harry doesn't care about you at all." Adrastia chuckled. "But you see, I have rather more freedom than I allowed people to think. Who would suspect this unfortunate slave of having ambitions of her own?"

So that was how it was. Varys had to admit that it was brilliant. As a woman, a slave and an obvious foreigner, Adrastia was all too easily dismissed by the proud lords of Westeros. Even he had badly underestimated her, assuming that being a slave to a powerful sorcerer would mean she had even less freedom than a slave to a normal man despite the high position she enjoyed in his service.

"What ambitions are those?" Aside from being genuinely curious, Varys was also stalling for time in the hopes of somehow getting out of this predicament.

"I am a spider, just like you." Adrastia said, stepping back. "What does a spider do if not spin webs? But if we dispense with the metaphor, I am simply looking to amuse myself. My master provides all the wealth and privilege I could ask for as long as I serve faithfully, but he is such a troublesome man, either dreadfully dull or alarmingly reckless. Being the power behind the power behind the power of the Iron Throne and playing games with the Seven Kingdoms and the nine Free Cities sounds like a fun time. Boredom kills more immortals than swords could ever hope to."

The game of thrones, reduced to being this woman's plaything. How terrifying. From her words, he could guess her intent. She was going to use his own network of little birds to install a new Master of Whispers, one that seemed competent but was in truth under her thrall, keeping her safely shrouded in shadow while her puppet whispered her words into the king's ear. It was difficult to imagine such a convoluted plot working for very long, but her sheer confidence made it impossible to simply dismiss.

"I would be more than happy to serve you in such a capacity." Varys offered.

"Ah, a marriage proposal! How bold." She gasped mockingly, fanning her face as if flushed.

If not for his long years of exerting iron self-control over his reactions, Varys would have gaped at her in bewilderment.

"My lady, I assure you that my offer is genuine." He said, deciding to ignore the odd humor.

"I know it is, young spiderling." Adrastia nodded. "Unfortunately, your fear and hatred of magic would lead you to betray me eventually."

Damnation, Varys had hoped that he would have been able to hide that part of himself by focusing on his admiration for her cunning.

She drew a long pale stick from her sleeve and waved it at him, pinning him to the wall with his arms spread out. Another wave and the stone moved to grasp his wrists.

"Hang tight for a little while." Adrastia said, putting away the...wand? "I still have a loose end or two to tie up, then I will return for you."

And then the darkness swallowed her again and Varys was left alone with his fears.

XXXXX

Pycelle was rushing to send out messages, a task made more difficult by the fact that the king had ordered that all ravens were to be executed for treason immediately upon his return. They still hadn't replaced all of them and hiding them was even more of a bother.

Madness, thinking that birds could act with malice. Or was it? Honestly, the Grand Maester could no longer be sure. If only that accursed sorcerer had never come to Westeros...

"Why so hurried?" A familiar, much missed voice said.

Pycelle spun around and saw Adrastia standing there, a small, amused smile on her lips. She was garbed in an exquisite dress of black and purple and wore a dark cloak over it.

"A man your age should know how to slow down and smell the roses." She finished teasingly. She always teased him for working too hard whenever she could slip away from the man who 'owned' her.

"Adrastia." Pycelle breathed and hurriedly walked over to her, grabbing her hands. "You should not be here!"

"I thought you would be happy to see me?" She pouted.

"I am!" He was quick to assure. "But it is dangerous for you to be here right now. The city is being sacked and some traitor has opened the gates."

"Oh, that was me." Adrastia said, giving his hands a squeeze.

Pycelle could not understand what he had just heard. His blood seemed to thunder in his ears. "What?"

"Yes, a drawn out siege would not have served my purposes, so I arranged for the gates to be opened. You and Varys will take the blame for it, of course."

Every word was like a dagger to his heart and it was becoming difficult to breathe. Adrastia had had a special place in his heart ever since the night they spent together nearly fifty years ago. Who was this woman that wore her face, yet had such malice in her smile?

"Why?" He croaked out, swaying on his feet.

"Because, my dear," She with mocking sweetness, letting go of his numb hands. "I am the Black Widow, and this is what I do."

Pycelle's stumbled back against the wall as his legs gave out and he began to suspect that it was more than just shock and heartbreak. He could barely move.

"Ah, the poison has taken effect." Adrastia went on, rubbing at a ring on her findex finger, one that had the design of a black spider upon it. "I would have liked to torment you a little longer, but we are regrettably short on time. Gloating as the life leaves you will have to satisfy me for now."

Pycelle could no longer speak, only stare at her in utter betrayal. Had he the strength, he might have attacked her, but with his limbs not obeying him, the rage in his heart had nowhere to go except inward.

"Things did not go according to plan, you know?" The evil woman continued. "When I first saw you, I merely thought of you as an easy mark, a target of opportunity if you will. What an awkward, bumbling little boy you were. But you surprised me, crawling all the way up to the position of Grand Maester."

She paused for a moment, sitting down next to him on the ground, so close that their shoulders were touching. The closeness of it made his heart twist further in pain.

"You were supposed to whisper your angry poison into the ear of Aegon V and make him distrust the maesters, but the fool got himself killed so soon after you were appointed. His son would have also served that purpose, but that one was weak and died almost as soon as he was crowned. Then Aerys came along...Ironically, that one was too easy to manipulate. Instead of seeing that you have a personal hatred for Angmar, he took your words at face value. Events played out too quickly because of it, now I will have to go to Oldtown and make sure that Marwyn is elected Grand Maester in your place. He was only supposed to draw more young maesters to Dol Guldur, but now I will need to drag him into the open."

Adrastia sighed and smiled at him companionably. "It isn't all bad, though. I never expected Harry and Luna to take Rhaella for themselves. That was a pleasant surprise, as was Rhaegar's request that his unborn son be fostered with them. That boy's obsession with prophecy played into my hands wonderfully. Now everyone will be looking at Harry and fearing what kind of influence he has over House Targaryen, while I move unseen. You see, darling, the mark of a good plan is malleability. Unexpected things happen, and if a plan is too rigid it will break instead of adapt."

Yes, Pycelle could see it. The lords of the realm would fear that the Seven Kingdoms would become an extension of Angmar. They would not be watchful for the movements of one woman when the shadow of a mighty sorcerer loomed over them.

"Still, I could have wished for a little more time, a few decades at the most. I had barely begun to spread my influence across the Seven Kingdoms, so this is uncomfortably blatant. I am not some meatheaded lord who cannot think past his sword!" She complained indignantly. "I could have had both Westeros and much of Essos dancing to my tune without either ever being aware of it. My flawless victory has been ruined."

Pycelle was starting to have trouble breathing and his chest was squeezing painfully. He didn't know if it was from the poison or from being mocked by the woman he had loved for so long.

"Oh, I see that you are just about finished." She said, getting up and dusting herself off. "You were a good listener and I enjoyed seeing you suffer, but I should be going. Someone will probably find you soon and determine that that stress of the siege and your betrayal was too much for your old heart to bear. If you happen to meet the Seven after you die, do tell them to send Harry my love, won't you?"

The last thing Pycelle saw was Adrastia walking away, leaving him behind like so much refuse.

XXXXX

Nobody would accuse the Goldcloaks of being a particularly effective fighting force. They were town guards and usually didn't have to deal with anything worse than a small riot. They certainly weren't a match for an army that vastly outnumbered them. Many surrendered without even fighting and they didn't manage to hold the gates of the Red Keep for long, which were far less fortified than those of the city itself.

Havel was grateful for that as he stomped towards the throne room, eager to show Aerys Targaryen what happens when you fucked with a man's family.

Thus, he was particularly enraged when he arrived and saw the madman already dead and some brat in white armor sitting on the throne.

"Boy, you better have a fucking good reason for killing him before I could do it myself." The demi-giant growled, clenching his fist over his poleaxe so hard it hurt.

Jaime was still a bit shellshocked at what he'd done, but was enough of a warrior to know that he was going to die if he didn't give a satisfactory answer. He had been planning to make a funny quip about keeping the throne warm, but that no longer seemed like such a good idea.

"He was going to destroy the whole city with Wildfire." He said in an unnaturally calm tone of voice. It wasn't something he wanted to reveal, but he wanted to die even less.

"That...is a good fucking reason." Havel admitted grudgingly.

"I am glad you think so." Jaime smirked with a cockiness he didn't feel.

"Kind of anti-climactic, though." Tarkus sulked. "I was expecting a hard battle, wading through blood and corpses and a legendary duel before we got to that cunt."

"Events did indeed play out unusually favorably for us." Rickard frowned. "We should seize the rest of the court and find out why that was."

"I'll go tell Auntie Luna that we're all fine." Sindri volunteered. He was the best at magic out of anyone here and the weirdwood saplings in the Kingswood were difficult to use the Greensight with.

XXXXX

A few hours later.

Adrastia was about to go begin extracting information from Varys when Luna came upon her and hugged her without warning.

"Adrastia!" Luna exclaimed, squeezing tight.

"What?" The shorter witch demanded, irritated by the unsolicited physical affection.

"I'm so glad you're okay!" Luna said instead of answering the question.

"Why wouldn't I be okay?"

"I was just talking to Sindri and he told me that Aerys was planning to blow up King's Landing with Wildfire! Jaime killed him before he could do it, though."

A jolt of adrenaline set her heart pumping wildly, pupils widened and beads of cold sweat broke out on her skin.

I could have died! The last thing Adrastia had expected to need to worry about in a medieval setting was exploding cities! How the hells had this slipped past her?

Of course, Aerys always had those damn pyromancers brewing that vile stuff, so she hadn't really paid much attention to it and peeking into a madman's dreams was largely pointless. The man was a mess of paranoid delusions and ego trips.

"Maybe I should do something nice for Jaime?" She muttered to herself, knowing that she wouldn't do it even as she said it. This bit of gratitude would pass quickly.

"You can do it when we go there for the Grand Council." Luna said.

"Indeed." With how the war had gone, Angmar was assured a place at the table despite not being part of the Seven Kingdoms, no doubt much to the fury and frustration of the realm's nobility.

XXXXX

For those of you impatiently wondering, Harry will be returning to the world of the corporeal in the next chapter.

Probably.

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