A gentle breeze glid into their home through the open window. The cool breeze flowed over him carrying a lemon tint. Looking outside the window Viserys took note of the large lemon tree with its leaves dancing in the wind.
This was a sad day for Viserys. Truth be told he has not known happy days ever since his mother Rhaella Targaryen, the true Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, passed away. He is the last male Targaryen and only his sister shared his name and blood. A sister he despised for robbing his mother's life.
It has been hard to live in exile.
Each day he lived in fear of the Usurper's dogs. Not just for his life but he had to worry about his sister's life as well. Even though he blamed Dany for his mother's death he could not help but worry for her. Dany was his sister, his blood. He could hate her and love her but no one else was allowed to harm her. He would not allow that so long as he was alive.
He is a Targaryen, the blood of the dragon. No one harms his family. He'd burn them all as Aegon the Conqueror did.
The giggling of his little sister borough a smile to his face. He watched from the window as his sweet sister ran around the lemon tree chasing after a small puppy. The small animal was a stray that walked into their home on a rainy night. His sweet sister immediately took a shine to the creature and ever since then the puppy remained under her care.
He didn't have the heart to deny his sister the companionship of the creature. Especially when it reminded him so much of his niece Rhaenys who had a pet cat named Balerion. He remembered the cat well. His niece thought of her cat as the Black Dread and reenacted Aegon's battles while running around the Red Keep.
The Red Keep!
Viserys could hardly remember the intricacies of the seat of power of Targaryen kings. He knew it was made of red bricks and it has numerous chambers. But, living in exile for over six years was sapping away the memories of his home. He may have forgotten some chambers and layout of the Red Keep but he'd never forget nor will he forgive the savagery unleashed by the Usurper and his dogs upon his family. It is said his niece was stabbed a hundred times by Tywin Lannister's mad dogs. His nephew Aegon had his head smashed and his goodsister was raped to death.
The only reason he and his mother escaped the blades of the Usurper's dogs was that they were safe in Dragonstone. But, even the ancient seat of his family proved to be unsafe after his father was struck down by the false knight, Jaime Lannister. The castle of Dragonstone was crawling with spies and traitors hoping to garner goodwill with the Usurer. If it wasn't for Ser Willem Darry he'd have also died at the hands of the traitors. But, Ser Willem was a true knight and did his duty by serving his rightful king dutifully all his life.
As such, it was painful for Viserys to watch the good knight waste away in the bed. He looked at the weakened form of Ser Willem and barely held back the tears waiting to spill out. The knight was not just his trainer and teacher but also a confidante. The knight was someone he could speak openly with and someone he admire. It was the last wish of his mother that he learn from the man and listen to Ser Willem's advice. A wish that he took to heart and so far the knight kept him and his little sister safe. For this, he would remain immensely grateful.
Viserys dearly wished he could reward the knight with something but he was rich no longer. The riches in gold and land were no longer his to give. The Usurper has seen to that with his treachery. He is the prince of the Seven Kingdoms yet he possessed very little wealth to his name. His inability to provide some comfort to the knight who saved him and his sister from a gruesome death weighed heavily in his mind.
He felt as if the whole world was mocking him and his ancestors looking upon him with shame from the heavens. He was reminded of the fact that he is currently the same age as Daeron I who had launched the Conquest of Dorne at the ripe age of four and ten. When the Young Dragon turned five and ten King Daeron became the youngest Targaryen to win a war. Daeron succeeded where even the Conqueror and his sister-wives failed.
Viserys looked upon the Young Dragon for inspiration. One day he would emulate the Young Dragon and take what was taken from his House through war. Yet, time was passing by and he could not see a clear path to the Iron Throne. The Ironborn rebellion in Westeros had given him hope. Surely, the lords would see the Usurper to be a weak fool and raise their banners to restore House Targaryen to the Iron Throne.
At least, that's what he hoped when the Greyjoys launched their rebellion. He hoped they were the first of many and he had laughed so heartily when word reached him of the burning of Lannister fleet. He waited day and night without sleep for any scrap of information from Westeros. He dreamed of the Targaryen banner proudly raised over the highest towers of the Red Keep. He saw himself seated on the Iron Throne, the seat of power his ancestors forged through Fire and Blood. He dreamed of a massive armada that'd sail into the Blackwater Bay. The same armada that'd burn the coasts of the traitorous kingdoms like the North, Riverlands, Vale, Stormlands and Westerlands.
Yet, nothing of the sort happened.
The accursed Usurper managed to crush the Rebellion. No lords raised their banners to restore him to his rightful throne. No ships came to Essos to sail him home. All his dreams remained dreams while the Usurper and his dogs celebrate their victory.
'Why?' he screamed in his mind. 'Why is the Usurper winning? Why are the gods not answering my prayers? Why are the lords refusing to welcome their rightful king?'
"Your grace." a raspy voice called him.
Viserys broke off from his depressive thoughts to see the tired grey eyes of Ser Willem being trained on him. He doubted Ser Willem could even properly see him.
'The poor man is half-blind and yet he remains staunchly loyal to my House. A knight worthy of the White Cloak.' Viserys thought.
The old wrinkly hands of Ser Willem beckoned him and Viserys moved closer to the old knight's reach. The hands of Ser Willem were shaking and so he took those hands into his.
"Have you completed your training in the yard, your grace?" the gruff voice of Ser Willem came out accompanied by a series of coughs.
"I have Ser."
"Good. Good." Ser Willem rasped. "Do not let your skills with the blade dull. You will need it when you retake the Iron Throne from the Usurper."
"I will train twice as hard Ser." Viserys promised, eyes glistering with tears.
Ser Willem smiled showing the few teeth the knight has left in his mouth.
"It will not be easy… taking the Iron Throne. But, I'm confident you will take back the Iron Throne. There are allies hidden…waiting for the right moment to strike." Ser Willem rasped out.
Viserys struggled to hear what Ser Willem was saying. Before he could ask for clarification his sister chose that moment to barge into the room. Thankfully, her pet dog was nowhere to be seen.
"Princess." Ser Willem fondly called as Dany skipped next to Ser Willem's bed.
His sister was another reason to be thankful to Ser Willem. Dany grew up without knowing her father and mother. The only Targaryen she knew was him. She saw Ser Willem as a father figure. A sentiment shared by Ser Willem who treated Dany as if she was his own daughter.
Viserys knew his sister was a sweet little thing. But, every time he looked at her he saw the dead eyes of his mother lying in a pool of blood. No matter how hard he tried he could not forget the light leaving his mother's eyes. The anguish he felt that night on the ship as they sailed away from their home was overwhelming. The helplessness he felt that night still clung to him and it made him unable to properly care for his sister. So, he always kept her at an arm's length fearing what he might do to her in a moment of weakness.
"Tell me a story Ser? A story about home." Daenerys asked sweetly.
"Ser Willem is ill Dany." said Viserys, looking sternly at his sister.
"But I…"
Viserys gave his sister a frosty look that made her flinch and shut up. Seeing the fear on his sister's face he calmed down.
"Ser Willem needs his rest. I will tell you the tale of Aemon the Dragonknight after we pray in the sept for Ser Willem's health." Viserys offered as a compromise.
The radiant smile that graced his sister's face lightened his heart.
That evening Viserys took his sister to the sept. The proximity of Braavosi Coastlands to the Andal heartlands ensured there were small septs scattered throughout the land. While these septs had nothing compared to the Great Sept of Baelor they gave him a sense of belonging and familiarity. Of course, they could not afford to expose their identity. So, Viserys had turbans wrapped around his head as well as his sister's to keep their silver hair shielded from curious eyes.
After saying their prayers they walked back to their home. It disturbed him to pray to a small stone sculpture. The lack of gemstones for eyes in the Sept's seven sculptures also made it difficult for him to pray. In King's Landing, it was believed the gemstones were the eyes of the Seven through which the gods judged those who pray in the sept. Maybe, that's why his prayers remain unanswered while the Usurper ruled from the Iron Throne without trouble.
Once they neared their home Viserys frowned as the servants were arguing outside the door. Ser Willem had purchased their home near an isolated farmland. Even so, he was strict to keep discipline in the house hiding from any sort of attention.
'What's happening?' he wondered, feeling a sense of impending doom.
Viserys tightened the grip on Dany's hand and slowly made his way forward. Once the servants saw him they quieted down. But, he remained wary of these servants. He could feel many eyes on his person and without a sword by his side he felt exposed. He dragged Daenerys with him and rushed into their home.
It didn't take long for Viserys to find Ser Willem who had passed away in his bed. He didn't know how long but he stared at the knight who had taken care of him and his sister all these years. Daenerys was openly crying but Viserys could not afford to show such weakness. However, despite his best efforts, a single tear rolled down his cheeks. He might be a dragon but even dragons have a heart. Bowing his head he discretely rubbed that stray tear away even as his heart drowned in anguish.
'Now, I'm truly alone.'
XXXXXXXXX
Harry should have known children are a strange breed. They are easily distracted and have the extraordinary ability to misinterpret something in ways that'd flummox an adult's mind. He should've remembered this simple fact before he unwittingly involved his siblings in the ritual.
'Maybe this body is inhibiting my mind far more than I thought.' Harry reasoned within his mind as he watched iron beginning to melt in the melting pot.
It is possible that his mental faculties were not up to par just as his magic remained weakened compared to his older self. The Department of Mysteries had long since realized magic in a wizard and a witch remains intrinsically tied to their brains. This is true for all magical creatures. It is the reason why they were able to reshape reality to their imagination. The brain is the centrepiece of magical ability and that's why the mind arts was such a difficult branch of magic to master.
Now, Harry's situation was a difficult one to comprehend. His present situation is beyond the edge of reason and quite frankly beyond the scope of magic. Reincarnating into a different planet after walking through the Veil of Death is not exactly covered under any branch of magic he knew of. Not to mention the biological constraints must be making him more volatile emotionally and mentally. After all, he stepped into the Veil convinced he was going to die and yet he was alive on another planet. In some ways, his mind might be affected by his experience of death and rebirth.
How else could he explain his poor judgment by letting children witness a ritual that required blood sacrifice? This thought was just burning inside his mind and he felt like he was in a melting pot. No matter how much experience he had gathered it seems the biological impulses of this young body are strong enough to overwhelm his otherwise accumulated wisdom and rationale.
'I need to increase the practising time of Occlumency techniques.' Harry thought.
Setting that aside for the moment Harry focused on the work at hand. The King was away from the castle with his father. The two of them accompanied by a slew of lords and knights had gone out for a hunt in the Wolfswood. It was a good thing the King was taking so much of his father's attention. It means he has got more time to work out how to properly deal with the mess Sansa made.
Although, Harry was not exactly sure whether it'd become a mess. The Pentagram was well received in Winterfell as well as in Wintertown. It's possible that the Northern lords may not find the symbol offensive. It's hard to say seeing as they are all hard men to read. Leglimency would have yielded some results but he was suitably cautious in using that branch of the mind arts especially when he was this vulnerable. A child's brain is not suitable for this kind of offensive mind art. Either way, he decided to roll with punches and was going forward with the Pentagram.
"So, if you don't mind me asking just how do you keep the steel from forming slags if you are casting the hammer as bronze weapons were made in the past?"
Harry shifted his attention to Gerion Lannister, a funny man who happened to be the brother of the most feared lord in the South. House Lannister is an old house, as old as House Stark. They could trace their ancestry all the way to the Age of Heroes. They blazon their cloaks and banners with a golden lion. The Lannisters are also the richest House in the Seven Kingdoms. Most of all, the current Queen is a Lannister and that puts them in a powerful position.
By this man's presence in the forge, Harry deduced one thing. House Lannister is interested in commissioning a sword. A welcoming prospect in Harry's opinion. If he somehow has caused any offence to the Northern lords then some gold might come in handy to smooth over some ruffled feathers.
"I have a spell to sustain the temperature in the iron so that the metal remains in a molten state." Harry answered before gesturing for his assistants to take the melting pot away from the fire.
"Huh! Interesting. Tell me, how are you doing these…spells?" asked Gerion Lannister, eyes shining with unbridled curiosity.
"That's a difficult question to answer Lord Gerion. How does your stomach digest the food you eat, the wine you drink? How does your heart pump blood without your conscious decision? Even when you sleep the faculties of your body function without your express permission." said Harry, applying a spell to cushion the flow of the molten metal as his assistants began pouring the metal into the mould through the sprue hole.
Smoke billowed out of the vents as the molten metal began to settle into the mould. As the molten metal slowly filled up the mould Harry began casting the forging spells with the Elder Wand. The forging spells emulated the folding techniques that refined the metal layer by layer while imbuing it with magical properties. Just as there are chain spells dedicated for defence and offence there are chain spells for enchanting charms. Harry created a chain of charms dedicated to replicating the everlasting properties of Valyrian Steel. Each layer of the metal gets threaded together by this chain of charms thereby keeping an everlasting cohesion.
Now, all these spells were in danger of getting eroded and that's where the runes come in.
"So, these spells…magic is something within the human body?" the Lannister lord prodded.
"Magic is an energy prevalent in nature Lord Gerion. It resides in the air we breathe, the water we drink, the food we eat, the creatures that we share this world with and even in our bodies. Everyone has magic in them but only a rare few souls can wield magic. That's the only difference." said Harry, without taking his eyes off the mould.
There was some soft murmur in the far back of the forge. Harry placed the identity of those people by their distinctive Braavosi accent. For some reason, the two Braavosi merchants were hanging around Lord Manderly like bears who found a honey pot. It's easy to say they are quite interested in his magic going by the thorough inquiries they conducted yesterday. Mostly, they wanted to know if there were any sacrifices involved to fuel up the spells. He was curious how these Braavosi came to this conclusion. Knowing the history of Braavos, Harry had a strong suspicion the Valyrians charged up their spells using sacrificial magic. Maybe, that's what got the Braavosi spooked.
But, this was another problem to worry about some other time. At the moment, there were better things to worry about. After ensuring the layers were properly tethered by magical spells he applied the cooling charm on the molten metal ensuring instant solidification.
With the process complete he nodded at his assistants. They removed the top flask and Harry laid eyes on his handiwork. The hammer was 36 inches long but it was currently covered in sand. A simple flick of his wand cleaned all the dirt and the smooth surface of the hammer was revealed to everyone.
The hammer was black as night except for the golden pentagram Harry impressed upon the centre of the hammerhead. He tapped the hammer with the tip of his wand. The runes ensuring the integrity of the spells flared up with a golden hue before disappearing altogether.
"Well, I believe King Robert's weapon is ready."