The scent of burning incense still lingered in the high vaults of the Starry Sept, curling beneath the painted constellations on the domed ceiling like a ghost of ages past. Candles flickered in their holders, casting flickering shadows upon marble saints, their faces worn smooth from a thousand years of reverent fingers. The ceremony was done; the gods had been invoked, the vows blessed, and the prayers whispered.
Harry stood alone in the centre of the sept's vastness, his grey eyes turned skyward, staring at the face of the Father carved in glass above the altar. The North and the Old Gods were far from here—he felt it in the heat, the perfume of the air, the press of faith-based power lingering in the air.
The power of faith was something he only felt upon his arrival in this world. He had seen it with the Old Gods, Ygg, the temple of Moonsingers and even the Doom of Valyria. In the latter's case, it was the fear, terror and despair feeding the Doom from anyone unfortunate enough sailing past the Smoking Sea.
But unlike all of them, the Seven were not feeding on the power of their immense faith in Westeros. If they were, he could've felt their presence from the Starry Sept. Even after spending a couple of hours, Harry never felt a shred of the Seven even attempting to take in the power generated from faith.
It was as if…
Harry's eyes widened minutely before he stared at the statues of the Seven.
'Of course. Why didn't I think one of the 'gods' was disinterested in the mortals or their worship?' Harry mused.
Harry hummed as he let his magic freely envelop the whole sept.
The Starry Sept was not the oldest sept in Westeros. But it was once more the centre of the Faith now that the Sept of Baelor was in ruins. The Old Gods had somehow wormed their way into the hearts of Stannis enough to leave the ruins unattended. The last he heard, King's Landing was now teeming with Weirwood trees as tall as the city walls. At the same time, Harry had often wondered why the Seven never retaliated against the Old Gods.
But now, he started to get a feeling why the Seven remained so unresponsive despite a direct attack on their place of worship.
Despite his suspicions, Harry was convinced that he could find some connection in the sept that tied the Seven to the living plane.
"The magnificence of the Seven is overwhelming for new eyes." the High Septon said with a smile of understanding.
"A man can find peace of mind in these hallowed halls, Your Holiness." Harry said, and he was not lying.
The abundant faith energy swirling around the altars of the Seven felt like a warm blanket shielding him from the cold bite of air. Though he had yet to find an anchor to the spirit realm in the sept, he felt welcome in these halls so far. The Seven knew of his presence, but they seemed wholly unbothered.
"I'm heartened to see the Seven's light has given peace to you, Prince Harrion. In these trying times, peace is a luxury many cannot afford," the High Septon said with a genial smile.
"Is His Holiness referring to the wars that have consumed Westeros?" Harry asked with a neutral look.
"I am. The Reach has been blessed with a brief reprieve after the disaster that was the Lannister Rebellion. But I fear that'll no longer hold true for long."
"Those of us in the North have known the south would remain unstable for a long time. This has influenced my people to seek independence from the Iron Throne." Harry explained.
"There are many within these halls who accuse the Starks of fermenting conflicts in the southern kingdoms." the High Septon said, to which he snorted.
"What do you think, Your Holiness?" Harry asked.
"I think instability and war have not been strangers to the south in the past. It had little to do with the North then, and the same could be said of the present."
Harry just smiled because he knew the man was parroting a bunch of lies. Words could mean anything, but no one could trick him because he had mastered the mind long ago. He could see the truth with his own eyes.
So, knowing what the old man in funny robes was going with the direction of the conversation, Harry placed a discreet confundus charm on the High Septon to make the man leave him in peace.
"I shall leave you to enjoy the presence of the Seven. Please take as long as you wish, Prince Harrion." the High Septon said with a happy smile and walked away to his cohorts and disappeared into another hall.
Now, left alone, Harry was free to conduct his investigation as he pleased. He summoned the Elder Wand into his hands and cast a wide detection spell. The Elder Wand amplified the spell and the intent behind it with far more finesse than his wandless magic.
Harry closed his eyes and listened to every echo he could feel through his magic as his detection spell swept through the sept from top to bottom. At first, nothing happened, but Harry noticed he felt a peculiar feeling of an unnatural void from the bottom of the sept.
Cloaking himself under the Invisibility Cloak, Harry sought out the place that triggered his senses.
His magic led him several levels beneath the Starry Sept, where there was only darkness, and it came to a point where there was no longer any air. He had to construct a protective bubble around himself and sustain air and pressure with his magic.
As deep as he went, seven massive wooden posts made of ironwood would also be visible. They finally came to an end as the ironwood posts sank into the sand, and there was no further Harry could physically go.
"Silencio." Harry uttered, his magic spreading in all directions.
He also started creating barriers around himself and the surrounding structure, setting the stage for his next act. He let the tip of the Elder Wand light up with a ball of light, which he let hang in mid-air, lighting up the otherwise dark chamber.
With the barrier set, Harry directed the wand at the ground inside the seven posts.
"Bombarda Maxima."
The exploding charm made the stiff ground erupt in a shower of sand. He immediately followed it with the gouging curse, which tore through the ground at a faster pace. Finally, after going through some repeated use of the gouging curse, he finally came across an altar made of black stone.
"Ah, so that's why," Harry muttered as he directed the light at the altar and found a familiar-looking material.
It was the same material he found in Pyke. The Seastone Chair was made of the same black stone.
However, the black stone altar was not the sole thing he could feel down the hole.
Harry gripped the altar with his magic and pulled the whole thing out from the ground. With a thought, his magic slowly cut through the black stone until finally it fell apart into two pieces. A brilliant shower of silver light exploded into being as a crown made of an unknown dark alloy revealed itself from inside the altar. The strange, serene feeling settled over him as the crown ushered in an otherworldly energy in the dark chamber.
"A crown?" Harry whispered with a frown.
He expected an idol of some sort of the Seven, but he supposed a seven-studded crown would do as an anchor to tie the New Gods to the realm of the living and the land. Harry would've loved to study the crown with more detail, but he was short on time.
So, he tucked the crown into an enchanted box and secured it inside the expanded space of a pouch.
After he did that, he waited for something to happen. But still, the Seven didn't budge. They showed no sign of disapproval over his actions.
'I think I'm starting to like an apathetic 'god' than the active ones out there. I guess, less headache for myself.' Harry mused with a relieved sigh.
He made a hasty exit from the Starry Sept, and upon his exit from the ridiculously large front doors, he was escorted back to the Hightower by the escorts provided by Lord Leyton Hightower.
******
The Hightower blazed with a thousand lanterns, casting its ancient white stone in warm hues of gold and amber. It rose above the city of Oldtown like a sentinel of old—imposing, majestic, and steeped in histories whispered through the ages. Its lofty halls stirred with revelry, music, and the scent of spiced meats. Lord Leyton Hightower, the Voice of Oldtown, had summoned the lords and knights sworn to Oldtown and the city's most honoured citizens to a feast in celebration of the North's new king.
The great hall of the Hightower was a marvel, shaped like an octagon with polished marble floors and stained glass windows stretching toward the vaulted ceiling. Each window bore one of the Seven: the Father with a stern visage, the Smith with his hammer, the Warrior in armour, the Mother peaceful, the Maiden beautiful, the Crone with a scroll and the Stranger faceless and black. On this night, the Mother and the Father flanked the dais where two high-backed chairs stood—one for Lord Leyton, and the other for Eddard Stark.
Eddard entered the hall clad not in furs, but in dark grey velvet embroidered with white direwolves at the sleeves. His crown, modest compared to southern splendour, was a circlet of silver wrought with weirwood leaves.
At his side walked the rest of his family.
Catelyn, his wife – the Queen of the North, sat beside him, her head adorned with a simple circlet.
Robb was the next to arrive and sat beside his mother. Harrion and Princess Arianne followed, earning a smatter of polite applause from the crowd of gathered nobles in the feast hall for their recent marriage. Sansa sat next to Arianne, followed by Rickon, Bran, Arya and Nymeria Sand.
Eddard smiled, watching his daughter, who was still deep in discussion with Princess Arianne, with the occasional girlish giggle escaping from his usually composed daughter. Arya, on the other hand, was far too taken with Nymeria Sand. It was uncanny how Arya reminded him so much of Lyanna each day. It was one of the reasons why he let her be, and it seemed his daughter finally had found a friend in Princess Arianne's cousin.
Eddard had his misgivings about his son's choice for a bride, but so far, he found his gooddaughter and her family appealing. He prayed to the Old Gods and the New that his son would lead a long and prosperous life.
His gooddaughter's ladies in waiting, Lady Sylva Santagar and the twins Jeyne and Jennelyn Fowler, were seated in the hall on the front row.
Similarly, Lord Leyton's family sat beside the man on the high table.
The feast began with a herald's cry, followed by a thunder of applause as servants flooded the hall bearing silver platters. The first course was a chilled soup of almond milk and rosewater, a delicacy of Oldtown that surprised and pleased the Northerners. Then came stuffed swan, glazed ham with pine nuts, and roast boar dripping with honeyed plums. Eddard ate modestly, but tasted each, giving a rare smile when presented with a dish of fried cod tongues—a nod, perhaps, to the North's own sea offerings.
Musicians played near the fountain at the centre of the hall, where a marble maiden stood with a harp in hand. A trio of young girls plucked harps, while pipers wove melodies that blended Reach grace with the gentle gales of the night. In a corner, Lord Garth Tyrell—the uncle to the Lord of Highgarden—drank deeply and whispered sharp remarks about "northern fashion" to his companions, but even he raised a cup when Eddard stood to speak.
"My lord Leyton," Ned began, voice quiet but firm, "I thank you for your welcome. Oldtown is the cradle of knowledge and the Faith in Westeros. To be received here, under your roof, as King in the North, is an honour I do not take lightly."
Polite applause followed. Leyton Hightower, thin and long-faced, rose next.
"The realm is fractured," he said, his voice measured. "But fire can forge as well as burn. I see in your cause, Lord Stark, the same purpose I see in the stars above: constancy. Diligence. A refusal to kneel to madness as war, fuelled by greed, savages our lands and people. May our people know peace."
"To everlasting peace and happiness." Eddard followed by raising his chalice with a respectful nod.
A toast was raised. Silver goblets clinked in the hall as one.
Lord Hightower leaned toward Eddard as the music resumed.
"When the news reached Oldtown of your crowning, I was frankly astonished. I have heard King Stannis was most wrothful that you betrayed your oaths to King Robert." Leyton said, looking expectantly.
Eddard understood the man was measuring him. Till now, this particular subject had not been brought forth in their discussions, which revolved entirely around trade, now that the Ironborn threat was dealt with.
"King Stannis is right to be wrothful, but my people lost their patience with the continued apathy of the Iron Throne to the raids by the Sistermen. Jon Arryn tried to do us justice. I know this in my heart, but his passing left us an emboldened enemy who raided our ships with impunity." Eddard said with a sigh.
"I had a choice to make. I could stay loyal to the oath I swore, or I could secure the North from further wars. I chose the latter." Eddard said firmly.
"The Iron Throne is weakened, and it'll remain weakened for the foreseeable future, bringing instability between the kingdoms. The Baratheon dynasty is facing its greatest threat yet in the resurgence of House Targaryen." Leyton said as he leaned forward in his seat. "I'm sure you've heard the rumours."
"I have." Eddard nodded. "Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen have taken Dragonstone. I hear the Narrow Sea lords have flocked to the dragon banner."
"Viserys is dead. The girl, Daenerys, has styled herself the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. But I hear she has hatched three dragons." Leyton said grimly. "Surely, you must realise the threat of dragons, the devastation they bring to the realm."
"If this is true, these dragons are small. Even Balerion the Black Dread took years to grow." Eddard said dismissively.
"But they will grow large enough for Daenerys to ride one day. They will burn entire cities to ashes. Surely you see the threat, King Eddard." said Leyton.
"The North is not interested in any wars, Lord Leyton. Our cause for independence from the Iron Throne was exactly for this reason."
"Then what will you do when Daenerys one day turns her grown dragons on the North?" Leyton asked.
Eddard closed his eyes and imagined Daenerys Targaryen with three grown dragons and an army at her back. But when he looked at his back, he saw Harrion and Jon atop their own dragons of ice and fire. He saw Robb standing on the deck of the airship gifted by Harrion. He saw the massive ten towers of Moat Cailin gleaming and the castle teeming with young Northern soldiers. He saw the Valkyrie guards of his son wielding their elemental bows. He saw the Northern sky filled with the armada of Avalon as they guarded the rest of the North from foes.
Eddard didn't care one whit what the Targaryens, the Baratheons and all the high lords of the south would do in the coming years. There were far more dangerous things stirring beyond the Wall that required his attention. The only thing giving him peace of mind was that his brother Benjen had assured him the Night's Watch was prepared. His son, Harrion, had also assured him that the Wall was prepared to repel anyone unfortunate enough to try to breach its sanctity.
Eddard opened his eyes, and there was resolve shining in his grey eyes as he addressed Lord Hightower.
"If Daenerys comes as Aegon once did, Winter will come for House Targaryen."
*******
The sky was velvet and void, stitched with stars. Harry stood on the forward deck of the Nimbus, cloaked in black wool, his direwolf by his side. Fenris' fur shimmered beneath the starlight, and his golden eyes watched the dark sky with wary awe.
They were now sailing away from the Reach, leaving behind some awed city dwellers of Oldtown and a disturbed High Septon.
Before their departure, Harry had gone to the Starry Sept one last time under secrecy. The grandeur of the building remained, but the ambience of the place was definitely on a free fall without the crown present.
Harry summoned the crown from the magically expanded pouch and placed it atop a rune-inscribed wooden plate. It was a device he constructed to deal with any cursed objects he found in the treasure boxes from Valyria. He charged the runes, and their purifying magic flashed over the crown.
However, nothing was amiss with the crown.
Harry reached out hesitantly with his hand and let his fingers glide over it. He ran his fingers over the jagged ends of the crown, feeling for the power locked inside. He began pressing his magic against the crown to forcibly reveal its connection to the spirit realm.
Suddenly, a gentle breeze passed by his body, ruffling his hair and a serene aura settled over him. The next thing he knew, Harry was no longer standing on the Nimbus but near a river.
He looked around in utter bafflement for a moment. Then, he saw a lone figure sitting by the side of the river with the distinctive aura of a spirit. He could feel waves of magical power rolling off from the figure sitting by the side of the river.
Harry cautiously moved forward and realised the lone figure was a woman with long blonde hair and a silver dress with gold metal plate armour over her waist.
"There is no need to be afraid, Godkiller. You who hold dominion over death need not be afraid of the likes of me," the woman said with a chuckle, her voice as gentle as the first notes of a sweet melody yet to be composed.
"Who are you?" Harry asked hesitantly, still keeping his magic at the ready to use in a moment's notice, no matter what the woman claimed.
"Come now, slayer of gods and demons," the woman said with a chuckle. "Surely, the Harbinger of Death already knows my identity."
Harry saw the woman's golden eyes thrumming with otherworldly power as she faced him with her back against the river.
"You're the Seven." said Harry.
"Ah," the woman waved dismissively. "That's the name the Andals call me. You can call me the Maiden-Made-of-Light."
Harry made a face at that long ass name. But it cajoled his memory about a tale told by Maester Luwin from the legends of Yi Ti.
"A bit of a mouthful, I know." the goddess giggled, her golden eyes lighting up with mirth. "So, for simplicity's sake, you may call me Thea."
"Thea," Harry said that name aloud with a frown. "Greek?"
"Ah!" Thea frowned. "I almost forgot you have experience of the Old World. It has been many a millennium since I've heard that word spoken."
"If you're not the Seven, why do you pretend for the Andals?" Harry asked.
"You assume I pretend. They make up these things on their own without much input from me or any other gods. You're new to this, Harry. But you'll see."
"See what?" Harry asked with scrunched eyebrows.
"Destiny, Harry Potter. It's Destiny that made you Godkiller. It's your fate to reap the souls of gods. And the one who reaps the souls of gods is…" Thea smirked at him with a knowing smile. "Death – the destroyer of worlds."
"But… but… I'm not Death. I'm not a god! I'm mortal." Harry sputtered with a flustered face.
"Are you now?" Thea stared at him with a knowing smile. "Why do you think you are alive, Godkiller?"
Harry felt a weight settle in his gut as he was faced with an inconvenient truth. The night remained eerily silent as he returned to his senses.
"Harry!" Arianne slammed into him from behind, hugging him with her arms around his waist. "What're you doing here all by yourself?"
"Just enjoying the stars." Harry lied easily.
The darkness of the night veiled the trouble brewing in his mind, which was reflected on his face. The stars saw it all, but they twinkled merrily as they've always done since the dawn of time.
AN:
To read ahead of the update schedule; pat(r) eon. C (O) M/Dragonspectre.
For artwork related to the fic:
https://discord.gg/Nw2JH25fJf