Harry woke before dawn, which was becoming a habit in this borrowed body. Harwin's internal clock apparently didn't believe in sleeping in, even after days that should have ended in emotional collapse.
*At least I'm consistent,* Harry thought, staring at the ceiling of his quarters. *Consistently exhausted.*
**YOU'RE ALIVE,** Morghul observed from the dragon pit. Their bond had strengthened overnight—Harry could feel the dragon's presence more clearly now, a constant weight in the back of his mind. **EXHAUSTION IS PREFERABLE TO DEATH.**
*Barely.*
**DRAMA DOESN'T SUIT YOU, RIDER.**
Harry dragged himself out of bed, every muscle protesting. The fight with Cole, the flight to Dragonstone, the bonding with Morghul—his borrowed body had been through hell in the past two days and was making its displeasure known.
He moved to the basin in the corner, splashing cold water on his face. Harwin's reflection stared back at him from the polished bronze mirror—still brutally handsome, still wrong, still wearing a stranger's face.
*Tomorrow,* Harry thought. *Tomorrow, I'll be married to Laena. Rhaenyra will marry Laenor. And this stolen life becomes permanent.*
Through their mental connection, he felt Harwin's consciousness stir—a spike of anguish at the reminder, then resignation. The other man had stopped fighting as hard. Maybe accepting the inevitable. Maybe just exhausted from screaming into a void.
*I'm sorry,* Harry thought to him again. *For all of it.*
No response. Never a response. Just that constant presence, watching, grieving, unable to intervene.
Harry turned away from the mirror and moved to the center of his chambers. Time to see what the transformation had actually done to him—beyond giving him a dragon and a magic sword.
He extended his hand, palm up, and *reached* for his magic.
It came instantly.
Not the sluggish, difficult pull he'd experienced in those first moments after arriving. Not even the reliable but contained power he'd wielded for decades as an Auror. This was something else entirely—a flood of magic that responded to his will like it had been waiting for this moment.
*Lumos,* Harry thought.
Light bloomed in his palm. Not the gentle glow of a standard Lumos charm. This was *brilliant*—golden-white fire that cast dancing shadows across the walls, bright enough to make his eyes water.
He let it fade, heart hammering. *That shouldn't have been that strong. Lumos is a first-year spell.*
**THE HALLOWS CHANGED YOU,** Morghul said. **WHEN THEY MERGED WITH ME, THEY MERGED WITH YOU AS WELL. WE'RE ALL CONNECTED NOW—YOU, ME, THE ARTIFACTS. THEIR POWER FLOWS THROUGH BOTH OF US.**
*But they're gone,* Harry protested. *The physical artifacts. I can't see the Cloak anymore, can't hold the Wand—*
**THEY'RE NOT GONE. THEY'RE INTEGRATED. PART OF YOUR FLESH NOW, PART OF MINE. THE WAND'S POWER IN YOUR BLOOD. THE CLOAK'S PROTECTION IN YOUR SKIN. THE STONE'S MASTERY OVER DEATH IN YOUR VERY BONES.**
Harry looked down at his hands—Harwin's hands. They looked normal. No glowing veins, no obvious changes. But when he focused, really *looked* with his magical senses, he could see it.
Golden threads running beneath the skin. Not visible to normal sight, but there. Pulsing with power. The same golden veins that now ran through Dāebrys, through Morghul's scales.
*The Hallows aren't objects anymore,* Harry realized. *They're part of me. Part of us.*
**PRECISELY. WHICH MEANS YOUR MAGIC IS NO LONGER CONSTRAINED BY TOOLS. YOU ARE THE TOOL. YOU ARE THE WEAPON.**
Harry tried another spell—something more complex. *Expecto Patronum.*
The Patronus that burst from his palm made him stumble back in shock.
It wasn't the stag he'd conjured for decades. Prongs, his father's form, the guardian he'd relied on since he was thirteen.
This was something new.
The creature that materialized was massive—easily filling half the room, formed entirely of silver-gold light that seemed to pulse with inner fire. It had the general shape of Morghul. Four legs instead of two. Wings that seemed to shift between existing and not existing. And its head...
*It looks like Morghul,* Harry realized. *My Patronus has taken his form.*
**OUR FORM,** Morghul corrected with satisfaction. **WE'RE BONDED, RIDER. OF COURSE YOUR GUARDIAN MAGIC WOULD REFLECT THAT.**
The Patronus-dragon turned to look at Harry with eyes that held intelligence—more than the usual semi-aware nature of Patronuses. It *studied* him, then lowered its head in what looked almost like a nod before fading.
*That's new,* Harry thought weakly. *That's very new.*
He tried a few more spells—Wingardium Leviosa to float a chair, Aguamenti to summon water, Protego to create a shield. All of them came easily, powerfully, with none of the effort he remembered from his original body.
*The Hallows amplified everything,* Harry realized. *Not just dragon-bonding. My actual magical power. Like they removed whatever limiters normal wizards have.*
**NORMAL WIZARDS DON'T CONQUER DEATH,** Morghul observed. **YOU DID. CONSEQUENCES FOLLOW.**
Harry moved to where Dāebrys leaned against the wall. The sword still looked wrong in the best possible way—black Valyrian steel shot through with those pulsing golden veins, the obsidian crossguard, the merged Resurrection Stone visible as a heart of light within the blade itself.
He drew it slowly, feeling the weight. Lighter than it should be. Perfectly balanced. And warm to the touch, like holding something alive.
*Can I cast through you?* Harry wondered, not entirely sure if he was addressing the sword or the merged essence of the Hallows within it.
The blade pulsed warmth in response. *Yes.*
Harry pointed Dāebrys at the far wall and thought *Stupefy*.
Red light exploded from the sword's tip—not a bolt, not a beam, but a *wave* of stunning magic that would have knocked out everyone in a twenty-foot radius if this had been an actual battle.
*Gods,* Harry thought, hastily ending the spell before it could do damage. *That's... that's dangerous.*
**THAT'S USEFUL,** Morghul corrected. **YOU CAN CAST MAGIC WHILE ARMED. NO ONE WILL SEE IT COMING.**
*No one will see it coming because no one in this world knows magic works this way,* Harry realized. *They have dragons and prophecies and maybe some blood magic, but not... this. Not spells. Not wands—well, sword-wands now.*
**WHICH GIVES YOU AN ADVANTAGE. USE IT WISELY.**
Harry sheathed Dāebrys carefully, mind racing. The implications were staggering. He could cast magic in combat while everyone thought he was just fighting normally. Could defend himself and others without anyone knowing he was doing anything beyond normal swordwork.
*But I need to be careful,* Harry thought. *Can't let anyone see me casting. Can't give away that magic works differently for me.*
**AGREED. SECRETS ARE VALUABLE. ESPECIALLY DANGEROUS SECRETS.**
Harry spent the next hour testing his limits. Wandless magic came easily now—almost too easily. Levitation, transfiguration, even some more advanced charms all responded to his will without the need for incantations or wand movements.
The Invisibility Cloak's essence had indeed merged with him. When he focused, he could feel it—a shroud of not-quite-there-ness that he could pull around himself. Not true invisibility, not yet. But something close. A way of not being noticed, of sliding through perception gaps.
*That'll be useful for sneaking around the Red Keep,* Harry thought. *When I inevitably need to sneak around the Red Keep.*
**WHEN, NOT IF. OPTIMISTIC. I APPROVE.**
By the time the sun started to rise, Harry was exhausted again—but in a good way. He understood his new capabilities better. Knew what he could do, what he should hide, what advantages he now had.
*Now I just need to figure out how to use them without getting burned as a sorcerer,* Harry thought wryly.
**MINOR DETAIL.**
Harry moved to the weapons rack in the corner of his chambers. Harwin had kept a collection of practice weapons—blunted swords, training daggers, even a few maces and axes. All well-maintained, ready for use.
*I need to get used to this body,* Harry thought, selecting a practice sword. *The thing with Cole was pure adrenaline and Harwin's muscle memory. But I need to actually learn how to fight with his strength.*
He moved through basic forms—strikes, blocks, footwork. The body responded beautifully, muscles and reflexes honed by years of training flowing together. But Harry's timing was off. He was used to his original body's build, its reach, its weight distribution.
This body was larger, stronger, with longer limbs and more mass. He kept over-extending, putting too much force into strikes, misjudging distances.
*I'm going to need a sparring partner,* Harry realized. *Someone who can actually challenge me, help me calibrate.*
**PERHAPS YOUR BETROTHED,** Morghul suggested with amusement. **SHE'S A WARRIOR. RIDES THE LARGEST DRAGON ALIVE. PROBABLY KNOWS HOW TO HANDLE A BLADE.**
*Asking my fiancée to beat me up in sparring seems like a terrible way to start a marriage.*
**OR AN EXCELLENT WAY TO ESTABLISH MUTUAL RESPECT. DEPENDS ON YOUR PERSPECTIVE.**
A knock at the door interrupted his practice. Harry quickly racked the training sword and called out, "Enter."
One of the Watch sergeants—Gareth—stuck his head in. "Lord Commander. Morning patrol is assembled and waiting for your inspection. And..." He hesitated. "Lady Laena Velaryon is here to see you. Says it's about the wedding arrangements."
*Right. Because of course it is. Wedding. Tomorrow. Gods.*
"Give me five minutes to make myself presentable," Harry said. "Then send her in."
Gareth nodded and withdrew.
Harry quickly cleaned up—splashing more water on his face, running fingers through his hair to tame the worst of the curls, throwing on a fresh shirt that didn't smell like sweat and magic practice. He'd just finished when the door opened again.
Laena entered with the confident stride of someone who'd spent her life around power and wasn't impressed by much. She wore riding leathers again—practical dark blue and silver—with her hair in that same efficient braid. Her violet eyes swept the chamber, taking in the practice weapons, the rumpled bed, the general state of controlled chaos.
"Good morning," she said. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything important."
"Just morning training," Harry said. "Getting used to the body's capabilities."
Laena's eyebrow rose slightly at the phrasing—*the body's* capabilities, not *my* capabilities—but she didn't comment.
"I came to discuss what you'll wear tomorrow," she said instead. "The ceremony is at noon, which doesn't give us much time. I assume you have formal clothing? As heir to Harrenhal?"
Harry blinked. He'd been so focused on surviving the political implications of the marriage that he'd completely forgotten about the practical aspects. Like what to wear. To his own wedding.
*Brilliant, Potter. Absolutely brilliant.*
"I... yes?" He moved to the wardrobe, opening it to reveal Harwin's collection of formal clothing. "These are all Harwin's—mine. Some I've never worn."
Laena moved to examine the options, running her hands over fabrics with the practiced eye of someone who understood quality. She pulled out several items—a black doublet with silver threading, a deep grey tunic with gold accents, various cloaks and belts.
"Black and gold," she said decisively. "To match Morghul. To match your sword. Make a statement."
She selected a black doublet with intricate gold embroidery along the seams—subtle but unmistakably expensive. The kind of thing Harwin had probably been given by his father for formal court appearances but never had occasion to wear.
"This, with black trousers and boots. And..." Laena pulled out one of Harwin's spare gold cloaks—the uniform of the City Watch, but this one was clearly ceremonial rather than practical. Heavy wool dyed a deep golden yellow, lined with silk. "This. I'll have my maids put the sigil of House Strong on it properly for tomorrow. The bat of Harrenhal."
She held the cloak up against him, studying the effect. "Yes. This works. Dragon rider, Lord Commander, heir to Harrenhal. All of it visible in what you wear."
Harry looked down at the clothing she'd selected. It was all very... dramatic. Very statement-making. The kind of outfit that would draw every eye in the Sept.
"Is that wise?" he asked. "Drawing that much attention?"
"You're marrying a Velaryon and you ride the transformed Cannibal," Laena said dryly. "Every eye will be on you regardless. Might as well control the narrative."
She had a point.
"My father is also having a saddle commissioned for Morghul," Laena continued, setting the clothing aside. "Obviously it has to be different from traditional saddles. Four legs instead of two, different spine structure, that tail..." She smiled slightly. "The master craftsmen are quite excited about the challenge. It should be ready in a few days."
*A saddle. Right. Because riding bareback on a massive dragon is probably not sustainable long-term.*
"Thank you," Harry said. "I hadn't even thought about that."
"I noticed." Laena's expression turned more serious. "Harwin—may I speak plainly?"
"Please."
"You're different than people described. Everyone says you're loyal, strong, good at your job. But they also describe you as more... political. More aware of court dynamics. Better at the games people play."
She studied his face.
"You're not playing games. You barely seem interested in politics at all. You just want to do your duty and be left alone. Which is either very stupid or very smart, and I haven't decided which yet."
Harry considered how to respond. He'd been trying to maintain the facade of being Harwin, but Laena was right—he wasn't good at the political maneuvering that the real Harwin would have excelled at.
*Maybe it's time to use Morghul's advice,* Harry thought. *Stop pretending to be something I'm not. Blame the changes on the dragon bonding.*
"The bonding changed me," Harry said carefully. "Made me see things differently. Priorities shifted. What seemed important before—the politics, the scheming—just feels like noise now."
He met her eyes.
"I'd rather be honest about that than pretend to be something I'm not. If that's a problem for you—"
"It's not." Laena's expression softened slightly. "Honestly, it's refreshing. Most men I've met are so busy performing for everyone else that there's nothing real beneath the mask. You... you're real. Blunt. Direct. I can work with that."
She moved toward the door, then paused.
"There's one more thing. About tomorrow. About what comes after."
Harry tensed. "Yes?"
"I know you have feelings for Princess Rhaenyra. I know she has feelings for you. This marriage—ours—doesn't erase that." Laena turned to face him fully. "I'm not asking you to stop caring about her. I'm asking you to be discreet. To protect both her reputation and ours. Can you do that?"
*Can I be discreet about feelings I'm not even sure are mine? About a relationship that belonged to the man whose body I stole?*
"Yes," Harry said. Because what else could he say?
Laena nodded, satisfied. "Good. Then I'll see you tomorrow at the Sept. Try not to panic too obviously during the ceremony. It unsettles the guests."
She was almost to the door when Harry heard himself call out, "Laena. Wait."
She turned, eyebrow raised.
Harry's mouth opened. Closed. The words fought to escape—*I'm not who you think I am. I'm not Harwin Strong. I'm someone else, something else, wearing his face like a mask.*
*I should tell her. She deserves to know who she's actually marrying.*
But if he told Laena, he'd have to tell Rhaenyra. And Laenor. And his father. And suddenly the entire house of cards would collapse, the fragile new life he was building would shatter, and he'd be—what? Executed as a sorcerer? Imprisoned? Exiled?
*Or worse—they'd try to get Harwin back. Try to exorcise me or whatever they do in this world. And I don't even know if Harwin's still in here enough to return, or if I've already erased him by existing.*
Through their connection, Harry felt Harwin's consciousness stir—a flash of desperate hope at the idea of return, immediately crushed by the knowledge that it probably wasn't possible.
*I can't,* Harry realized. *I can't tell her. Not yet. Not until I understand what I am, what happened, whether there's any way to fix it.*
"Nothing," Harry said finally. "Just... thank you. For understanding. For making this easier than it could be."
Laena's expression suggested she knew he'd been about to say something else, but she didn't press. "Tomorrow, then. Noon. Try to get some sleep tonight."
Then she was gone, leaving Harry alone with his guilt and his secrets and a dragon in his head who'd witnessed the entire internal debate.
**YOU ALMOST TOLD HER,** Morghul observed.
*I should have told her.*
**PERHAPS. BUT SELF-PRESERVATION WINS AGAIN. AS IT USUALLY DOES.**
*That doesn't make it right.*
**NOTHING ABOUT OUR EXISTENCE IS RIGHT, RIDER. WE'RE A DEAD WIZARD IN A STOLEN BODY, BONDED TO A TRANSFORMED DRAGON, WIELDING ARTIFACTS THAT SHOULDN'T EXIST. 'RIGHT' STOPPED APPLYING TO US THE MOMENT YOU STEPPED THROUGH THE VEIL.**
Harry slumped onto his bed, head in his hands. *I hate this. Hate lying to everyone. Hate pretending to be someone I'm not.*
**THEN STOP PRETENDING.**
*You said that before. But I can't just—*
**YOU CAN. YOU'RE A DRAGON RIDER NOW. YOU HAVE POWER. POSITION. PROTECTION. USE IT. BE YOURSELF—OR AS MUCH OF YOURSELF AS HARWIN'S FACE ALLOWS. BLAME ANY DIFFERENCES ON THE BONDING. PEOPLE WILL ACCEPT IT.**
Harry looked up at the morning light filtering through his window. Somewhere out there, the City Watch was waiting for his inspection. Laena was preparing for a wedding to a man she barely knew. Rhaenyra was probably trying not to think about watching her lover marry someone else. And the whole realm was holding its breath, waiting for Viserys to die and the succession crisis to truly begin.
*One day at a time,* Harry reminded himself. *Just survive today. Then tomorrow. Then the next day.*
**NOW YOU're learning.**
A thought occurred to him. "Morghul. You said the Hallows merged with both of us. That their power flows through our bond."
**YES.**
"Does that mean you can cast magic too? Or... something like it?"
The dragon's amusement rippled through their connection. **TRY ASKING ME TO BREATHE FIRE AND SEE WHAT HAPPENS.**
*We're inside the city. If you breathe fire and hit something important, we'll both be executed.*
**THEN PERHAPS WAIT UNTIL WE'RE SOMEWHERE MORE APPROPRIATE. BUT YES—I CAN FEEL IT. THE POWER. NOT QUITE THE SAME AS YOUR SPELLS, BUT SIMILAR. RAW MAGIC THAT I CAN SHAPE AND DIRECT.**
**WE'LL HAVE TO EXPERIMENT. CAREFULLY.**
*Very carefully. The last thing we need is to accidentally blow up the dragon pit.*
**SPEAK FOR YOURSELF. THAT SOUNDS EXCITING.**
Despite everything, Harry smiled. At least the dragon had a sense of humor about their predicament.
He stood, straightening his clothing, preparing to face another day of pretending to be Harwin Strong while secretly being Harry Potter while actually being some horrific fusion of both.
*Tomorrow I get married to a woman I barely know. Tomorrow Rhaenyra marries Laenor. Tomorrow everything changes.*
*But today? Today I'm just the Lord Commander. I can handle that.*
**THAT'S THE SPIRIT. LOW EXPECTATIONS. REALISTIC GOALS.**
*You're really not helping with the motivational speeches.*
**I'M A DRAGON. NOT A MOTIVATIONAL SPEAKER. ADJUST YOUR EXPECTATIONS ACCORDINGLY.**
Harry grabbed his gold cloak—the working one, not the ceremonial version Laena had selected—and headed for the door.
Time to inspect the morning patrol, deal with whatever crises the city had generated overnight, and try very hard not to think about the fact that in twenty-four hours, his life was going to change forever.
*Again.*
**AT LEAST IT WON'T BE BORING.**
*That's what worries me.*
---
The City Watch barracks were organized chaos, as always. Men coming off the night shift, men preparing for day patrol, sergeants shouting orders, the smell of oil and leather and too many bodies in one space.
Harry strode through it all with Harwin's easy confidence, acknowledging nods and salutes, his very presence commanding attention without needing to demand it.
*At least this part I understand,* he thought. *Command structure. Duty rosters. Keeping order. This is just policing.*
**POLICING WITH SWORDS INSTEAD OF WANDS,** Morghul observed. **AND DRAGONS INSTEAD OF AURORS. BUT ESSENTIALLY THE SAME.**
The day watch was assembled in the courtyard—forty men in gold cloaks, armed and ready. Gareth stood at their head, looking every inch the veteran sergeant.
"Morning, Lord Commander," Gareth said, snapping a salute. "Day watch ready for inspection and orders."
Harry moved down the line, checking each man with the practiced eye of someone who'd done this hundreds of times. Harwin's memories provided names and histories for most of them, filling in gaps where Harry's own knowledge fell short.
*That's Edric. Good with a blade, questionable judgment. Tomas—solid, reliable, has three kids. Martyn—the clever one who's good with paperwork. Benjen—new recruit, eager, needs seasoning.*
He stopped in front of a younger man whose armor was slightly askew, leather straps not quite tight enough.
"Benjen," Harry said. Not harsh, but firm. "Your buckles are loose. If you have to run down a fleeing thief, your breastplate's going to shift. Could get you killed."
The young man flushed, immediately working to fix the problem. "Yes, ser. Sorry, ser."
"Don't apologize. Just fix it." Harry continued down the line. "The rest of you look good. Sharp. Ready."
He turned to address them all, and Harwin's voice came out strong and clear—the voice of a commander these men trusted.
"The royal wedding is tomorrow. That means the city will be packed with nobles, merchants, and every pickpocket and con artist within fifty miles who thinks they can make easy coin off distracted tourists."
A few knowing chuckles from the veterans.
"Your job is to keep order without starting incidents. Be visible. Be professional. Don't let anyone push you around, but don't be looking for fights either. We're here to protect people, not crack skulls for fun."
*That last bit is pure Harry, not Harwin. But it needs to be said.*
"Patrol routes are standard," Harry continued. "But I want extra eyes on the Sept and the surrounding streets. If you see anything suspicious—and I mean *anything*—report it immediately. Someone tries to sabotage the wedding, we're all going to look bad."
He paused, making eye contact with several of the men.
"You wear the gold cloak. That means something. It means people trust you to keep them safe. Don't betray that trust. Understood?"
A chorus of "Yes, ser!" echoed across the courtyard.
"Good. Gareth, deploy them. Standard four-man teams, rotating shifts. I want fresh eyes on the high-value areas every three hours."
"Yes, ser." Gareth began barking orders, and the watch dispersed with practiced efficiency.
Harry turned to head back inside when a familiar voice stopped him.
"Lord Commander. A word?"
Lyonel Strong stood in the doorway to the barracks, looking every inch the Hand of the King in his formal robes. But his expression was softer than usual—paternal rather than political.
*Oh. Right. My borrowed father wants to talk about the wedding. This should be fun.*
**SARCASM NOTED.**
Harry followed Lyonel into a small office off the main barracks—private, quiet, with a window overlooking the training yard.
"Sit," Lyonel said, gesturing to a chair.
Harry sat, very aware that he was about to get some kind of father-son talk from a man who wasn't actually his father, about a life that wasn't actually his.
*This is fine. Everything is fine. I'm only committing identity fraud on a cosmic scale.*
**OPTIMISM. I APPROVE.**
Lyonel poured two cups of watered wine—a breakfast drink in this world, apparently—and handed one to Harry.
"Your wedding is tomorrow," Lyonel said without preamble. "And I realized we haven't actually talked about it. About what it means. About..." He paused, searching for words. "About how you're handling all of this."
*Oh gods. He wants to have The Talk. About marriage and duty and—*
"I'm handling it," Harry said carefully. "Lady Laena and I have an understanding. It's a political alliance, not a love match. We're both clear on that."
"I know." Lyonel took a sip of wine. "But that doesn't make it easy. Especially given..." He hesitated. "Given your feelings for the Princess."
"Father—" Harry started.
"I'm not angry," Lyonel interrupted. "I'm not even disappointed. Rhaenyra is remarkable. If circumstances were different..." He shook his head. "But circumstances aren't different. She's the heir to the throne. You're the son of the Hand. What you want doesn't matter as much as what's politically viable."
He leaned forward.
"But I need to know—are you going to be all right? Tomorrow, watching her marry Laenor while you marry Laena. Can you handle that?"
*Can I handle watching Rhaenyra marry someone else while I marry someone else using a face that isn't mine?*
*What a question.*
"I'll manage," Harry said. Because what else could he say?
Lyonel studied his face for a long moment. "You're different, you know. Since the bonding with Morghul. Quieter. More... inward-focused. Less interested in court politics."
*Because I'm not Harwin. Because I'm someone else wearing his face, trying desperately not to get caught.*
"The dragon changed me," Harry said, using the excuse again. "Made me see things differently. What seemed important before—the games, the maneuvering—just feels trivial now."
"Trivial." Lyonel's lips quirked in something that might have been amusement. "Most men who gain power become more interested in politics, not less. You've gained a dragon and somehow become *less* politically ambitious."
He shook his head.
"I don't know if that's wisdom or foolishness. But it's certainly unexpected."
*It's self-preservation. If I try to play political games I don't understand, I'll get everyone killed.*
"I just want to do my job," Harry said honestly. "Keep the city safe. Fly my dragon. Fulfill my duties to House Strong. Everything else..." He shrugged. "Everything else is noise."
Lyonel was quiet for a moment, turning his cup in his hands.
"Your mother would have liked you this way," he said finally, so softly Harry almost didn't hear. "She was never interested in court politics either. Just wanted a quiet life, a family, time to pursue her interests. I couldn't give her that—not as Hand. But she tried."
His expression turned pained.
"She died when you were ten. Fever. Quick, merciful, but..." He looked up at Harry. "But it broke something in this house. Larys withdrew into himself. You threw yourself into training, into service. And I..."
A bitter laugh.
"I threw myself into work. Into duty. Thought if I could just be good enough, loyal enough, useful enough, it would fill the hole she left."
He set down his cup.
"It didn't, of course. Duty never fills those holes. It just gives you something to do while you're grieving."
Harry felt a surge of empathy—not Harwin's, but his own. He understood grief. Understood the futile attempt to fix the unfixable through work and duty and constant motion.
"I'm sorry," Harry said. "About Mother. About—"
"Don't." Lyonel held up a hand. "I'm not telling you this for sympathy. I'm telling you because tomorrow, you're marrying for duty. And I want you to know—that's not a betrayal of what you feel for Rhaenyra. It's just... survival. Making the best of an impossible situation."
He stood, moving to the window.
"Your mother and I married for love. And we had ten good years before she was taken. But if I'd had to marry for duty instead? I would have. Because that's what our positions require. Sacrifice. Compromise. Choosing the realm's needs over our own wants."
He turned back to Harry.
"So tomorrow, when you stand in that Sept and make vows to Laena Velaryon... don't torture yourself over what you're giving up. Focus on what you're gaining. Protection. Power. The ability to keep the people you care about safe."
*That's what Daemon said to Rhaenyra, probably. Focus on what you gain, not what you lose.*
*Does everyone in this world think that way? Constant calculation of costs and benefits?*
"Thank you," Harry said. "That... helps. Actually helps."
Lyonel smiled—genuine warmth breaking through the political mask. "Good. Now, I have meetings all morning. Coordinating the wedding logistics, managing the visiting lords, keeping your brother from causing problems—"
"Larys?" Harry interrupted. "What's he doing?"
"Being Larys." Lyonel's expression turned guarded. "Watching. Listening. Offering his services to anyone who'll pay attention. You know how he is."
*I know Harwin doesn't trust him. That there's something wrong with Larys beyond the physical disability.*
"Should I be worried?" Harry asked.
"Always be worried about Larys," Lyonel said quietly. "But don't let him know you're worried. That's when he's most dangerous."
*Great. So my borrowed brother is some kind of schemer who becomes dangerous when threatened. Wonderful.*
"I'll keep that in mind," Harry said.
Lyonel moved to the door, then paused. "Harwin? I'm proud of you. What you did for Laenor, claiming that dragon, accepting this marriage—all of it. You're becoming the man I always hoped you'd be."
*Except I'm not. I'm just someone pretending to be him.*
"Thank you, Father."
After Lyonel left, Harry sat alone in the small office, staring at his watered wine.
*Tomorrow. The wedding. Everything changes tomorrow.*
**YOU KEEP SAYING THAT,** Morghul observed. **BUT EVERYTHING'S BEEN CHANGING CONSTANTLY SINCE YOU ARRIVED. WHY IS TOMORROW SPECIAL?**
*Because tomorrow makes it permanent. Marriage is forever in this world—or at least very difficult to undo. Once I'm married to Laena, there's no going back. No pretending this is temporary. No hoping I'll wake up and be Harry Potter again.*
**YOU'LL NEVER BE JUST HARRY POTTER AGAIN,** the dragon said. Not unkindly, just stating fact. **THAT HARRY DIED WHEN HIS WORLD ENDED. YOU'RE SOMETHING NEW NOW. SOMETHING BETWEEN HARRY AND HARWIN AND THE HALLOWS' POWER. MIGHT AS WELL ACCEPT IT.**
*I hate it when you're right.*
**GET USED TO IT. I'M RIGHT FREQUENTLY.**
Harry drained his cup and stood. Time to get back to work. Tomorrow would bring what it brought. Today, he had a city to protect and a patrol to supervise.
*One day at a time. Just like always.*
**THAT'S THE SPIRIT.**
*You're being suspiciously supportive. What's wrong?*
**NOTHING. I JUST ENJOY WATCHING YOU FUMBLE THROUGH YOUR EXISTENTIAL CRISIS WHILE PRETENDING TO BE COMPETENT. IT'S ENTERTAINING.**
*I hate you.*
**NO YOU DON'T. YOU'D BE LOST WITHOUT ME.**
*...Fair point.*
**AS ALWAYS.**
---
Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord (HHHwRsB6wd) server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Can't wait to see you there!