A Lion for a Lion

AN: Thanks for voting in the poll, and I hope you enjoy!

Pacing was the only thing keeping his mind off the task to come. He knew that he was about to stand in front of a dragon and that there was no avoiding it. Well, I could simply leave and forfeit my magic, but that doesn’t seem like a good option either.

That wasn’t to say that he hadn’t considered it at least once or twice, but the only friends and family, the only home, that he’d ever known was in the magical world. And if it meant facing down a dragon in order to keep it, he was willing to do it. Which surely makes me at least a little mad, but I am the same bloke who faced a basilisk at twelve so that was probably already true.

His fellow competitors had to be at least a bit mad as well, because unlike him, they’d willingly chosen to enter themselves into the tournament. Though from the look on their faces, they had their own doubts now that they knew there was a ruddy, great, fire-breathing lizard waiting for them.

“Gather round champions!” Ludo Bagman entered the tent with the three heads and Barty in tow, “The time had finally arrived.” Barty was carrying a bag, and from the looks of it there was something wriggling within.

“Your first task is to retrieve a golden egg from the nest of a dragon.” None of them were surprised by the dragon part in the slightest, though he wasn’t expecting to have to retrieve the egg, “All that’s left to be decided is which dragon you’ll face.”

At that, Crouch offered the bag to Fleur, “Ladies first Miss Delacour.” The French witch dipped her hand into the bag and grabbed hold of one of the things within. Pulling back, it was a living replica of a Welsh Green.

Cedric went next and pulled out Swedish Short-Snout, Viktor the Chinese Fireball, which left Harry with the Hungarian Horntail… because of course that was just his luck. Bloody fucking hell… as if unwillingly being in the tournament isn’t bad enough, I get the meanest bastard dragon out of the four. It made him want to find the nearest wall and beat his head against it repeatedly.

Even the replica of the dragon was an aggressive little bastard. Harry had to pull away as it went to bite at his fingers. It wasn’t satisfied with that and blew out a cone of fire that was thankfully not nearly as hot as the real thing.

“Very good,” Ludo’s boisterousness was undercut by the genuine tension in the room felt by the champions, “Ms. Delacour will compete first, and you need only wait for the canon before entering. Your order shall be the same as the order you drew the dragons.”

The judges left the tent and less than a minute later the first canon was fired. Fleur left the tent looking determined, and understandably, at least a little fearful too. They could hear the roar of the crowd as she entered, the muffled sounds of Ludo’s commentary, and then there was the great thundering of a dragon moving about.

Viktor sat stonily on one of the benches, staring at nothing. The only noise between them was the soft bouncing of Cedric’s foot where he sat, hands braced against the bench, silently mouthing something to himself. Spells or his plan most likely.

As the moment approached, Harry felt an odd sort of calm with the whole thing. Either the Summoning Charm would work and he had a chance, or it wouldn’t and he’d be stuck facing a murderous lizard with very little in the way of fighting back.

Fleur finished in what felt entirely too quickly and like an eternity all at once. There was a part of him that just wanted to get it over and done with, and another that wanted each of his competitors to take as long as possible. There was a rather morbid part of him that wondered if they’d put a stop to the event altogether if one of the others were seriously injured... or worse. Not that he wished it on anyone, but he was curious.

The dragon handlers above coaxed the Welsh Green out of the arena, and brought the Swedish Short-Snout in. Only once Cedric’s dragon was in place was there another shot of the canon. The Hufflepuff made for the exit of the tent, but offered Harry a small smile and a nod of his head that was returned.

There was nothing to do but wait, listening to the roar of the crowd. It felt as though Cedric finished faster than Fleur but it was difficult to truly tell. The pattern repeated itself, and he was left alone. Considering not a word had been spoken since the judges left, that didn’t feel like anything new.

There was a great commotion as it sounded like the dragon was rampaging around. It was enough to make the ground beneath Harry’s feet shake. It went on for some time before it seemed that Viktor had finally finished.

Well… my turn. Harry was standing right at the exit to the tent just waiting for the sound of the cannon. Boom!

Wand in hand, he made his way out of the tent and through the tunnel into the arena. There was a gate that closed behind him as he entered, “And now our final, and youngest champion of the tournament, Harry Potter!”

He barely even registered what was being said, he was instead fixated on the great beast on the opposite side of the arena. There it was, crouched low over her clutch of eggs. Her scales were black as pitch, her horns were like burnished bronze as were the spikes along her back and tail. The spiked tail dragged through the ground, leaving great gouges.

Her eyes were a bright yellow and staring at him menacingly. The cat-like slits narrowed as he took a step closer. Even that was enough to put her on her guard. The great beast unfurled its wings and rose before letting out a yowling shriek that shook Harry all the way to his bones.

“Accio Firebolt!” He could only wait and pray that the spell worked. If it did, please get here quickly! Because if it didn’t, there was a very good chance that he’d be dead. The Horntail charged across the arena, its tail shattering rock as it went.

It closed the distance between them at a rapid rate. When it was only thirty feet away, it reared up, and Harry bolted for cover. It was the right decision as the boulder was bathed in white hot flame. The intensity was so great that the boulder slowly began to burn red hot until Harry could stay there no longer.  

He felt physical relief when he saw his Firebolt cutting through the air toward him. He ran toward it, intending to jump on as it passed. That relief turned into an overwhelming sense of dread as a column of flame burst in front of him. The heat of the flames was so great that he had to turn away and hide behind another boulder.

His Firebolt kept right on the line it was approaching him on… and didn’t stand a chance against the blaze. It was burned to cinders before it ever reached him. His heart sank in his chest as the inevitability of the situation hit him hard. He only had one plan that had even a hope of succeeding. What do I do now?

He rattled through his mind for every spell that he knew, but there was nothing. There’s was only one thing that came to mind, one last ditch attempt to save himself. He could only pray that it worked. Yelling out, his words came out sibilant and impossible for anyone in the crowd to understand, “Wait! You don’t need to do this!”

“What’s this? Harry Potter is a parseltongue?!” Harry didn’t even care that piece of information was guaranteed to be revealed to the wider world now. He was just trying to survive.

To his credit, the Horntail gave a moment’s pause. It tilted its head and stopped its rampaging. There was an intelligence in the dragon that he was hoping would work to his advantage. Stepping out from behind the boulder, he put his hands up praying that it would recognize it as an act of submission, “There’s an egg in your nest that doesn’t belong… If you give it to me, I’ll leave and bother you no further.”

The dragon stared at him for a long moment, yellow eyes narrowing as it took him in. His heart was hammering in his chest as the massive dragon leaned forward to sniff him loudly. It turned its massive head toward its nest before turning to regard Harry again.

There was a part of him that thought maybe, just maybe, that he’d gotten through to the beast. But until the egg was in his hand and he’d successfully made it out of the arena, he wouldn’t assume anything.

He could hear commotion from outside of the arena. As he looked toward the gate where the dragons had been brought in, he could see the handlers hurrying forward. Charlie Weasley was at the front of them, panicked as he tried to reach Harry.

The reason why became apparent as the Horntail reared back and roared right in his face. His eardrums felt as though they were on the verge of exploding. Then he saw it open its maw and the razor-sharp teeth that filled it. They could chomp him to bits in just a few bites, but then there was the light at the back of the throat, bright and hot, and Harry knew that there was no escape.

He didn’t cower, he didn’t even flinch back as the white-hot flames were about to wash over him. He just accepted that would be his death, after avoiding it so many times over.

Fate was a funny thing though, and that pesky little horcrux, small and weak, in his head that he hadn’t the slightest knowledge of wasn’t so willing to die. To the observers in the stands, Harry burned to ash in an instant in a fire so hot that there weren’t even bones to remember him by… but the truth was far different.

Cersei wended her way through the trees outside of Lannisport unbothered by whether her companions kept up or not.

Just beside her was Melara Heatherspoon, a pretty girl with freckles dotted all about her face. Her auburn hair hung to the middle of her back. She was tall for her age, half a head taller than Cersei herself. The daughter of one of her father’s knights, she followed Cersei step for step, just as eager to reach their destination. They were only there because of what she’d overheard in the kitchens of Casterly Rock.

It was said that Maggy the Frog could curse a man, make him fall in love, summon demons, and even foretell the future. It was the last that interested Cersei most. And so, they’d snuck out of the castle to pay the old witch a visit.  

The last of their little group was Jeyne Farman. She was fat and stout, huffing and puffing with effort. Though Cersei suspected that her slowness had more to do with her apprehension about what they were doing rather than her weight, “Are we sure that this is a good idea?”

Cersei snapped her head to glare at the girl, “Yes. If you’re too afraid you can run back to your bed and no one will be any the wiser.”

“But…” She was being surprisingly brave in the face of Cersei’s ire, “there are plenty of stories about wood’s witches, of the horrible things that they can do. What if she puts a curse on us?”

Scoffing at the very notion, she assured Jeyne, “She wouldn’t dare do such a thing to the daughter of Tywin Lannister.” Her father’s shadow loomed large upon everyone in the West, and even in the whole of the Seven Kingdoms. It was something that Cersei knew all too well and had no problem taking advantage of when it suited her.

Jeyne didn’t seem to be comforted by that fact, “Only one of us is the daughter of Lord Tywin, my lady.” It was a fair point, but Cersei wasn’t overly concerned with the well-being of her companions. She liked them well enough. They were better than some of the other daughters of her father’s men that she’d been forced to endure, Melara in particular. She might be even bolder about this whole endeavor than I am.  But she wasn’t going to let some passing fondness for them stop her curiosity.

Melara pushed on ahead, brushing aside the branch of a bush, “I think we’re nearly there. There’s a light just ahead.”

That was enough to pull her attention away from Jeyne and back toward the task at hand. There was a small clearing before another stretch of wood, and then she was sure that she could see a tent just on the other side. There was only one thing driving her toward the tent, knowing her future, finding out if she’d be Rhaegar’s bride.

She didn’t think there was anything that could distract her from that goal, and if it weren’t for something entirely unexpected, she would’ve been right.  

As they stepped into the clearing there was a blinding flash of light. It burned so hot that it made her turn away. She felt fear creep up her spine as the heat of the fire came so terribly close. Melara and Cersei both stumbled back as they heard a shriek of terror from the edge of the tree line.

It was Jeyne’s good fortune that she hadn’t been as eager as the other two. Had she been as close, she might’ve collapsed from fear. Beside her, Melara was crying out in pain. Turning to the girl, she could see that her hand was burned as she cradled it against her chest. Another step forward and Cersei would’ve suffered a similar fate, another two and she dreaded to think what would’ve happened.

As the light subsided, Cersei finally turned back to the source of it. The trees along the clearing were charred black. A branch snapped and fell to the ground and pushed up a pile of ash. All the grass and shrubbery had been eviscerated, there were embers that fell like snow to the ground. At the center, there was a ring of fire and at its middle was… a boy.

No, he was too old to call him such. At the very least a young man, maybe even a man grown. His garb was all black save for the trimming of red and gold. On his chest was a golden lion, resplendent, not dissimilar to the sigil of her house. While he’d been at the very center of the fire, it appeared as though no harm had befallen him.

He was standing, eyes closed, sweat dripping from his brow. In his right hand, he was holding a stick, though to her eye it looked more deliberate than a simple stick. There was blood seeping out from a lightning bolt shaped scar in the center of his head and dripping from his chin to the ground below. It was easily the most terrifying, and interesting, thing she could remember happening in her young life.  

When he opened his eyes, she found them to be an emerald green no less captivating than the ones she saw in the mirror.  If it weren’t for the jet-black hair, he could be mistaken for a Lannister.

He seemed to take her in for a long moment before he pointed his stick at her cautiously rather than aggressively. His words were jittery and afraid, “Who are you? Where am I? How… how…” Whatever else he was going to say was lost to the wind as the circumstances of his arrival, whatever they really were, seemed to catch up with him all at once. He collapsed in a heap on the ground.

Pushing to her feet, Cersei made to walk over to him when she heard a whimper behind her. Looking from the new arrival to her companion, she made for Melara and helped her up, “Th… thank you… my lady.”

“You’re lucky to be alive.” Cersei pointed out, and it only made what color remained from the girl drain from her face. Though even Cersei didn’t know just how true her words were.

Melara’s eyes darted over to the tree line where the tent could still be seen. Quietly, and with far less enthusiasm than she had before, she said, “We can still visit Maggy… if you like, my lady?”

Two steps from death… I was just two steps from death. She couldn’t help but wonder if she would learn that part of her future if she went to visit Maggy now, too. It was hard to know if this was the will of the gods or random chance, but Cersei found all of her earlier curiosity… vanished. The sight of the tent and the faint lights that sat outside of it brought her nothing but dread now.

Realizing that Melara was waiting for her reply, she shook her head, “No, I think not. Jeyne surely went to retrieve the guard and it will be difficult enough to explain this to my father when he hears of it.” But there was more that she wasn’t saying. And perhaps… it’s better to leave the future well enough alone.

Melara tried to hide it, but there was a palpable sense of relief for her as well. Whether that was because she wanted to return to the maester to heal her wounds as quickly as possible, or because she’d had the same epiphany as Cersei, she didn’t know.

“Who do you think he is?”  Melara asked through a stifled sniffle, eyes fixed on the unconscious young man, “Where did he come from?”

“I don’t know.” Cersei approached him then. But I’d like to. “I’m sure my father will find the truth of it.”

The flames that burned around him had faded as he lost consciousness. Reaching a hand down to his throat, she checked to see if he was even still alive. There was the strong beat of a pulse against her fingers. She saw the stick hanging loosely between his fingers, and she reached for it. There was a thrum that went through her whole body as she wrapped her fingers around it.

That’s when she heard it, “Lady Cersei! My lady, can you hear me!?”

Just as she suspected, Jeyne had gone to inform the guard. It worked to her advantage since she had no hope of moving him alone, and Melara certainly wouldn’t be any help. Her voice echoed through the trees as she called out, “Over here, come quickly!”

They appeared on horseback, weapons drawn no doubt expecting her to be in some danger. When they saw the destruction around the clearing, it brought them up short. Despite her youth, they all looked to her.

She spoke with a weight and authority that came from being from one of the Great Houses of Westeros, “Melara has been hurt, take her back to the Rock quickly.” One of the younger guards, no older than six and ten, kindly helped her onto his saddle and left the same way that he’d come.

The most senior of the guard pulled up beside her and climbed down from his horse, “My lady, you should return as well.”.

“No, not yet.” She pointed to the young man, “He’s to be brought back to the Rock. My father will want to know what’s happened here, and only he’ll be able to tell him the truth of it.”

The guard looked hesitant, but at her arched eyebrow, he lowered his head in deference, “As you command.” He signaled to one of his men who gathered the young man up and sat him in front of him on his saddle. With that, she allowed him to help her into the saddle before he climbed on behind her. Normally, no guard would be so presumptuous, but these were odd circumstances.

As they left the clearing behind, Cersei gave no further thought to the future Maggy might tell her and little did she know that she’d be all the better for it.  

But as the pounding of hooves on dirt diminished, the decrepit old woman, squat and warty, hobbled her way into the clearing.

She’d felt the change in the air, smelled the soot on the breeze, heard the screams and the breaking of branches and it had woken her from her slumber. Hidden within the trees, she saw everything that followed. In her long years, she could never remember witnessing quite the sight.

Where the ground was burned blackest, one finger dipped down to the small pool of blood that remained on the ground. She opened her toothless mouth and brought it to her tongue.

Visions came to her then, many and more, of a fate undetermined. So many threads, but one inevitability. There was a new song to be sung.  

AN: I was between three ideas of how to get Harry to Westeros in this story. One involved the basilisk in a similar scenario as the dragon, at least partially, and the other was simply the Veil. I liked this one best in the end.

Since Cersei is still young in this chapter, I didn't feel the need to put the casting in yet but if it gets more chapters I know who I'm leaning towards.

Thanks for reading!