The Wizard of Fury Chapter 14

AN: This is the start of Part 2 of The Wizard of Fury! Harry is now fully grown up and ready to take on the world. The plot will develop quickly from here, and it won't be long before Harry finds his first partner in this world. I hope you all enjoy it, and stay tuned for the next chapter soon.

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It smelt like old piss and herbs inside of this smoke-filled shop. Calling it a shop was a bit of a stretch though when it was little more than a tent set up at the end of a narrow alley. A pile of threadbare blankets served as a makeshift bed, and a broken wooden stool served as the slanted table that the man who called this place home distributed his wares. He never offered a name, and Harry hadn’t bothered to offer his own either. Names could be dangerous things to give out, especially in King’s Landing.

“You must close your eyes,” the man insisted as he scratched out one of the few remaining grey hairs from his head.

“Absolutely not,” Harry refused immediately.

The man’s face turned sour as he rested back against his heels. He didn’t sit normally on the small cushion beneath him like Harry did. “I won’t show you where I hide my things,” the man argued, clearly having had this conversation one-too-many times before.

“You’d have to be a fool to close your eyes for more than a second anywhere near Shivers Wynd,” Harry rolled his eyes. The narrow street was well-known for the multiple stabbings that happened daily, not that the City Watch ever bothered to do anything about it. “Besides, you keep your things beneath a loose cobblestone underneath those candles there.”

The man glowered at Harry as his eyes unwillingly flickered over to the area Harry was pointing at. “Not so loud,” he shushed Harry.

“Then get on with it and show me what you’ve procured,” Harry told him.

The man grumbled as he carefully pushed the candles aside and lifted the loose stone, revealing a roughly-chiselled hole. Three rectangular bundles sat within, which the man removed and set upon the stool between them.

“It was harder getting these things than I thought,” the man said as Harry reached out for them. “I’ll need a bit more coin to cover the cost.”

“We agreed upon fifteen silver stags,” Harry reminded him with a frown. He’d known that this was coming. Everyone had warned him of what King’s Landing was like and how deals were made and altered at a whim.

“We did, but I was hoping for—” the man licked his lips, glancing up at Harry with undisguised hope in his eyes. “—twenty. The wood is of the finest quality.”

“It’d better be,” Harry warned him. “If it isn’t, you get nothing.”

The three blocks of wood were bundled up in cheap cloth and tied together with twine. Harry carefully unravelled the twine and unfurled the cloth to reveal three distinct pieces of wood. At the very least, it looked like the man had found three different types of wood, which was better than Harry could say for the last man who’d tried to swindle him.

“I had to sneak into a manse to get that wood from a lemon tree,” the man pointed out with his dirt-covered finger. “And the ebony and ironwood both came from a trader from the North. It wasn’t easy to get my hands on it.”

“Did you pay for it like I instructed you to?” Harry asked.

The silence said everything that needed to be said. Of course, the man had pocketed the money Harry had given him and chosen to steal it instead.

The wood all looked to be genuine. Harry tapped the ironwood with his nail, noting that it felt as hard as he’d been led to believe. The grain of the ebony matched that of a wand he’d once seen in Ollivander’s wand shop, and while he hadn’t ever seen a cut block of lemon-tree wood before, it had a subtle lemony scent to it.

“Well?” The man asked eagerly. “How are they?”

“Good enough to earn you twenty silver stags,” Harry said. The man’s face lit up like he’d just been given a monumental gift, which he likely had been. Twenty silver stags would be enough for him to buy new clothes, some hay to sleep on, a new table, and decent meals for the better part of a month. More than likely, it’d be spent before the night’s end on ale and whores.

“Thank you, m’lord, thank you,” the man said as Harry handed him a fistful of coins.

“Then our business is concluded,” Harry said with a stiff nod. He stowed his coin purse and the three blocks of wood within his cheap clothing that he’d used to disguise himself so that he could reach Flea Bottom in peace and then left the tent.

Outside, hundreds of poor smallfolk roamed the streets. Women carried children on their hips and balanced buckets of water atop their heads, labourers moved carts of goods back and forth, vendors called out deals on cheap food, and dangerous-looking men scanned the crowds in search of an easy target. Harry did his best to not look conspicuous, but that was difficult to do when he’d been in such a privileged position since his eleventh nameday.

Thankfully, he had help navigating this place from the man who’d arranged this transaction in the first place.

“Your father will not appreciate our lateness,” Ser Davos Seaworth pointed out to Harry. There was no chastisement in his tone, merely a statement of facts. It was something that Harry had come to appreciate from the man.

“He’ll get over it,” Harry shrugged. “He always has. Besides, it’s my nameday. Can he really get upset with me today?”

Davos let out a short laugh. “I suppose not. He’s certainly had plenty of years to get used to it. But we’d best be off. Better to not leave him waiting any longer than he already has. Besides, the king is awaiting us too.”

So he was, and after so many years apart, Harry would finally get to see his uncle again. He ought to thank the man for finally demanding that Stannis return to the capital and act directly as the master of ships on the Small Council rather than operating through letters and intermediaries, and for insisting that he bring Harry along with him.

Harry was a man grown now, eighteen if it could be believed, and his younger sister Shireen was far past the point of anyone being able to worry after her. The Greyscale which had once threatened to claim her life had shown no signs of returning, despite the bewilderment by old Maester Cressen and the various other Maesters who’d travelled to Dragonstone to witness the miracle for themselves. Now, Shireen was a healthy and happy girl of seven years of age. Stannis had no reason to refuse the king any longer.

Well, technically Shireen wasn’t happy now. She’d protested and begged Stannis to take her with him as well as Harry, but Stannis didn’t wish to see his only daughter grow up in a place like King’s Landing. He called it a wretched, cramped city full of squalor and turncloaks. Harry had tried to cheer her up with the promise of letters, but it did little to ease the sting of not being able to see him for months, if not years.

As much as Harry wished he could stay by Shireen’s side, he knew that the capital was where he needed to be. It would hopefully be the place where he could finally find the necessary materials to craft a wand so that he could perform magic as he used to be able to. While his wandless magic had improved tremendously, it still paled in comparison as to what was possible with a wand.

And once he had a wand, he could finally search for a way back home.

No matter how many years he spent away from Britain, he’d never forgotten it. He worried after Ron, Hermione, and everyone else who meant a damn to him back there. More than anything else though, he feared what Voldemort was doing now that he’d returned to his body.

He had a home here in Westeros, but it wasn’t quite the same as Hogwarts.

This wishful hope to one day return to his homeland drove him onward, and he’d never felt closer to achieving his goal before today.

Together, Harry and Davos carefully navigated through the streets of Flea Bottom. Davos had grown up in this poor slum-like district of King’s Landing, and he knew its streets and dangers well. He was able to blend in naturally and guide Harry past any dangers that may have lurked beneath his notice.

They kept Aegon’s High Hill and the brilliant Red Keep on their left-hand side as they escaped the narrow entrapments of Flea Bottom and escaped onto the more renowned and wealthy streets that surrounded the King’s Way, the major street that led up towards the Red Keep.

The horses they’d rented this morning were waiting for them there, and Harry climbed aboard his young gelding with practised ease. It was only a short ride down the wide, but very busy, King’s Way in order to reach the Muddy Way, the street that led down to the River Gate and the Blackwater Rush beyond.

By the time they reached the River Gate, Harry could see that his father and several of his retainers had already disembarked from the Fury, which had been anchored at the wharfs in Blackwater Rush in the early hours of the morning. The ship’s captain had intended to let everyone sleep for a few hours more, but that hadn’t stopped Harry and Davos from sneaking ashore to carry out his mission.

“Let me handle him,” Harry told Davos as they drew closer.

“Don’t expect any arguments from me,” Davos replied as he pulled gently on the reins to bring his horse up short.

Harry rode up to Stannis, who was surrounded by a group of knights. Most of them nodded and greeted Harry warmly, but Stannis was nothing but cold fury.

“You shouldn’t have left without me,” Stannis told Harry. Sat atop his powerful charger, Stannis struck an intimidating silhouette. He was tall, still a bit taller than Harry, with broad shoulders. The only thing not intimidating about him was his relatively plain dress. His simple jerkin and doublet reflected the Baratheon colours truly, but they did little to make him stand out beyond that.

“I left you a note,” Harry told him. “Besides, I had Ser Davos to keep watch over me.”

“Yes,” Stannis' eyes narrowed on the distant man. “I’ll be needing to have words with him over this.”

“Don’t, father,” Harry insisted quickly. “I commanded him to help me with this. If anyone should suffer the blame, it is me.”

Stannis let out something between a chuckle and a cough. “Your responsibility is to be commended, but both of you acted recklessly. What have I told you about this place?”

“That danger lurks around every corner,” Harry repeated the words he’d heard plenty of times during the short trip over here from Dragonstone, trying hard to not roll his eyes. While there were dangers to be sure, plenty of areas were reasonably safe, and Davos knew how to guide Harry through them.

“Indeed,” Stannis nodded. “Going out dressed like one of the smallfolk with nothing to defend yourself—”

Harry lifted his bland tunic to reveal a hint of steel from the dagger he had strapped to his waist.

“Even still,” Stannis continued. “What you did was irresponsible.”

“I’ve been through actual battle before,” Harry reminded him. “And I’ve trained with a myriad of weapons since the time I could walk. I can protect myself.”

“All it takes is one man to get a lucky hit in, or for you to get unlucky,” Stannis argued back. “Enough of this. We need to be off to the Red Keep after you’ve gotten changed into some finer attire. No doubt my brother is eagerly awaiting our arrival.”

Harry may have been one of the few men present to pick up on the subtle sarcasm that laced Stannis’ words. He knew that there was no true love between the brothers, but at least King Robert had taken a liking to Harry when they’d last met all those years ago.

The streets cleared as Stannis and Harry led their procession down towards the Red Keep. Stannis’ knights and men-at-arms whom he’d brought along trotted behind them in a highly-organised fashion, followed by the waggons filled with all of the supplies they’d brought for their time here.

The seven massive towers of the Red Keep made out of pale red stone loomed overhead as they drew closer. Massive flags with the Baratheon crest emblazoned upon them danced in the wind. King’s Landing’s City Watch, men dressed in golden cloaks, stood at attention along the King’s Way, but as they drew closer to the castle, those men gave way to Lannister soldiers and various knights and watchmen.

“Where are all of the Baratheon soldiers?” Harry asked Stannis, but his father’s only reply was a stern frown at what he saw around him.

The portcullis was raised, allowing them entrance into a large yard filled with plenty of smallfolk at work. Notably, the lone person set to greet them appeared to be a member of the Kingsguard. Dressed in white scale armour and adorned with white cloaks, the Kingsguard were said to be the finest knights in all of the realm. Of course, it was often politics that determined who was truly the “finest.”

“My lord,” the knight gave a slight bow of his head. “I am Ser Mandon Moore. I’ve been sent to escort you to the King.”

Stannis gave a sharp nod in reply. “Have someone see to it that my men get settled in my tower.”

Ser Mandon’s pale eyes flickered with just the slightest hint of anger at being ordered about as such, but it was quickly subdued into something devoid of any emotion. It seemed as though the dangers Harry’s father had spoken about were real even here, not that Harry doubted him. The difference between hearing about it and seeing it first hand was immense. For a moment, it felt like Ser Mandon could’ve drawn his blade and slashed Stannis' throat over what he clearly perceived to be an insult.

The next time a servant came running by, Ser Mandon gripped the poor girl’s arm harshly and demanded that she take Lord Stannis’ men to the Maidenvault, the keep in which they’d be residing. Then, the moment Harry and Stannis got off of the horses, he led them to the Great Hall.

The Red Keep was massive and far busier than Dragonstone was. Everywhere Harry looked, he saw a lively place full of activity, but the curious looks he received in return reminded him that this was a place where it was best to be cautious.

Ser Mandon occasionally pointed out junctions that led off to different areas within the Great Hall. Stannis grunted every so often, leaving Harry to be the one to offer thanks and ask any questions. After years spent learning the mysteries of Hogwarts, he felt like he’d have no trouble learning this castle’s layout and secrets either.

Once they passed through the various corridors, they reached massive oak-and-bronze doors that led into the throne room itself. Four Lannister soldiers flanked the doors, two at each side, and swiftly worked to push open the doors at their approach.

“Announcing Lord Stannis Baratheon, master of ships!” A young man announced inside the throne room the moment that they came into view.

The cavernous throne room was a massive hall with narrow windows and a gallery overhead. The room was practically empty other than the various courtiers lingering about and the few individuals who sat at the far end of the room.

Harry had read all about King Aegon the Conqueror’s massive, misshapen throne of melted swords, but seeing it in person nearly took his breath away. The Iron Throne towered above any who stood around it. Over a thousand blades had been forged in dragon fire to create something truly ugly and intimidating. A staircase of swords led up to an uncomfortable chair atop the heap with sharp blades acting as an impossible backrest. One simple slip on those stairs would lead to a poor fellow being impaled upon hundreds of jagged blades. Even just manoeuvring up the stairs and sitting down without the utmost care was likely to result in dozens of cuts on your body, and yet King Robert sat atop it nonetheless.

It was striking to see just how fat the man had gotten in the few years since the last time Harry had seen him. His red face was plump, and his doublet seemed barely capable of containing his girth. His beard was more wild than ever and gently stained with whatever red wine he had in the cup in his hand. Below him, at the base of the throne, was a much more practical wooden table, behind which several men sat. On the other side of the base of the throne was a woman and three children, presumably Queen Cersei and the princes and princess.

Robert didn’t bother to stand up to greet them. He downed the rest of his wine and set it down amid a trio of blades before poorly disguising a belch.

“Brother,” Robert said loudly. “You’ve come.”

“You summoned me, Your Grace,” Stannis bowed dutifully, no matter how much it pained him to do so. Harry bowed alongside his father perfectly, just as Stannis expected from him.

Robert grunted. “Shit time to come here. Jon’s dead.”

Stannis’ eyes widened just a fraction, an intense reaction coming from him. “Jon Arryn?” He asked for clarification.

“What other Jon do you fucking thing I meant?” Robert raged before simmering down quickly. “I gain a Master of Ships and lose my Hand of the King. What ill luck.”

“How did it happen?” Stannis asked carefully.

“He suddenly became ill,” an old man with a long beard said from the table at the base of the throne. He spoke slowly as he stroked his beard. “His death came as a shock to us all.”

“Ill?” Stannis repeated. “That’s all you know about the death of the Hand?”

“The matter is currently under investigation,” the old man replied hesitantly. “Whatever sickness took Lord Arryn has affected a few others within the Tower of the Hand. We’re focused on preventing an outbreak.”

Harry could see plainly that his father was displeased by the old man’s weak excuse.

“And who have you named Hand in his stead?” Stannis asked Robert.

“I’ll be travelling up to Winterfell to give the position to Ned,” Robert announced.

Stannis looked insulted by the choice. “Not myself or Renly?” He asked.

Robert’s fury returned with a vengeance. “These are my kingdoms, and I get to choose who I bloody want to rule them!”

“Of course,” Stannis replied curtly.

“Seven hells, enough of this,” Robert coughed. “All of your pouting is making my mood worse than it already is.”

“My apologies, Your Grace,” Stannis said through gritted teeth. “If you’d permit my leave, I’d gladly return to my chambers and begin preparing for my work.”

Robert scowled. “Gods, Stannis. Look, I’ve made up my mind about this. If it makes you feel any better, I want you to rule in my stead while I’m away.”

“What!?” Queen Cersei exclaimed in surprise. “I thought we’d spoken about this—”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Robert waved her off before returning his attention to Stannis. “You’ll keep things running smoothly around here while I’m gone, is that understood?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Stannis nodded. His anger wasn’t entirely gone, but it seemed mollified a touch.

“Good,” Robert said as he struggled to get to his feet. He carefully navigated his way down from the throne with a slight wobble in his gait. Harry feared that he’d stumble and fall at any moment, but Robert seemed to have plenty of practise walking down those precarious steps after having some wine. He laughed when his feet his the floor and then stumbled over towards them. He offered his hand to Stannis, who gripped it tightly in reply. Then, Robert turned his eyes upon Harry.

“Your Grace,” Harry bowed again.

“Piss on that bowing shit,” Robert told him. “Give your uncle a hug.”

Harry chuckled as he did so, only cringing slightly at the smell of alcohol from Robert’s breath.

“You’ve gotten tall, and strong,” Robert pointed out as he grabbed Harry’s arms. He felt along Harry’s muscles, grinning brightly. “You’d make for a good soldier. Though, I suppose you already are one.”

“You’d better not be planning to get into another war,” Stannis warned him.

“Not yet,” Robert replied curtly. He turned and waved his own family forward.

Queen Cersei was an exceedingly beautiful woman. Between her curly blond hair, striking emerald green eyes, and wonderful figure, she looked more like a model than a queen. However, her lips were curled downward, undoubtedly still displeased with Robert’s sudden change in plans.

Next to her were her three children. The oldest, Joffrey, was only a couple years younger than Harry, with looks clearly inherited from his mother. Myrcella was a beauty like her mother but still a couple years younger than Joffrey. Then there was Tommen, who looked like a plump, younger version of Joffrey.

Harry smiled warmly at all of them, but it was only the youngest two who returned his smile. Joffrey looked like he was sizing Harry up, while Cersei was more focused on glaring at the back of Robert’s head.

“Hello,” Stannis said to them in his usual cold demeanour.

Harry took the opportunity to try to warm up the atmosphere. He reached into his pocket and pulled out three small wooden stags, each carved from different blocks of wood.

“I have a gift for you three,” Harry said to the King and Queen’s children. “Memories of your House.”

Tommen was full of glee as he took the intricately-carved stag. It fit neatly in his two pudgy hands, and he examined it from every possible angle. “Thank you,” he said in awe.

“Did you carve these yourself?” Myrcella asked kindly as she took her stag from Harry. It was made of a golden-coloured wood, just like her hair.

“I did,” Harry confirmed. He’d gotten quite adept at woodworking over the past few years. He needed to if he was going to craft his own wand in time.

“Thank you for the gift, cousin,” Joffrey said dutifully as he accepted it.

“Look at that, eh?” Robert chuckled. “A soldier and a craftsman. Looks like you struck gold with your son, Stannis. I wish my son’s were as talented as that.”

The weight of Robert’s words were lost on him, but they weren’t lost upon anyone else. The atmosphere died the moment he explicitly put down Joffrey and Tommen in front of them. Thankfully, Tommen didn’t seem to notice, but Joffrey grew angry. His anger wasn’t directed at Robert, however. His eyes were locked onto Harry’s.

“We’d best go get settled in,” Stannis said quickly, determined to stop this situation before it got any worse.

“Fine, fine,” Robert replied. “Just be ready to join the Small Council this afternoon. There’s plenty of work to do before I set off for Winterfell. I have plans for the greatest tourney ever seen to welcome our new Hand to the city!”