297 A.C. Highgarden
After spending so many years in such a narrow place on a small island, Highgarden seems to be a whole village of its own with how large the structure is.
Imagine Harry's surprise to find that it's still not even the largest of Westero's palaces. His home is located on a broad verdant hill overlooking the Mander River. The largest river in the Reach, with a current slower than a snail, makes for some beautiful scenery.
Especially at sunset standing on the tallest tower overlooking the river as the sun lays to rest. Her towers peek from behind the three rings of white glistening stone protecting the inhabitants within. The crenelated curtain walls increase in height the further one goes.
Harry's favorite part is between the outer and middle walls, which is famous for the briar labyrinth, which serves to entertain as well as slow invaders. Its thorns are capable of shredding and snagging chain mail and skin alike.
Standing high and proud the oldest towers shadow the area with their squat and square gaunt gleaming bricks dating as far back as the Age of Heroes. The newer towers stand just as gallant with their tall and slender frames showing. The sleek round fortifications had been built after the invasion of the Andals. The Sept, which has rows of stained-glass windows honoring Garth Greenhand and the Seven, the like only to be matched only by the Great Sept of Baelor and the Starry Sept.
Hightower, like all other great houses, does have a Godswood, though unlike others they contain three haunting weirwoods known as the Three Singers.
Upon passing the fortifications and entering the walls of Highgarden opens up to an abundance of groves, fountains, and courtyards. The castle's structure is covered in ivy, grapes, and climbing roses. Every single area is filled with flowers, singers, pipers, fiddlers, and harpers, the aromas are often hypnotic as one walks throughout the halls, a different scent in every room, almost constantly shifting.
The stables have a fine selection of horseflesh, and there are pleasure boats to sail along the Mander. There are fields of golden roses that stretch as far as the eye can see. Fruits that are grown nearby include melons, peaches, and fireplums.
Despite his love for his grandfather and his aunt, Harry can admit he had missed the tranquility of Highgarden.
The darkness of the world never seems to touch the vibrancy that is highgarden.
Harry dreads to think of the like of Harrenhall happening to Highgarden.
Slight movement beside him makes him blink awake as he looks to his left, and finds his siblings have all snuck into his room; he had arrived eight hours prior after a quick journey through the land. They all had made their way into his bed shortly after retiring from their meal.
Things are still tense, on his end, with his father, but he doesn't allow the past to burn any more bridges, silently hoping he'll be able to help Willas. If the fool thought he could hide his pain from Harry then he was a lot more blind than Harry gave him credit for.
His mother was a comfort he didn't realize he'd missed until he was pulled into her bosom. The stress of everything to come faded away in her arms with the familiar lavender scent she is so fond of wrapping around him in a warm blanket.
"Still up Brother?" The sweet voice of Margaery causes him to shift as he looks down as she lifts her head off his chest, a look of fond mirth on her delicate face. Her voice was quiet not to wake their brothers.
"I'm glad you're back," she murmurs sweetly burrowing into his chest.
"I'm glad to be back too, I've missed you…all." He says ending with a yawn that makes her giggle.
"Yeah, yeah we love you Haedrian, now can we all get some damn sleep?"
"Some of us actually have shit to do tomorrow," Garlan growls with no heat as he turns to lug his arm over everyone, getting an ooh from poor Loras who is unfortunate enough to be close to the giant that Garlan is. The man has grown from his pudgy youth into a man who rivaled Robert Baratheon in his youth.
Willas just cracks open his eyes watching everything with a fondness enjoying the fact that he can experience such a moment. His siblings mean the world to him and he will do anything for them, nothing will come between his siblings and their dreams if he has a say.
Harry can't wait to introduce his siblings to Sirius when he finds him.
He's been so distracted by everything and learning the ways of his harsh world, realigning his magic, and finally being old enough to have autonomy.
He hopes Sirius won't be upset he took so long.
Thousands of miles away a certain deity is stirring up the pot.
"My lord's" They chose the appearance of a nondescript old man, startling them both as it seems like a stranger seems to appear out of thin air.
They stand before the two lords observing the courtyard as Lord Stark's boy's practice with Jory Cassel. Death had taken it upon themselves to search for the Dogfarher, while their master enjoyed the trials of childhood, the process having taken much longer with the old gods interfering. It was only the powerful familiar spikes of magic coming from the North allowing death to finally pinpoint the source to be in Winterfell.
Those woodland deities are a nuisance enough to make it difficult for even Death to find certain people, the more inclined a person is to one god the harder it is for Death to track.
Curiously Sirius into the ancient family of the wolves.
The fools have no idea what they could have done to the wizard manipulating the foreign magic inside his soul to their benefit. They have taken the liberty to try and make a mockery of death by resurrecting their domain without permission, first by creating a vile being, such as the infamous night king who seeks to enslave all of humanity, and then by snagging their master's beloved mortal.
The zealots of fire, who don't understand how much damage they are doing to a soul when they 'revive' someone with the light of R'hllor. The mortal body can only take so much divine energy before succumbing to its power.
Shaking their head, a mortal gesture, Death returns to their current situation as the slightly taller and more sturdy man Eddard gives him a charming but reserved greeting. Benjen Stark, or Sirius black as he used to be, stares into theirs with familiar gray eyes. The soon-to-be adult, with his slender frame more angled towards swift than his brother's quiet strength. The lad having been born with the famous long face the Starks are known for, fortunately, depending on the opinion, his features are slightly sharper and more refined than Eddard.
Benjen is comparable to the late Brandon Stark in terms of a maiden's fantasy.
"Yes..?" The deep voice of Eddard and the sharp eyes would have made a lesser man tremble as their intimidating figures stood as a powerful unit.
The Quiet wolf and The Grim who stalks the wall.
it's only natural that they are wary they don't know Death or the visage he is wearing.
Though death begets with the right words, they can jog the Mutt's memories.
Seeing Sirius about to draw his blade makes the image of death wish to roll their eyes, the form of an elderly man standing before them, "Relax Mutt, I'm only here because you're chicken shit of a Godson won't contact you and with the shit storm coming I don't want any angsty mellow drama."
Is death meddling, yes, do they care no.
Benjen, Sirius stares blankly at Death, opening and closing his mouth, while Eddard seems confused looking at the aforementioned man with questions in his eyes.
"I- what!?" Sirius squawks staring at the senile old coot who somehow made it past their guards. Though the eerie feeling that incel instinctively knows when passing the veil, the brush of death's very essence is hard to forget.
Sirius feels a trickle of hope that has long since been extinguished, there is only one person who has the luck of defying the impossible. He's not tried to think of his pup. Just imagining the sheer anguish on his face ever is enough to make him want to curl into a pathetic ball at any given moment.
Certainly doesn't help that he has had to adapt to a more stern environment. Don't blame him, he came from a modern-ish society with all the high-class privileges, waking up in a castle filled with rat shit and plagues was not his idea of heaven.
Swallowing while watching the old fart, who is a deity, something his magic instinctively recognized, shifts on the cane they are using. The blasted sigil of the Deathly Hallows blared for all to see atop the bulbous part of the staff.
They wear short robes of black, darker than the hour of the wolf on a night with no moon.
"Your Harry of course," they state, like he's not shattering Sirius's world and making him question his sanity.
His godson is in Westeros.
Westeros is a place where women can be sold like cattle and men get killed for sport.
"My master has missed you so terribly." The being says, okay focus Sirius. He catches the word master which makes him gulp as the stipulations connect.
One doesn't grow up black without knowing the famous hollows
"But as you know he's got a lot of self-esteem issues, and I don't wish for him to be distracted with the events that are to come to play." The being mutters, probably not for his ears.
"Death?" He asks hesitantly, glancing at his brother to make sure he's not frothing at the mouth.
Ned knows of his weird quirks, of his magic, but he doesn't truly know the extent of it, to them it's just something he can do but has rarely seen in action.
Sadly, without a wand, it's difficult for him to do anything more than his animagus form without exhausting himself from overextension.
"Brother?" Ned asks with confusion, but as always is loyal and trusting. Seeing that Sirius hasn't gone for his blade, meaning he's not sensing danger from this unknown. Like a good brother, he lets Sirius lead.
"It's fine, Ned," Sirius reassures because it's true.
"It's better than fine," Sirius says breathlessly as the situation finally sets in for him. He gives his brother a shaking reassuring grin. Sirius had nightmares throughout his youth and still has some to this day. Many of them had him waking up mid-shouting the name of his beloved godson.
"Oh, yes." Sirius has to stop the instinctive urge to step in front of Ned when the deity focuses on his brother.
"The quiet wolf." The crooning voice makes Eddard shiver as the old man before him shifts closer peering up into his gaze the… being's short stature reaching his shoulder.
Their milky eyes burn into his soul as they continue, "Lyanna is a peace, both of you shouldn't weep over her, she enjoys the halls of the afterlife with your father and mother and all the Starks before."
The deity looks off ignoring the gaping face of Sirius, nor do they seem to grasp the fact that they are shattering their fragile mind even more, upping the turmoil inside them, probably relishing in it.
One doesn't know about a deity.
Sirius notices the being seems to be looking beside them as they continue, "She's at peace with her dragon, both wish to thank you for keeping their dragon cub safe and nurtured."
Oh, yeah.
His pup is here…?
Unbeknownst to the living, shades of certain star-crossed lovers stand beside them mournfully watching their child spar with his cousin and chosen brother Rob.
"I'm not understanding?" Ned has always been logical despite his firm belief in the old gods.
"That's alright." The being says clearly not willing to help elevate his dilemma.
Seeing mirth in those milky eyes is unsettling and a great deterrent from asking questions.
"Wait! What do you mean Harry is Here!?" His brain finally catches up with the deity's words.
Scoffing the old man gives him a look, "Stupid mutt."
"For your insolence, you can find yourself, you'll find him amongst the roses." Is all that the being says before fading away.
Now death could have waited for Sirius to be alone, but felt it would be more fun to have the man flounder. Plus death doesn't want to make it too easy for the mutt to find their precious master, and prove his worth.
Death only wants the best for his master. The interrogation Sirius receives is music to their ethereal ears.
Death is the ultimate prankster after all.
The aroma inside the second-born prince of Dorne is erotic and tantalizing in its density coincides with the sounds of pleasure echoing into the hall. Knocking softy with a desensitized face one has when living in Dorne and becomes accustomed to the vicarious nature of their people.
The maester, Caleotte clears his throat, his bald head shining from fresh wax.
"My prince," The pudgy maester inquired, not willing to enter.
While maester Caleotte doesn't judge the wild ways of his lord's home, he is still a man of oath and upholds them in a manner that has long stayed true. He can hear a feminine whine of disappointment and the telling sign of someone pulling out, particularly the male groan. The shuffling intensifies as multiple bodies move around on the other side of the door, only to open and reveal the thinly dressed physique of Oberyn.
Looking past Caleotte can see the forms of his paramour continuing to play with the two whores entertaining the prince.
"Want to join?" His prince purrs the question out, making the plump man flush. The scribe swiftly retracts his gaze from the foreplay going on as dips his head.
"Pardon me, my prince, even if I desire, my oath permits that I shan't." The aged man smiles kindly, always fond of Oberyn.
"Alas I am here because a letter from Highgarden has arrived, I thought you were…I apologize for interrupting your…" The maester stutters over his words to say orgy, and ultimately trails off.
"My fun?" The sex-crazed Prince teases the old man, who has worked for their family since his mother was first put upon her seat as princess of Dorne.
"Let me see it," Oberyn asks, giving a cheeky wink to Eliara as he struts over bare ass, and offers his hand. Caleotte relents with a breath of relief before rushing to his more important duties with less skin on display.
The only reason he even made the trek was because he knows how important it is to Oberyn to mend the guilt the lad has from that begotten tourney.
"Thank you, Caleotte."
"Though, it's a shame you can't join." The prince sings as he turns down the corridor making him chuckle.
Turning back into his room Oberyn walks back into the spacious area and sits on the couch next to the window for Better lighting.
He gives his lover and company a glance, "I'll be only a moment," he tells them, watching with a leer as Eliara straddles the pretty boy they hired. The groan of the whore caused his lover's caresses to make his softened length harden.
But matters must be met.
Turning his attention to the letter, his curiosity overpowering his lust, he gently unfolds the parchment.
-
Well met, my friend,
Haedrian wishes you well, and thanks you for the dornish book you sent to him.
Yes, our dear little Harry has returned, a grown man at that, almost still the shortest of us boys.
Even Loras is taller than Haedrian, something he's miffed about I assure you.
You should see him, Oberyn.
The boy is beautiful, truly. I fear what would happen if you were to meet him.
This makes Oberyn let out a soft laugh.
I digress, the real reason I've written to you is.
Harry has spoken of a war brewing.
The start of something that will be spoken about for the ages. He won't specify what is going to happen, but I can take a good guess, any anyone with a brain could.
I'm sure you know or suspect.
-
That next part makes him shift uneasily, his brother is a part of that war brewing.
If the Tyrells stand with the usurpers...
"What a mood killer." He thinks as he contemplates what is being spoken of. He knows that the true power of the crown is the Lannister's. The old lion has always been a strong tactician and warlord.
-
Unfortunately, my Grandmother is pressed on Margaery becoming a Queen.
So I'm sure our father will be involved before time. I don't write this for an alliance as there is no need for this instant.
Just forewarning you as a dear friend who I value, I'm sure your family will appreciate having some preparation time.
If you haven't stopped since the siege of king's landing.
I hope I don't offend you with my mentioning of Elia.
-
Pushing away from the letter Oberyn struts over to his beloved pouncing on her and the others nipping along her thigh, intending to rid himself of the dark thoughts by immersing himself in the blissfulness that is sex.
The last words he read ringing in his ear as he sinks into Eliara letting the world fade into pleasure.
A renewed vigor shifted in his soul.
'Revenge will be sweet, one of Spears and Thornes.' He has own secrets, ones that Doran doesn't need to know.