Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and the A Song of Ice and Fire series belongs to George R. R. Martin.

Chapter 3 – Haerys Goldfyre

For eleven years, Daemon saw as his only child grew up.

From the small infant to the boy he was now, Haerys was in appearance a rather curious mixture of himself and Jeyne. As he grew older and gradually lost the pudginess of youth, it became clear what he had inherited from who. The diamond shaped face had been from Jeyne, as well as the nose, yet the rest was all his – the other facial features, the silver hair, and the purple eyes.

And as the years passed, both he and Jeyne had made sure to give the best education possible to their son, as befit to the heir to the throne. Affairs of the court were taught by the two, and also by observation, something which Haerys usually did when he was inside the throne room. Matters of war and battle were given to Daemon, while naval matters were given to the Warden of the Summer Sea, who was considered by many as the best admiral in the known world. Ser Kevan had once proposed that he foster Haerys at Casterly Rock and take him as a squire, but Daemon had to decline on the grounds that fostering was not a part of Valyrian custom, and that becoming a squire, and by extension a knight, required the individual to follow the Faith of the Seven, something which neither he nor Haerys did. Not to mention that Haerys' safety could not be assured in the Seven Kingdoms until a formal arrangement was made between the Iron Throne and the Stepstones.

Despite being rather disappointed Kevan had accepted the explanation, and the matter never surfaced again.

The training had been happening for nearly an hour, and Daemon had been rather relentless in his training. He had received the same sort of training from his father, and considering how successful it had been, there was no reason why Haerys would be free from it. He blocked another blow from his son, in his hands a sword that seemed foreign to him. It was different from the Valyrian steel he usually wielded, but in training Haerys, it would be dangerous to use such a weapon. Normal steel was good enough for now.

"You can do better than that."

The child had potential, but his mood usually could either make a session successful, or a complete failure. Unfortunately, it seemed that today they were leaning towards the latter, given the amount of frowns and grinding of teeth coming from his son. Of course, he had not been expecting his son's next move, and nothing could have prepared him for it. Being kicked in the groin, regardless of the strength, was never a pleasant thing. The sudden attack was enough for Daemon to drop the sword in shock and to fall to one knee in pain.

"Shit… Haerys what was that for?"

But the young prince had thrown away his sword, and was now angrily leaving the small courtyard, disappearing into a corridor.

"Haerys!" he shouted, receiving no answer. "Balls…"

He had to find him, but only after getting rid of the pain.

"I should have known you came here."

Having searched the most obvious places in the castle for Haerys to be, and finding these empty, Daemon knew there was only another place where his son could be. The dragon cave was as it had always been, except it now housed three dragons. The oldest was Sunfyre, whose rider was Daemon himself, the dragon having hatched when the then prince was still in the crib. Of the offspring of Sunfyre, Urrax was the eldest, whose rider was Jeyne. And the youngest of the three was Artaxes, who had hatched a few days after his egg was put next to Haerys.

"They don't like it here," mumbled Haerys as he threw a bloody piece of meat at Artaxes.

The youngest of the dragons was very similar to its progenitor. His body was covered in golden scales, although his wings and frills were of a black and red mixture. He was smaller than both Sunfyre and Urrax, but considering how those two had grown over the last decade, Artaxes would soon grow to be their size as well.

"The Targaryens made the mistake of locking them away in the dragon pits, putting the dragons in chains. We shall not make the same mistake," said Daemon as he sat next to his son. "There will come a time when we'll soar freely through the skies once more, in open day. No more hiding them from the world."

"When?"

"In time," said Daemon, before looking at his son. "You've been having those dreams, haven't you?"

The boy was silent for a moment, before giving a small nod. "How do you know?"

"You are usually moody when it happens," answered Daemon. "Tell me… what did you see?"

There was a moment of silence where the only sound came from either the dragons, or the sea. But the voice of Haerys soon joined them.

"There was that castle again, the one with many tall towers. But then I was somewhere else… a strange place with many trees and ruins. I think it was… day? I'm not sure," said Haerys as he attempted to recall the dreams. "There were shadows which flew above me… black shapes that left… trails of fire behind them. Then I saw myself somewhere else… with many trees and ruins. It was day, I think… no sun, but there were many shadows and shapes which moved above me, leaving behind them trails of fire."

"What happened next?"

"I woke up."

Dreams like these were not normal, that much Daemon knew. He also knew that those with old Valyrian blood were predisposed to have strange visions in their dreams, visions which were known to be prophetic. It had been so with Daenys Targaryen, when she allegedly dreamt of the Doom of Valyria, and event that would happen a decade later.

"But… they're just dreams, right?" asked Haerys.

At this age, it was best for the boy to be focused on other things. Prophecy was often the mistress of death.

"It's difficult to explain what they are. I don't even know if what I believe is true. For now, I'll keep it a secret."

Haerys frowned. "I don't like secrets."

In turn, Daemon chuckled. "No one likes secrets unless they're the ones hiding them. You also have secrets, don't you?"

"N-No."

That was possibly the least convincing lie he had ever heard.

"Dwelling on dreams is seldom good, Harry."

Harry.

That nickname had been given to Haerys by Jeyne, and now it had stuck. It was only used when they were alone, but for some reason, Haerys liked it. He wasn't sure why, but it felt right.

The two were suddenly startled as a bird flew right between them. They looked at the animal and saw that it had been a crow.

"Oh, it's that old thing," he mumbled, looking at the crow as it landed on top of a rock, away from the dragons. "What's it doing here?"

"Maybe it's exploring," suggested Harry.

Daemon shrugged. "Well, it's just a crow. Speaking of birds, you should go and meet with the High Maester. Your sessions will start soon, I believe."

Marywn enjoyed these sessions with the young prince. What he knew of the other maesters under the employ of the Westerosi lords, the children under their tutelage rarely gave importance to both the mystical, or what the Citadel wanted to teach, neglecting certain things about the world. The intentions were noble… most of them. He was all for advancements in technology and medicine, were it not the fact that most of these were kept in books who were then shut behind bars or placed in vaults beneath the Citadel, never to be seen again. The problem was with the Citadel's attitude towards the magical, or rather what they considered magical and unnatural.

If something was unnatural, then it would not exist. As simple as that. Magic was part of the world, born with it. What right had the Citadel to decide it had no place in the world?

None.

But Haerys was a rather curious exception to all that. The boy enjoyed his teachings, both the mundane and the non-mundane, and also everything else, be it martial or of the court. There was a reason people called him "Marwyn the Mage", but the boy before him seemed to be on the way to earn the title for his own.

The horn of the unicorn was on another table, its tip broken off and grinded into powder. The moonstone had been broken in half, one turned into powder, while the porcupine quills had suffered the same fate.

"Powdered moonstone, unicorn horn, porcupine quills… and paste of hellebore…? What in the seven hells are you doing?"

He watched as the young prince added a pinch of powdered unicorn horn to the boiling liquid, which quickly turned into a pinkish tone.

"You called it trial and error, I think," replied Haerys as he now stirred the liquid.

He looked at the notes he had taken, remembering them from his dreams. Unfortunately, most were fragmented, and he had to resort to trial and error in order to fill in the blank spots. This potion had eluded him for five months, but he was sure that this time… he would succeed.

The pink had now turned into red.

"Why are you so certain this will work? You have spent five months with this."

"Well… don't maesters do the same thing with their experiments?"

At least that was something he was certain of.

"There's a difference between an initiate in the medicinal and alchemical arts and a maester."

Haerys did not look away from his work. "One is young while the others are decrepit old men?"

"Can't argue with that," mumbled Marwyn. "I'm a maester. Am I old and decrepit too?"

"No. You're different. Besides, I like you."

Haerys grabbed a vial with a green liquid which he had managed to extract from the paste of hellebore, having needed to do so in order to remove the poisonous elements of the plant, and added seven drops into the potion. When the seventh drop fell into the potion, he felt very anxious. It was ironic, really, considering what the potion was for, but the sudden emergence of silver fumes dissipated the nervousness.

There it was. Haerys knew that this was somehow the expected result. The silvery fumes that now came from the liquid meant he had successfully brewed this… calming potion? It was certainly that, if his visons were true at all. He had a hunch that it calmed down whoever drank it, but nothing would be proven unless it was tested.

"Done!"

"Is it? What's it supposed to be?"

"A calming potion," explained Haerys. "A substitute for sweetsleep, without the side effects."

Marwyn stepped closer to the small cauldron and smelled what the prince had brewed. Curiously enough, it had no discernible smell, despite the ingredients used in its creation.

"And how are you about to see if this works, eh? Certainly, you won't be testing it yourself."

"I was thinking about one of the prisoners," admitted Haerys. "They're usually the most anxious people around."

To say that the look Marwyn gave was sceptical would be an understatement.

"I was thinking about the really bad ones. You know, murderers and the sort."

"I would not consider it to be ethical," pointed out the maester.

"This won't kill anyone," claimed Haerys. "Worst case, it puts them to sleep… Hopefully."

Marwyn snorted. "Hopefully."

Yet when they had returned from the dungeons, Marwyn was in a state of near shock. The potion had functioned exactly as his pupil had said it would. His experiences with Haerys had already made him aware that the boy was clever, even for someone near the age of twelve. But this was something completely unexpected. But now he had the imprisoned pirate under observation. If the man showed no ill effects, then Haerys Goldfyre would be known as the first non-maester to have made a breakthrough in the field of medicine.

At least the first that history would remember.

"High Maester, there's a raven on the table."

He had been so distracted by his thoughts that he had not noticed the rather obvious bird right in front of him, carrying with it a sealed letter. Haerys had gently removed the letter from the raven, allowing the bird to fly away through the open window. The price looked at the letter, sealed with red wax, a symbol engraved there.

"A stag?"

Marwyn looked at the letter, quickly deducing its origin.

"Go on child… which house has a stag as its sigil?"

It didn't take long for Haerys to guess.

"Baratheon?"

A nod. "Correct. And what is House Baratheon known for?"

"Rebelling against the Targaryens and usurping the throne?"

A bit too blunt.

"Close, but that's not the answer I want. Try again."

The prince frowned. "Ruling Westeros?"

Marwyn nodded once more. "Indeed. So, a raven with the seal of House Baratheon can only mean it's an important message. And one certainly for your father."

"Can I go and give it to him?"

The High Maester sighed. "You may."

The court of the Stepstones was a strange and wonderful thing.

Any foreigner would find themselves baffled by how the court of the Stepstones worked, The system had been created by Duncan Goldfyre, and was inherited by Daemon, who had been taught how it functioned, and how it should be handled. The late king had been very meticulous in educating his heir in the affairs of the realm.

Equally meticulous was the process of becoming part of the court of the Stepstones, something which was known in both Essos and Westeros. So meticulous that any man that fell from the King's grace would be in danger of being ostracized by any potential employers in these two continents. Duncan Goldfyre had not been know for being petty, and his son had followed in his footsteps. If someone had displeased him to the point of exile – either official or self-inflicted – then employing them would likely be counter-productive.

But as he walked past the courtiers, Haerys could understand only a few sentences in the cacophony of sounds.

"The skirmishes in the Disputed Lands are becoming far more frequent! Perhaps we should…"

"… past the limit. We'll have to collect soon…"

"Send the heads to the port and take out the old ones. Leave Greyjoy's there for…"

"… found a dead kraken floating near Oros…"

"… was dead on arrival. Met an accident on the road to Volantis…"

"Send a raven to Lord Manderly and thank him for the assistance…"

Now ignoring them, he looked at the throne in which his father sat, his mother sitting in a smaller one next to him. Besides her, there were also two men speaking with his father. One was Lucerys Velaryon, the current Archon of Sunstone, while the other was Ryos Laharis, the current Warden of the Summer Sea. Son-in-law and father-in-law respectively. Not only that, but each the leader of the most powerful factions within the court, currently in alliance due to the marriage of Lucerys with a daughter of Ryos.

"Haerys? Should you not be with the High Master?" asked his mother as she noticed him approaching.

"A raven arrived from Westeros," said the boy, showing the letter. "With this."

Daemon looked surprised at his son's claim.

"Westeros?" he spoke, grabbing the letter and looking at the seal.

Well, now this was a surprise. The Baratheon stag was known to him, so this either came from King's Landing, Storm's End, or Dragonstone.

"Thank you for bringing this Haerys. You may go now."

Haerys frowned. He wanted to say, but he knew there was no point in trying to fight his father in this matter. He left the throne room rather irritated. Daemon knew exactly where his son had gone to, as it was the only place where he would go when angry. But Haerys' soon-to-be whereabouts were not of interest right now. The letter, on the other hand, was.

"This is interesting…"

"Your grace?"

"The message is from Jon Arryn. He says that Robert Baratheon wishes for a formal reconciliation with us and officially end any hostilities between the two realms," announced Daemon. "Furthermore, if we accept, Robert is to hold a tournament in King's Landing in honour of the event."

"After all this time?" wondered Lucerys Velaryon. "This is quite a random move."

"Has Jon Arryn finally managed to get Robert in a sober enough state so that he could convince him to do this?" suggested Jeyne.

"Sober, your grace? I wouldn't be so certain," said Ryos. "My guess is that Lord Arryn found King Robert in a 'merry' enough state and took the opportunity."

Daemon sighed.

"Sober or drunk, it matters little. We have here an opportunity that he can't let pass," he declared. "I'll have to arrange for a ship to take me there."

"You'll go alone?" asked Jeyne.

"Of course not. I'll take several guards for my protection. But I won't take either you or Haerys. If I die, be it by a trap or a storm, then he will take the throne, and you will be his regent until he comes of age."

Jeyne kept a passive face, but she disliked the prospect of having her husband go alone in such a perilous voyage. The thought of Daemon dying was unbearable to her, and know Haerys, his reaction to such an event would not be pleasant.

If it came to pass, and Robert Baratheon or any of his allies had any hand in it, then she would personally bathe Westeros in fire.

After all, Lannisters always paid their debts.

The day had been tiring for Haerys, so when the night came, all he did was close the curtains and settle down inside his bed, letting himself fall sleep minutes later. In these moments, the sleep was dreamless, and Haerys knew nothing until a loud and sharp noise woke him up.

He jolted himself up. The light of the moon came through the window, illuminating the room in a mystical light and allowing him to see the source of the noise. Contrary to all expectations, there was a crow on his nightstand, looking at him as if he was a curiosity.

"Valar morghulis."

He quickly turned at the voice, seeing a cloaked figure standing before his bed. The crow had flown away from the nightstand and had landed on the figure's shoulder.

"Valar dohaeris."

Despite the situation, the answer had been almost instinctive. He had spoken and heard those words so many times that he no longer hesitated or thought when answering back.

"Nyke jaelagon naejot ȳdragon lēda ao, Haerys hen Valyrio Uēpo ānogār iksan."

Haerys looked in surprise at the intruder, answering back in the same language. "Ao ȳdragon Valyrīha?"

"I can speak any language, dead or living," claimed the figure, now speaking the common tongue. "Some time has passed since we last spoke. Or rather, since I spoke with the man you once were."

Still half-asleep, Haerys' mind did not manage to process what the figure had said.

"What?"

"I suppose being mysterious won't work. Fine then," said the figure, a note of irritation in his voice. "In a past life, you died and were reborn in this world as Haerys Goldfyre. The dreams you've been having for the last few years… they are not dreams at all. They're memories, or rather, echoes of memories."

Haerys had been about to dismiss the intruder's ridiculous claims, but the mention of his dreams had stopped him.

"What do you know about my dreams?" he asked quietly, although making the question sound more like a demand.

"Memories which are returning to you in the best way possible. A reincarnated soul is not supposed to retain any memories of its past life, but you are a special case."

The figure brought his hands to the hood that covered his face and lowered it. Haerys looked at the face of the intruder and made a silent gasp. The face was of someone who seemed to be near his sixteenth nameday, with messy dark hair and green eyes, and an odd scar in his forehead.

"Harry Potter."

As soon as that word had left his lips, Haerys' eyes widened in surprise. Why exactly had he said that name? Harry was the nickname that his mother had given to him, but his mind had automatically associated it with the person in front of him. And Potter… there was something eerily familiar about it alike.

"Who's… who's that? Who's Harry Potter?" he demanded.

The figure just pointed at him.

"I am currently taking the form your past self, one which your soul has instinctively recognized," said the being. "The same which I used when I explained to your past self what would happen."

"Who are you? No… what are you?"

The figure smiled.

"I'm known by many names in this world. The Faith of the Seven calls me the Stranger, the Faceless Men of Braavos know me as the Many-Faced God, those of Yi Ti call me the Lion of Night, while those who worship R'hllor believe me to be the Great Other. Amongst your gods I'm - "

"I get it," interrupted Haerys. "You're Death."

The entity smiled again.

"I am Death."

Haerys gulped, feeling any confidence he had vanishing.

"In your past life, you had the ability to perform magic, one which you now have as well," said Death. "Perhaps you will recall these."

As soon as Death spoke, two peculiar looking familiar looking twigs appeared at his feet, the cloaked being grabbing the left one first.

"Holly wood, eleven inches long with a phoenix feather core. Nice and supple," he declared. "This wand once belonged to your past self. Burnt, at his funeral, and recovered by me."

Putting down the holly wood wand, Death grabbed the other one.

"Elderberry wood, fifteen inches long with a Thestral tail-hair," he continued. "The Elder Wand of legend, created by Antioch Peverell with instructions I gave to him. The most powerful of all wands, still recognizing you as its master."

He placed the wand back where it was, before looking directly at Haerys.

"Nostalgia or pragmatism… the choice is yours. You can choose one, and only one."

Haerys glanced at Death, before looking back at the wands once more.

"So, which one will you take?"

Haerys took a deep breath, hoping not to regret this choice later.

"This one," he said as he grabbed the Elder Wand.

The moment he did so, he felt a strange sensation in his body, no doubt originating in the wand. Acceptance… recognition… he wasn't sure what exactly it was, but there was no doubt that this "Elder Wand" was his now.

"You've made your choice. The Elder Wand is once again yours, as is the ability to perform the magic of the world you came from," said Death. "This is the first of my boons, Haerys Goldfyre. Now… it's time to wake up."

The figure snapped his fingers, and suddenly the room disappeared, and Haerys opened his eyes, now staring at the sky outside his bedroom's window. He was back in his bed, the blanket covering his body and pillow beneath his head. Had that all been a dream? No, it couldn't have. It was far too realistic to have been a normal dream, even one of those he sometimes had… those that the figure called Death claimed to have been past memories.

Getting up, Haerys glanced around, before spotting something on top of the nightstand.

The Elder Wand.

"It wasn't a dream," thought Haerys enthusiastically as he grabbed the wand.

It felt strange in his hands, but the sensation of ownership was still present. Haerys knew this opened many new opportunities to him. The ability to perform magic has once again his, and now he had a wand to perform said magic… something which he somehow remembered.

He could remember magic.

"Lumos."

The sudden illumination of the room gave him great reason to smile.

Translations:

- Nyke jaelagon naejot ȳdragon lēda ao, Haerys hen Valyrio Uēpo ānogār iksan – I wish to speak with you, Haerys of the blood of Old Valyria.

- Ao ȳdragon Valyrīha? – You speak Valyrian?