Chapter 17

After a particular bout of intense lovemaking, Harry and Dany lay entwined on the bed in the Lord's Chambers at Moat Cailin. The room was filled with the soft glow of candlelight, casting gentle shadows on the walls. The air was thick with the warmth of their shared passion, and the scent of fresh linens and the earthy aroma of the stronghold mingled around them.

Dany nestled against Harry's chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his skin. "I never imagined we would find such peace in a place like this," she murmured, her voice a contented whisper.

Harry's arm tightened around her, his thumb brushing idly against her shoulder. "It's more than I ever hoped for," he replied, his voice filled with a deep sense of fulfillment. "This place feels like a sanctuary, a haven where we can truly be ourselves."

Dany lifted her head to look into his eyes, a smile playing on her lips. "It's because of you, Harry. You brought this place back to life. You've given us a home."

He smiled back at her, his eyes filled with love. "We did this together, Dany. And we'll continue to build something even greater, here and beyond."

Dany took a deep breath, her fingers still tracing gentle patterns on his chest. "Harry," she began softly, her voice almost hesitant, "have you ever thought about... children?"

Harry's expression softened even more as he looked at her, sensing the depth of her feelings. "I have," he admitted, his voice tender. "I think about it often. A family with you, Dany, is something I want more than anything."

She smiled, her eyes shimmering with emotion. "I want that too. A family, a legacy we can pass down. I want our children to grow up in a world where they can be free, where they can live without fear and with the knowledge of who they truly are."

Harry nodded, his hand moving to gently cup her cheek. "Then we'll make that world for them. We'll build a future where they can thrive and be proud of their heritage."

Dany leaned into his touch, her heart swelling with love and hope. "Together," she whispered, sealing their promise with a tender kiss. "We'll build it together."

Harry's smile faded slightly as he pulled back to look into her eyes, his expression serious. "But children will have to wait," he said softly, his voice tinged with the weight of their responsibilities. "There's a war coming. Two wars, actually. One from the South to determine who sits on the throne, and the other from the North to determine whether life itself wins, or dies a frosty death."

Dany's eyes reflected a mix of determination and sadness. "I know," she replied, her voice steady. "But we'll face those wars together. And when the time comes, we'll create the world our children deserve."

Harry nodded, his resolve matching hers. "We'll prepare, we'll fight, and we'll win. For our future, and for the future of all those we care about."

As they lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, they drew strength from their shared commitment, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead, united in their purpose and their love.

—-

Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West, sat in his solar, the morning light casting long shadows across the room. His brother Kevan entered quietly, a sealed raven message in hand.

Kevan cleared his throat, drawing Tywin's attention. "A raven from Winterfell," he announced, handing over the message.

Tywin took the parchment, his eyes narrowing as he broke the seal. He read in silence, his expression growing colder with each line. When he finished, he set the letter aside, his mind already calculating the implications of the news.

"Cersei is to face a trial by combat," Kevan said, his voice tense. "And it appears she has named Ser Gregor Clegane as her champion."

Tywin looked up from the parchment, his eyes sharp. "And who will Ser Gregor face in this trial by combat?" he asked, his voice cool and measured.

Kevan hesitated for a moment before responding. "The opponent has been named. Hadrian Peverell. He's said to be from a place called Avalon and has already bested Jaime in single combat. He now holds the newly refurbished Moat Cailin."

Tywin's eyes widened, a rare expression of shock crossing his face. "Jaime was defeated?" he repeated, his voice low and incredulous. "My son Jaime, the best swordsman in all of Westeros, bested by this... Peverell?"

Kevan nodded, his expression grave. "It seems so, brother. This Hadrian Peverell is not to be underestimated."

Tywin's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Peverell," he repeated. "The name sounds Valyrian. We must learn more about this man and his origins. If he indeed possesses Valyrian blood, he might be related to the Targaryens."

Kevan nodded again. "I'll have our spies look into it immediately."

Tywin's mind continued to work through the possibilities. "Ensure that Ser Gregor is prepared for this fight. We need every advantage we can get. And keep a close watch on Hadrian Peverell. Any weakness, any flaw, must be exploited."

Kevan left to carry out his orders, leaving Tywin alone with his thoughts. The appearance of a formidable new player on the stage of Westeros was troubling, but Tywin Lannister was determined to turn any situation to his advantage.

—

Varys, the Master of Whispers, sat in his dimly lit chamber, the flickering candlelight casting eerie shadows on the walls. A small, cloaked figure, one of his "little birds," stood before him, whispering the latest information from the North.

Varys listened intently, his expression unreadable. When the bird finished speaking, Varys nodded and dismissed the child with a wave of his hand. Once alone, he allowed a contemplative smile to play on his lips.

"So, Queen Cersei has named Ser Gregor Clegane as her champion," Varys mused to himself. "A formidable choice, indeed. But who will stand against the Mountain?"

Another one of his little birds emerged from the shadows, this one carrying a message from the North. Varys took the parchment and read it carefully. His eyebrows arched slightly in surprise.

"Hadrian Peverell," he murmured, his curiosity piqued. "A man with a Valyrian-sounding name who arrived on the Northern shores with his wife, claiming to be from a land called Avalon, in the west of Westeros. A man who has beaten Ser Jaime Lannister in single combat, winning the Lordship of a newly refurbished Moat Cailin in the process."

Varys set the parchment down, tapping his fingers thoughtfully against the desk. "Intriguing," he whispered to himself. "This Hadrian Peverell is no ordinary man. He must possess extraordinary skills to have bested the Kingslayer."

He rose from his chair, the gears of his mind turning rapidly. "A man of such prowess and mystery will undoubtedly play a significant role in the events to come. I must ensure that I am well-informed about his actions and intentions."

Varys moved to a hidden compartment in the wall, retrieving a small, ornate box. Inside were various means of communication with his network. He quickly began drafting instructions to his spies in the North, commanding them to gather every piece of information they could find about Hadrian Peverell and his wife.

As he worked, Varys couldn't help but smile. "The game is changing," he mused. "And with players like Hadrian Peverell entering the field, the stakes have never been higher. This trial by combat will be a spectacle worth observing, and its outcome could very well alter the course of the realm."

—

Petyr Baelish sat in the office of one of his brothels in King's Landing, the dim light casting long shadows across his sharp features. He leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips as he read the message sent by his spies in the North.

The note detailed the recent events at Winterfell: Cersei Lannister's trial, her choice of Ser Gregor Clegane as her champion, and the emergence of Hadrian Peverell—a man who claimed to hail from Avalon and had already bested Ser Jaime Lannister in single combat, securing the lordship of Moat Cailin.

Littlefinger's eyes glittered with interest as he absorbed the details. "Hadrian Peverell," he mused aloud, rolling the name over his tongue. "A new player in the game, and one who appears to have the favor of the North. How intriguing."

He tapped his finger against the parchment, considering the implications. This Peverell was an unknown variable, and in a game where knowledge was power, unknowns were dangerous. But they also presented opportunities.

"Moat Cailin restored to its former glory," Baelish continued, his mind racing with possibilities. "And a man capable of besting Jaime Lannister... This Peverell could prove to be a useful ally—or a formidable foe."

Baelish leaned forward, folding the parchment neatly and setting it aside. He would need to keep a close eye on this development. His web of spies and informants would need to expand, ensuring he had eyes and ears in Moat Cailin and beyond.

"Interesting times indeed," he muttered, a plan already forming in his mind. "Let's see how the pieces move on this new board. Every new player is a potential asset, or a threat to be neutralized."

With a final, thoughtful glance at the message, Baelish rose from his chair, the smirk never leaving his lips. The game was becoming more complex, and he intended to play it to his advantage, as he always did.

—

Olenna Tyrell, the sharp-witted matriarch of the Tyrell family, sat in her chambers when her son, Mace Tyrell, burst in, waving a crumpled piece of parchment. "Mother, news from the North!" he announced, his excitement evident.

Olenna sighed, her patience already wearing thin. "What is it this time, Mace?" she asked, her tone dry.

Mace cleared his throat, trying to appear dignified. "It seems there's to be a trial by combat for Queen Cersei Lannister. She has named Ser Gregor Clegane as her champion."

Olenna raised an eyebrow, her interest piqued despite her annoyance. "And who, pray tell, is her opponent?"

Mace fumbled with the parchment, squinting at the hastily scrawled words. "A man named Hadrian Peverell. Apparently, he's beaten Ser Jaime Lannister in single combat and now holds the newly refurbished Moat Cailin."

Olenna's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Hadrian Peverell? A Valyrian-sounding name, from Avalon, you say? This could be more interesting than I thought." She leaned back, a calculating smile playing on her lips. "Thank you, Mace. That will be all."

As her son left the room, Olenna pondered the implications of this new player in the game of thrones, her mind already working on how to turn this situation to her family's advantage.

—

Prince Doran and Prince Oberyn Martell sat in the tranquil surroundings of the Water Gardens in Dorne, their expressions serious as they discussed the news from the North.

"I've heard troubling rumors from Winterfell," Doran began, his voice tinged with concern. "It seems there's been a challenge issued to Ser Gregor Clegane, champion of House Lannister."

Oberyn's eyes flashed with a mix of anger and determination. "That brute has caused enough suffering," he growled, his fists clenched tightly. "If justice is to be served, it will be by our hands."

Doran nodded in agreement, his own distaste for the Lannisters evident. "And who is the challenger?" Oberyn inquired, his tone steady despite the underlying tension.

Doran hesitated before responding. "A man by the name of Hadrian Peverell, from a land called Avalon. He's said to have defeated Ser Jaime Lannister in single combat and now holds Moat Cailin."

Oberyn's smirk was filled with satisfaction. "A man who bested the Kingslayer himself? This Hadrian Peverell has my respect," he declared, his voice tinged with admiration.

Doran's gaze turned thoughtful. "This turn of events could have far-reaching consequences," he mused, his mind already considering the potential fallout.

Oberyn's voice carried a steely determination as he spoke, his gaze unwavering. "Let the Lannisters come. We Martells are ready to face them," he declared, his words laced with a promise of vengeance that echoed through the air.

His resolve clear, Oberyn made his intentions known. "I will go to King's Landing," he announced, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "There's no way I will be missing this fight."

With a nod of agreement from his companions, Oberyn prepared himself for the journey ahead, his mind already focused on the looming confrontation with the Lannisters. As he set out on his path to King's Landing, he carried with him the weight of his family's legacy and the burning desire for justice that fueled his every step.

—

Stannis Baratheon stood upon the windswept cliffs of Dragonstone, his eyes fixed on the horizon as the chill of the sea air whipped around him. Ser Davos Seaworth stood at his side, a steadfast presence in the face of uncertainty.

"A raven from the North, my lord," Davos announced, handing over the parchment.

Stannis took the message, his brow furrowing as he read the contents. "Troubling news indeed," he muttered, his jaw clenched with determination.

Davos nodded in agreement. "It seems the North is in turmoil, my lord. They speak of challenges to the authority of House Lannister and Ser Gregor Clegane."

Stannis's grip tightened on the parchment, his gaze steely. "If the North seeks justice, they shall find no ally in the Lannisters," he declared, his voice resolute.

Davos inclined his head in understanding. "And who is this challenger they speak of, my lord?"

Stannis's expression darkened. "A man named Hadrian Peverell, from a distant land called Avalon. He claims to have defeated Ser Jaime Lannister in single combat and now holds Moat Cailin."

Davos's eyes widened in surprise. "A bold claim, my lord."

Stannis's jaw set with determination. "Boldness is not enough to sway the tides of war. But if this Hadrian Peverell has the strength to challenge the Lannisters, then he may prove to be a valuable ally in the battles to come."

With that, Stannis turned his gaze back to the sea, his mind already calculating the next move in the ever-shifting game of thrones.

—

Renly Baratheon reclined in the opulent chambers of the Red Keep, his gaze lingering on the handsome figure of Loras Tyrell beside him. The air was thick with the scent of roses, a fitting backdrop for the two lovers as they indulged in a moment of respite from the political intrigues of King's Landing.

"So, what news from the North?" Renly inquired, his voice laced with curiosity as he turned his attention to Loras.

Loras shifted beside him, his expression grave. "Troubling news, my love," he replied, his tone tinged with concern. "It seems there's been a challenge issued to Ser Gregor Clegane, champion of House Lannister."

Renly's brow furrowed in concern. "And who dares challenge the Lion's wrath?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.

Loras's lips curled into a wry smile. "A man by the name of Hadrian Peverell, from a distant land called Avalon," he explained. "He claims to have bested Ser Jaime Lannister in single combat and now holds Moat Cailin."

Renly's eyes widened in surprise. "An audacious claim," he remarked, his mind racing with the implications of the news.

Loras nodded in agreement. "Indeed. It seems the North is stirring, and the ripples of this challenge will be felt across the realm."

Renly's expression grew thoughtful. "We must tread carefully, my love," he cautioned, his gaze fixed on Loras. "The Lannisters will not take kindly to this challenge to their authority."

Loras met his gaze, his eyes filled with unwavering determination. "We will stand together, Renly. No matter the storm that may come."

With that, the two lovers shared a tender embrace, their bond strengthened by the challenges that lay ahead in the ever-shifting game of thrones.

—-

As Jon, Harry, and Dany made preparations for their journey to the Neck, the air was charged with a sense of anticipation and purpose. Supplies were gathered, horses saddled, and provisions packed for the road ahead.

Jon checked his sword belt, ensuring the Valyrian steel blade Blackfyre, which Harry had glamoured to look like a normal blade, was securely fastened, Harry glanced over at him. "You ready for this, Jon?" he asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

Jon nodded, adjusting the straps of his pack. "As ready as I'll ever be," he replied, his gaze drifting to the horizon. "It's time we joined the Royal Party and saw this through."

Dany, her features set with determination, stepped forward, a map of the Neck in hand. "We'll need to plot our course carefully," she said, her eyes scanning the parchment. "The terrain can be treacherous, and we don't want to encounter any unexpected obstacles."

Robb nodded in agreement, his expression thoughtful as he prepared to depart for Winterfell. "I'll make sure to send word to Winterfell of our plans," he assured them, his voice steady with resolve. "And I'll ensure that everything is in order for your return."

Dany offered him a grateful smile, appreciative of his support. "Thank you, Robb," she said, her tone sincere. "We'll be counting on you to keep things running smoothly while we're away."

As Robb gathered his belongings and made his way towards the stables, Jon clapped him on the shoulder. "Safe travels, brother," he said, his voice filled with warmth. "We'll see you soon."

Robb nodded, a sense of duty guiding his steps as he prepared to return to Winterfell. Though their paths were diverging for now, he knew that they would reunite stronger than ever.

As they made their final preparations, the air hummed with anticipation. Each member of the group felt the weight of their mission, but they also carried with them a sense of purpose and resolve. Together, they would face whatever challenges lay ahead and emerge victorious, united in their quest for justice and peace.

—

The journey through the Neck was not an easy one. The terrain, characterized by dense forests, murky swamps, and winding rivers, presented numerous challenges to Jon, Harry, and Dany as they rode onward. The air was heavy with moisture, and the tangled undergrowth threatened to ensnare them at every turn.

But despite the obstacles, the trio pressed on with unwavering determination. Their horses, strong and sure-footed, carried them through the treacherous landscape, their hooves pounding against the earth with a steady rhythm. Jon, Harry, and Dany rode side by side, their spirits buoyed by the knowledge that their journey held the key to securing alliances and strengthening their position in the realm.

As they rode, they kept a careful eye on their surroundings, wary of any potential threats lurking in the shadows. The Neck was known to be home to all manner of dangers, from lurking predators to hostile tribes, and they knew they could ill afford to let their guard down.

But despite the challenges they faced, there was a sense of camaraderie among them, a shared determination to overcome whatever obstacles stood in their way. Together, they rode onward, their hearts set on reaching their destination and fulfilling their mission to join the Royal Party and play their part in shaping the future of the realm.

As Jon, Harry, and Dany approached the meeting place, they couldn't help but feel a sense of urgency hanging in the air. The Royal Party had already gathered, their presence a testament to the gravity of the situation they faced.

Amidst the bustling activity, they spotted Lord Stark, his demeanor steady and unwavering despite the weight of responsibility that rested upon his shoulders. With determined strides, they made their way over to him, their footsteps echoing in the quiet intensity of the moment.

"Lord Stark," Jon greeted, his voice tinged with respect and solidarity. "We're here, ready to stand by your side."

Ned's gaze met theirs, his expression a mix of relief and concern. "I'm glad you've arrived," he acknowledged, his voice low yet commanding. "There's much to discuss, and little time to spare."

He glanced around to ensure they were not overheard, then leaned in slightly. "The king has been asking for you," Ned informed them, his tone serious. "He wants to speak with you personally about the upcoming trial by combat and the situation in King's Landing."

Harry exchanged a look with Dany and Jon, sensing the gravity of the moment. "Then we shouldn't keep him waiting," Harry said, his voice firm.

Ned nodded in agreement. "Follow me. I'll take you to him. And be prepared—Robert is not in the best of moods."

Before they set off, Harry quickly retrieved a bottle from his saddlebag. "A little something for the king," he said, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Trust me, it'll be a pleasant surprise."

Jon took the reins of Harry's horse, giving his friend a reassuring nod. "I'll see to the horses and get them settled," he said, before following Vayon Poole to the Stark part of the camp.

As Harry, Dany, and Ned made their way towards the king's tent, the camp was a hive of activity. Soldiers and servants bustled about, preparing for the journey ahead.

When they reached the king's tent, the guards stepped aside to let them pass. Inside, King Robert Baratheon was pacing, his face a mask of frustration and anger. He looked up as they entered, his eyes narrowing.

"Ah, finally," Robert growled. "I've been waiting for you."

Harry stepped forward, holding up the bottle. "Your Grace, I have something special for you," he said, his tone light.

Robert eyed the bottle with suspicion. "What is it?"

Harry's smile widened. "It's Firewhiskey, Your Grace. A special drink from Avalon."

Robert's eyebrows shot up, his curiosity clearly piqued. "Firewhiskey, you say? Never heard of it."

"It's quite potent," Harry said, handing the bottle to the king. "I thought you might appreciate it."

Before Robert could take a drink, Ser Barristan Selmy, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, stepped forward. "Your Grace, perhaps someone should taste the drink first, as a precaution against poisoning."

Robert frowned but nodded in agreement. "Very well, Barristan. Let's not take any chances."

Ser Barristan took the bottle, poured a small amount into a goblet, and tasted it. His eyes widened slightly at the strength of the Firewhiskey, but he quickly regained his composure. "It's safe, Your Grace," he said, handing the bottle back to the king. He then turned to Harry and Dany, a hint of apology in his eyes. "My apologies for insinuating any wrongdoing. Protocol is protocol."

Harry nodded in understanding. "No offense taken, Ser Barristan. It's always wise to be cautious."

Robert took the bottle, poured himself a generous measure, and raised the goblet to his lips. As he took a sip, his eyes lit up with approval. "By the gods, this is strong!" he exclaimed, clearly impressed. "And smooth. Peverell, you know how to please a king."

Seizing the moment, Dany spoke up. "Your Grace, the Peverell family played a significant role in the creation of this drink, along with a family by the name of Ogden. However, with the Ogdens no longer around and us being the only Peverells alive, Hadrian is now the only person who knows the process of making this drink. We intend to produce it in our lands."

Robert's eyes gleamed with interest. "A drink like this could make a man rich. Are you planning to sell it in the capital?"

Harry nodded. "Indeed, Your Grace. Once we establish production, we aim to distribute it across Westeros. It will be a valuable trade commodity for our lands and a boon to the kingdom's economy."

Ned looked at Harry, clearly impressed by the foresight and planning. "That could indeed bring considerable wealth to the North," he remarked. "And create strong trade ties with other regions."

Robert, now visibly more relaxed, leaned back in his chair. "I look forward to tasting more of this Firewhiskey, Peverell. And if it's as good as this bottle, you'll have no shortage of buyers."

Seizing the opportunity once more, Dany stepped forward, her voice smooth and charming. "Your Grace, the lands around Moat Cailin have been uninhabited for a long time, due to it being an abandoned ruin. For this endeavor to succeed, we will need manpower to cultivate the land and establish the production facilities for Firewhiskey."

Robert considered her words, his expression thoughtful. "You need people to settle and work the land, then," he said, nodding slowly. "That can be arranged. There are always folk looking for a fresh start or better opportunities."

Harry saw the opening and took it. "Your Grace, perhaps an announcement could be made in the major cities of Westeros. Let it be known that those looking to learn a new trade or willing to settle in a new place can make their way to the newly refurbished Moat Cailin for new opportunities."

Robert's eyes brightened at the suggestion. "That's a fine idea, Peverell. I'll have notices sent out to the major cities—King's Landing, Lannisport, Oldtown, and Gulltown, among others. We'll let people know there's land and work to be had in the North."

Ned nodded in agreement. "It would be a boon for the North as well. New settlers and tradespeople could help strengthen our position and bring prosperity to the region."

Robert grinned, clearly pleased with the plan. "Consider it done. I'll see to it personally. And I'll make sure those who come north are given fair terms and protection."

Harry bowed slightly. "Thank you, Your Grace. This will not only help us but also strengthen the realm."

With the king's support secured for their settlement plans, the group felt a renewed sense of purpose. As the conversation shifted back to immediate matters, including the upcoming trial by combat and the necessary preparations, they knew they were taking the first steps towards a brighter future for Moat Cailin and the North.

—

Later in the day, in the privacy of Ned Stark's tent, the atmosphere was markedly different from the earlier meeting with King Robert. The warm glow of a few lanterns cast long shadows on the canvas walls. Ned's expression was serious as he addressed Harry, Dany, and Jon.

"I have my reservations about bringing people from the South to settle in the North," Ned began, his voice low and cautious. "There will undoubtedly be spies among them, sent to gather information or cause trouble."

Harry nodded, his expression serious. "You're right to be cautious, Lord Stark. Bringing people from the South does pose a risk, but it's a risk we're willing to take. We need the manpower to develop our lands and establish new industries. However, we're not going into this blindly. We've already taken precautions to mitigate the risk."

Ned's brow furrowed slightly, his gaze searching Harry's face for reassurance. "What precautions?" he asked, his tone skeptical yet curious.

Dany stepped forward, her demeanor confident as she addressed Lord Stark. "We've taken magical precautions to safeguard Moat Cailin and the lands surrounding it," she explained. "We've placed powerful wards that not only protect the area but also help us detect any individuals with less than honorable intentions."

Ned's skepticism softened slightly, replaced by a flicker of intrigue. "Wards, you say?" he mused, his interest piqued. "And how do these wards work?"

Dany nodded, eager to elaborate. "They're enchanted with protective spells that can detect any hostile presence within their boundaries," she continued. "Anyone with ill intent who enters the protected area will trigger the wards, alerting us to their presence."

Ned's expression shifted, his skepticism giving way to cautious optimism. "I see," he said, nodding thoughtfully. "That could prove useful in identifying potential threats before they become a problem."

Harry chimed in, his voice resonating with confidence. "Indeed, Lord Stark. With these wards in place, we can ensure the safety and security of Moat Cailin and its inhabitants, even in the face of potential infiltration."

Harry's voice carried an air of assurance as he continued, his gaze unwavering. "Not only will these wards protect Moat Cailin, but they'll also serve another purpose," he explained. "We can use some of these spies to feed false information to their respective liege lords, potentially misleading our enemies and gaining a strategic advantage."

Ned's eyebrows raised in surprise, a glimmer of intrigue in his eyes. "That's a bold strategy," he remarked, his tone tinged with admiration. "But it could prove effective if executed properly."

Harry nodded, his expression determined. "Agreed, Lord Stark. We'll need to tread carefully, but with the right planning and coordination, we can turn their own spies against them."

With a shared understanding of the plan ahead, the group delved deeper into discussions of strategy and preparation, each member contributing their insights and expertise to ensure the success of their endeavors. As the hours passed and the sun dipped below the horizon, their resolve only strengthened, ready to face whatever challenges awaited them in the days ahead.

---

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