Chapter 14

Dany's fingers moved with the grace and familiarity of a wife well-accustomed to the ritual. She tightened the straps of Harry's armor, her touch light but firm. The pale light of dawn seeped into the room, casting a soft, amber glow that danced upon the steel plates. Harry stood still, watching her with an intensity that spoke of more than just affection; it was a bond forged in fire and blood, tested in the crucible of a world that took more than it ever gave.

"You're becoming quite adept at this," Harry murmured, his voice low and filled with a rare warmth, a smile ghosting across his lips.

Dany's violet eyes lifted to meet his, and for a moment, the hardness that had come to define her gaze softened. "I've had my share of practice," she replied, her voice carrying the weight of all they had endured. "We've weathered more storms than most."

Harry nodded, the simple gesture laden with unspoken memories, both bitter and sweet. "I don't know how I'd stand without you," he admitted, a rare vulnerability slipping into his tone.

Dany's hands paused, her fingers lingering on the cool metal before she pulled back, her expression resolute. "You won't have to," she said, the words carrying the weight of a promise, a vow stronger than any made before a septon. She stepped back, her eyes roving over him with a mixture of pride and the faintest hint of anxiety, an emotion she rarely allowed herself to feel. "You're ready."

Harry glanced down at the armor that had become like a second skin to him, the weight both familiar and comforting. "Thank you, Dany," he said, his gratitude woven through the words like a thread of gold.

Her expression darkened slightly as the reality of what lay ahead settled over them. "Be cautious, Harry," she warned, her voice edged with concern. "Jaime Lannister is not to be underestimated."

Harry's gaze didn't waver, his eyes steady as they held hers. "I'm well aware," he said, a quiet confidence in his tone. "But I've something he lacks."

Dany arched a brow, the faintest smile tugging at the corners of her lips, though her eyes remained serious. "And what is that?"

Harry reached out, his hand closing around hers with a firm but gentle grip. "You," he said simply, the word carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken truths.

For a heartbeat, the world outside the walls of Winterfell seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them, bound together by something stronger than love, more enduring than mere loyalty. Dany's gaze softened, her expression one of rare, unguarded tenderness. She squeezed his hand, her voice a whisper but carrying the strength of an oath. "Then go and remind him what a true dragon is made of, Harry."

Harry held her gaze for a moment longer, the silence between them speaking louder than any words. With a final, lingering look, he turned and walked toward the training grounds, each step heavy with purpose. He knew that whatever the day brought, he carried with him not just the steel on his back, but the fire of a Targaryen princess, the strength of the woman who stood by his side.

—

Harry stepped onto the training grounds, Dany walking beside him, her presence a beacon of calm amidst the rising tension. The crisp morning air carried the whispers of the gathered crowd, a mix of highborn lords, ladies, and soldiers, all eager to witness the spectacle. The Starks were clustered together, their faces a blend of concern and support. Ned's expression was stern, as always, but his eyes flicked to Harry with a fatherly pride he couldn't entirely hide. Catelyn's face was a mask of composure, though her worry was clear in the tightness of her grip on Robb's arm. Jon stood beside his brother, his posture rigid with anticipation, while Robb himself bore a confident smile, trusting in Harry's abilities.

Further across the field, the royal family held court. King Robert's booming laughter could be heard even from a distance, his ruddy face alight with the promise of entertainment. "This ought to be good," he rumbled to those nearest, already imagining the thrill of a well-fought duel. Queen Cersei, by his side, observed the scene with her usual aloofness, her eyes narrowed slightly as she scrutinized Harry, assessing him with a mix of curiosity and disdain. Beside her, Prince Joffrey stood with his arms crossed, a twisted smile on his lips, his eyes gleaming with sadistic anticipation. His gaze lingered on Dany, his infatuation clear, and it was evident to anyone watching that he relished the idea of seeing Harry brought low before her.

Jaime Lannister stood at the center of the grounds, resplendent in his white Kingsguard armor, the golden lion of Lannister emblazoned proudly on his chest. His golden hair shone in the early light, and he exuded the relaxed confidence of a man who had never known defeat. He twirled his sword casually, the smirk on his lips that of a knight who was certain of his victory. Yet, despite his arrogance, there was no mistaking the honor with which he approached this duel—he was a knight, through and through, bound by his own peculiar code.

Tyrion Lannister, perched comfortably on a low wall with a goblet of wine in hand, observed the proceedings with a sharp eye and a sardonic grin. "This should be interesting," he muttered to himself, his tone laced with both amusement and genuine intrigue. Despite his outward cynicism, Tyrion had grown to respect Harry, and there was a part of him—well hidden, of course—that hoped to see his brother humbled.

As Harry stepped into the circle, the chatter of the crowd died down to a tense murmur. Dany, ever his steadfast companion, gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, her touch grounding him amidst the rising tension. Drawing his sword, Ignis, Harry moved to face Jaime, the blade's edge catching the light with a deadly gleam.

Jaime's eyes widened slightly at the sight of Harry's sword. "A fine blade," he commented, a hint of genuine admiration coloring his voice despite his otherwise haughty demeanor. "Valyrian steel, I presume?"

Harry met Jaime's gaze evenly, a small, knowing smile on his lips. "No, Ser Jaime," he replied calmly. "This is Avalonian steel. The sword's name is Ignis."

A ripple of surprise ran through the crowd, those who recognized the significance of Avalonian steel exchanging curious glances. Jaime's interest was piqued, though his smirk remained firmly in place. "Avalonian steel," he mused, his tone a mix of respect and challenge. "Let's see how it fares against a Lannister blade."

The King's laughter rang out across the field as he clapped a meaty hand on Jaime's shoulder. "You always were one for show, Kingslayer!" Robert roared, clearly enjoying the prospect of the duel. "But let's not make this a mere sparring match. How about a wager?"

Jaime's smirk widened. "I was about to suggest the same, Your Grace," he said, his voice carrying over the training grounds. "If Lord Peverell loses, he forfeits that fine sword to the crown."

Before Harry could respond, Joffrey stepped forward, his face twisted into a sneer. "Yes, let him lose his sword," Joffrey jeered, his voice dripping with malice as his eyes darted to Dany. "He'll look even more pathetic without it."

Jon bristled at Joffrey's words, his fists clenching at his sides, but Robb placed a calming hand on his brother's shoulder, his own gaze never leaving the field. Ned, too, frowned at the prince's outburst, though he remained silent, his focus on the duel to come.

Harry remained calm, turning his attention to Jaime. "And if I win?" he asked, his voice steady, a hint of steel beneath the calm.

Jaime raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Name your prize, Peverell."

Harry's eyes flicked to Dany, who met his gaze with unwavering support. He turned back to Jaime. "If I win, Your Majesty," he said, addressing King Robert directly, "I ask for the title of Lord of Moat Cailin, to govern and protect its lands in your name."

A murmur swept through the crowd, and King Robert's laughter quieted as he regarded Harry with a thoughtful expression. "Moat Cailin?" he asked, curiosity tinged with skepticism. "Why would you want a ruin like that?"

Before Harry could respond, Ned Stark stepped forward, his voice grave yet respectful. "Your Grace," he began, his words carefully chosen, "Lord Peverell and I have been working to restore Moat Cailin these past months. The stronghold has great strategic importance to the North, and with it restored, it could once again serve as a vital defense."

King Robert stroked his beard thoughtfully, his gaze shifting between Harry and Ned. Cersei watched her husband intently, her expression unreadable, though there was a slight narrowing of her eyes as she considered the implications of Harry's request. Meanwhile, Barristan Selmy, standing a few paces behind the king, nodded almost imperceptibly in approval of Harry's ambition—a wise move for a young lord seeking to establish his power.

After a moment of silence, Robert's face broke into a wide grin. "Very well," he declared, clapping his hands together. "If you best the Kingslayer, Moat Cailin is yours, Peverell."

Joffrey's expression soured, his face twisting in frustration as he realized that Harry stood to gain more than just glory from this duel. The thought of Harry holding a title, especially one of such strategic importance, clearly infuriated him, his earlier smugness giving way to a dark, simmering rage.

The tension in the air thickened as Harry and Jaime squared off, their swords gleaming in the early light. Jaime's smirk returned, though his eyes now held a sharper focus. "You're about to learn why they call me the Kingslayer," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

Harry met Jaime's gaze with quiet determination. "And you're about to learn why they call me 'Le survivant'."

With that, the duel began, and the training grounds erupted with the clash of steel. Jaime moved with the fluid grace of a man who had spent his life in battle, his strikes powerful and precise. Each swing of his sword was accompanied by the hum of finely honed steel cutting through the air, his movements a blend of elegance and lethal intent. The crowd watched in rapt silence, the tension palpable as the two combatants danced around each other.

Jon leaned forward, his eyes wide with admiration as he watched Harry hold his own against the seasoned knight. "He's incredible," Jon whispered to Robb, who nodded, a grin spreading across his face as he saw his friend defy the odds.

Tyrion's goblet remained untouched as he watched the duel, his eyes sharp with interest. "Our young Peverell is full of surprises," he muttered, a grin spreading across his face as he realized that Harry was not merely holding his own—he was pressing Jaime, forcing the Kingslayer to fight at his full strength.

Joffrey's face twisted further into a scowl, his earlier anticipation giving way to anger as Harry continued to match Jaime blow for blow. His fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles white with the force of his grip. His gaze flicked to Dany, who stood with quiet confidence, her eyes never leaving Harry, and Joffrey felt a surge of bitter jealousy. "Come on, Uncle Jaime!" Joffrey hissed under his breath, his voice low and filled with venom. "Cut him down!"

But Jaime, for all his arrogance, fought with the honor of a true knight. As the duel wore on, his smirk began to fade, replaced by a focused intensity. Harry's skill was undeniable, his movements precise, his strikes calculated. The crowd watched in awe as the duel stretched on, the outcome uncertain with each passing moment.

King Robert's eyes gleamed with excitement as he watched the two men battle. "This is a fight!" he bellowed, his voice carrying across the field. "Gods, I haven't seen a duel like this in years!"

Even Cersei, who had initially regarded the match with disdain, found herself drawn in by the spectacle, her gaze narrowing as she watched Harry with a new level of interest.

Finally, with a swift, decisive move, Harry found his opening. With a twist of his wrist, he disarmed Jaime, sending the Lannister's sword clattering to the ground. Jaime stumbled, caught off balance, and before he could recover, Harry brought Ignis to rest just above Jaime's heart. The silence that followed was deafening, the crowd collectively holding its breath as the realization of what had just happened sank in.

Jaime stared at Harry, his chest rising and falling heavily as he caught his breath. For a moment, there was a flicker of disbelief in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a grudging respect. The smirk he had worn throughout the duel was gone, replaced by a tight-lipped smile of acknowledgment. Slowly, he nodded. "Well fought," Jaime said, his voice carrying a hint of admiration that surprised even him. "You've earned your victory, Lord Peverell."

The crowd erupted into cheers, the tension that had gripped the training grounds dissipating in an instant. Jon let out a whoop of triumph, his fist pumping in the air, while Robb grinned broadly, clapping Jon on the back. Even Ned allowed a small, satisfied smile to tug at the corners of his mouth, though his eyes remained watchful, ever the protector.

Harry stepped back, lowering his sword and offering Jaime a hand. For a moment, Jaime hesitated, his pride warring with his sense of honor. Then, with a resigned sigh, he took Harry's hand, allowing the younger man to pull him to his feet. The two stood there for a moment, the weight of their shared respect palpable between them.

King Robert's laughter boomed across the training grounds, full of approval and genuine delight. "Well fought indeed!" he roared, clapping his hands together. "Moat Cailin is yours, Peverell! A fair reward for a fair fight!"

Queen Cersei, though her expression remained composed, couldn't entirely hide the flash of irritation that crossed her face. Her sharp eyes flicked to Joffrey, noting the dark scowl that marred her son's features. She reached out to place a calming hand on Joffrey's arm, but he jerked away from her touch, his gaze locked on Harry with barely concealed hatred.

Joffrey's rage simmered just beneath the surface, his earlier excitement having soured into something far darker. His fists clenched at his sides as he watched Harry bask in the crowd's adulation, the sight of Dany smiling proudly up at him only fueling his fury. "This isn't over," Joffrey muttered to himself, his voice low and dangerous, a promise of retribution in his tone.

Tyrion, ever observant, noticed the exchange between his sister and nephew. He sipped his wine, a wry smile on his lips as he considered the complexities of the situation. "It seems young Peverell has made quite the impression," he remarked quietly to himself, though his words were laced with a hint of concern for what might follow.

Meanwhile, Barristan Selmy, who had been watching the duel with the practiced eye of a seasoned warrior, approached Jaime and Harry. There was a look of approval in the old knight's eyes as he nodded to Harry. "You fought with honor, Lord Peverell," he said, his voice carrying the weight of his years and experience. "The North has found itself a worthy protector."

Harry inclined his head in acknowledgment, his heart swelling with pride at the praise from such a legendary figure. He glanced at Jaime, who returned the look with a rueful smile, the sting of defeat softened by the mutual respect they had forged.

As the crowd began to disperse, the Starks made their way toward Harry, their expressions a mix of pride and relief. Jon was the first to reach him, clapping him on the back with a wide grin. "That was incredible, Harry," Jon said, his voice filled with admiration. "I knew you could do it!"

Robb nodded in agreement, his smile as wide as his brother's. "You showed them all, Harry. Moat Cailin will be in good hands with you as its lord."

Ned approached more slowly, his expression more reserved but no less proud. He placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, meeting his gaze with a solemn nod. "You fought well, Harry," Ned said, his voice low and steady. "Your parents would be proud."

Harry felt a swell of emotion at Ned's words, the gravity of the moment settling over him. He had earned his place, not just through the strength of his sword arm, but through the respect and trust of those around him. As he turned to Dany, who stood beside him with a smile that lit up her face, he knew that this was only the beginning of their journey together.

But even as the celebration continued, Harry couldn't shake the feeling of Joffrey's eyes burning into his back, the promise of future conflict lurking just beneath the surface. For now, he had won the day—but in the world of Westeros, victory was always fleeting.

—

In the quiet solitude of their chambers, Dany approached her husband with a soft smile, her eyes gleaming with pride and admiration. The tension of the day had ebbed away, leaving only the warmth of their shared victory.

"Congratulations, mon cœur," she whispered, her voice a gentle caress, filled with the warmth of her love. The endearment was spoken like a vow, a pledge of her unwavering belief in him. "You were magnificent out there, and now Moat Cailin is ours."

Harry's eyes softened as he took her in, the pride in her voice filling his heart with a quiet joy. He reached out, drawing her close, feeling the delicate curve of her body against his. "Thank you, mon ange," he murmured, his voice low and tender. The words were filled with a deep affection that spoke of the bond between them. "I couldn't have done it without you by my side. Together, we'll make Moat Cailin a stronghold, a sanctuary for us and the dragons."

Dany smiled up at him, her gaze filled with a quiet determination. "And a home," she added, the word heavy with meaning. "A place where our dreams will take root and flourish."

Harry's heart swelled with emotion as he looked into her eyes, seeing the depth of their shared vision. He leaned in, brushing his lips against hers in a kiss that was both tender and possessive. The taste of her was familiar, yet always new, a reminder of everything they had fought for, and everything they had yet to achieve.

As their kiss deepened, the world outside their chambers faded away, leaving only the two of them in their private sanctuary. Harry's hands moved to the straps of his armor, but Dany's fingers were already there, skillfully undoing the buckles and letting the heavy metal fall away with a quiet thud. Her touch was light but purposeful, each movement speaking of her desire to be close to him, to feel the warmth of his skin against hers.

"Dany," Harry breathed, his voice rough with emotion as she undid the last of his armor. He stood before her, stripped of all but his love for her, the intensity of his gaze mirroring the fire that burned in her own eyes.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Dany pressed herself against him, her hands trailing down his chest with a touch that was both teasing and possessive. She leaned in, her breath warm against his ear as she whispered, "Let me take care of you today."

Harry's breath hitched at the promise in her voice, his hands moving instinctively to the ties of her gown. The fabric slid away easily under his fingers, revealing the smooth, pale skin of her shoulders and the gentle swell of her breasts. Dany shivered as his hands traveled lower, caressing the curve of her waist and hips, his touch a mixture of reverence and desire.

They moved together with a practiced ease, their bodies knowing each other well but still finding new ways to explore, to discover. The air between them crackled with an electric charge as they shed the last of their clothes, their naked skin pressing together in a tangle of limbs and heated kisses. Each touch, each whispered word, was a promise—a vow of love and devotion that neither needed to speak aloud.

Harry's lips found the sensitive skin of her neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down to her collarbone and lower, his breath ragged with the force of his desire. Dany arched against him, her fingers threading through his hair as she encouraged him lower, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

When he reached the soft curve of her inner thighs, Harry knelt before her, his hands guiding her legs apart with a gentle insistence. His lips followed, pressing reverent kisses along her skin, each one a silent tribute to the woman who had become his world. Dany's breath hitched, her fingers tightening in his hair as he moved closer to her core, the anticipation sending shivers of pleasure through her.

When Harry finally bestowed upon her the "Lord's Kiss," Dany let out a soft, broken moan, her body trembling with the intensity of her pleasure. His touch was gentle but insistent, his mouth working magic that had nothing to do with the swordplay that had won him the day. With every kiss, every caress, he worshiped her, his love for her pouring out in a way that words could never fully capture.

Dany's hands clutched at him, pulling him closer, needing him in a way that was both desperate and pure. And as Harry continued his ministrations, she felt the world fall away, leaving only the two of them, entwined in a love that was as fierce as it was tender, as unbreakable as the bond they shared.

In that moment, they were not rulers or warriors, not conquerors of castles or slayers of kings. They were simply Harry and Dany, two souls bound together by love and desire, finding solace and strength in each other's arms. And as they surrendered to the passion that consumed them, their connection deepened, a bond forged in fire and tempered in love, destined to endure through whatever trials lay ahead.

—-

As the lively sounds of music and revelry filled the grand hall, Harry and Dany made their way to the feast in honor of Harry's victory. The warmth of the celebration wrapped around them as they entered, with the gathered lords and ladies raising their glasses in a raucous cheer.

"Oi, listen up, you lot!" King Robert's voice bellowed through the hall, commanding attention. The force of his words drew every eye toward Harry and Dany as they made their entrance. 

"By the Seven, did you all see that?!" Robert's booming voice filled the hall, his enthusiasm infectious as he addressed the crowd. "Hadrian Peverell kicked the Kingslayer's arse! Aye, you heard me right!"

The hall erupted into laughter and applause, the revelers eager to join in the celebration of Harry's victory. Harry and Dany shared a knowing smile, their triumph acknowledged by all, even as the king's colorful language echoed through the hall.

As Dany scanned the crowd, her eyes locked onto Queen Cersei. The queen stood stiffly, her face a mask of cold disdain, yet her eyes burned with a simmering resentment. The tension between Cersei and King Robert was palpable, a silent battle of wills playing out beneath the surface. Dany watched with a mixture of curiosity and caution, aware of the volatile dynamics at play within the royal family.

"Hey, there he is!" Jon Snow's voice rang out as he bounded toward Harry, wrapping him in a bear hug from behind. "The victorious Lord of Moat Cailin!" Robb Stark chimed in, joining the embrace with a mischievous grin. "We couldn't let you have all the fun without us, could we?"

Their laughter echoed through the hall, the camaraderie of old friends lightening the mood. 

"Looks like the squad is all here," Dany quipped, a playful smirk on her lips as she leaned into Harry's side. "Just remember, boys, we're the ones who'll be ruling the roost at Moat Cailin," she added with a wink, her tone teasing yet confident.

"Absolutely," Harry replied with a chuckle, wrapping his arm protectively around Dany. "And with Jon by our side, I have no doubt we'll rule with both strength and mischief," he added, exchanging a playful glance with Jon and Robb.

Their moment was interrupted by the presence of Crown Prince Joffrey Baratheon, who approached with a predatory gaze fixed on Dany. 

"Would you care to dance, Lady Fleur?" Joffrey asked, his voice dripping with arrogance. The smug smile on his lips made it clear he was less interested in the dance than in asserting his dominance.

Dany masked her unease with a polite smile. "I would be honored, Your Grace," she replied, her tone courteous but guarded. As she moved onto the dance floor with Joffrey, her mind raced, wary of the prince's intentions.

Meanwhile, Harry watched with a stoic expression, concealing the subtle wand movements that cast a Flatulence Hex at Joffrey. The prince's initial surprise quickly turned to discomfort as the hex took effect. Struggling to maintain his composure amidst the unexpected embarrassment, Joffrey's face reddened, and he hastily retreated from the dance floor.

Seizing the opportunity, Harry stepped in to join Dany. "May I have this dance?" he asked with a suave smile, extending his hand to her. 

Dany accepted with a grateful smile, relieved to be free from Joffrey's presence. As they danced, Harry's movements were fluid and confident, his demeanor relaxed now that they were alone on the dance floor. Dany matched his steps with ease, the shared amusement over Joffrey's departure strengthening their bond.

After dancing, they found a nearby table and settled in to catch their breath. As they did, Tyrion Lannister approached, his presence as always, a mix of wit and mischief.

"Mind if I join you two?" Tyrion quipped, his eyes twinkling as he pulled up a chair. 

Harry and Dany exchanged a glance before welcoming him with warm smiles, glad for the company of the witty Lannister.

"Well, well, well, Lord Peverell," Tyrion began with a smirk, raising his glass in a mock toast. "Congratulations on your triumph. I must say, you've managed to secure quite the prize. Moat Cailin, was it? A fine keep, I'm sure."

Harry chuckled at Tyrion's quip. "Thank you, Tyrion," he replied with a grin. "I couldn't have done it without a bit of luck and a lot of skill, but I suppose that's the secret to any good victory, isn't it?"

Dany nodded in agreement, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she raised her own glass. 

Tyrion took a sip of his wine, his curiosity clearly piqued as he recalled a detail from the duel. "You know, Lord Peverell, during your duel with my brother, you mentioned something that intrigued me. You said they call you 'Le survivant'. What does that mean?"

Harry leaned back slightly, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. "It's a French term, from a region in Avalon called France, where my wife hails from," he explained, gesturing to Dany. "It means 'The Survivor.'"

Tyrion raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "The Survivor? That sounds like quite the title. How did you come to earn such a moniker?"

Dany's expression softened, her voice carrying a quiet reverence as she answered. "It was bestowed upon Harry for his uncanny ability to survive where others would have perished," she explained. "He has faced dangers and trials that would have claimed the lives of lesser men, yet he endures, time and time again. He is more than just a warrior; he's a survivor in every sense of the word."

Tyrion's eyes flickered with admiration as he took in their words. "Well, I must say, that's quite the reputation to carry. And here I thought my brother's title of Kingslayer was impressive," he remarked, his tone laced with a mixture of humor and genuine respect.

Harry smiled, lifting his glass in acknowledgment. "Titles may carry weight, but it's what we do with them that truly matters," he said, his words heavy with meaning. "And as for Moat Cailin, it's not just a prize—it's a place where we intend to build a legacy, one that will last for generations."

Tyrion raised his glass in return, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "To legacies, then," he toasted. "And to the survivors who create them."

Dany nodded, her gaze meeting Harry's with a look of profound understanding. As they clinked their glasses together, the three of them shared a moment of quiet camaraderie.

"So, Lord Peverell, Lady Fleur," Tyrion began, his voice tinged with genuine curiosity as he leaned in slightly. "Tell me about this land you hail from—Avalon, was it? The name alone evokes a sense of intrigue and mystery. I imagine it must be a place where tales of wonder abound."

Harry's face lit up with a smile, his eyes sparkling with fondness as he spoke. "Avalon," he repeated, the word itself seeming to carry the weight of memories. "It's a land of lush, rolling landscapes, steeped in ancient magic and noble traditions. Every hill and valley has its own story, passed down through generations. The air itself feels alive with the history and legend that fill our land."

Dany nodded in agreement, her expression softening as she added her own thoughts. "Indeed," she said, her voice warm and melodic. "Avalon is a place where legends truly come to life. The boundaries between myth and reality are often blurred, and every corner holds a story waiting to be uncovered. It's a land that shapes its people, filling them with a sense of purpose and connection to something greater than themselves."

Tyrion listened intently, his sharp mind eagerly absorbing every detail they shared. His eyes gleamed with interest as he imagined the land they described, a place far removed from the political machinations and harsh realities of Westeros. "It sounds like a realm of wonders," he said, his voice tinged with a mix of admiration and curiosity. "A place where even the air carries a certain… magic, if you will."

He paused for a moment, as if considering his next words carefully. Then, with a playful glint in his eye, he asked, "And what of its music? Are there any songs from Avalon that you might share? I find that songs often carry the soul of a place within them, revealing truths that words alone cannot."

Harry chuckled at Tyrion's question, his grin broadening into a self-deprecating smile. "Ah, well, I must admit, my talents don't extend to singing," he said with a light-hearted shrug. "In fact, I'm fairly certain that if I were to sing, it would be considered more of a crime against music than anything else." His tone was warm and easy, the jesting nature of his words clear.

Tyrion laughed at Harry's good-natured self-deprecation, clearly amused. "Is that so? I've known men who've been praised for their skill in battle and wisdom in council, only to fall dreadfully short when asked to carry a tune. It's a comfort to know that even heroes have their limitations," he teased, his tone light and playful.

Harry joined in the laughter before turning to Dany with a fond smile. "But my wife Fleur," he continued, his voice softening with affection, "now she possesses the most beautiful voice I've ever heard. She could make even the most hardened warrior weep with a single note. Perhaps she might grace us with a song from Avalon, if she's willing."

Dany blushed at Harry's compliment, her cheeks tinged with pink, but she nodded graciously, her expression warm. "I would be honored to share a piece of Avalon with you," she replied softly.

"Lords and ladies!" Tyrion's voice rang out with a commanding presence, drawing the attention of every guest in the grand hall. "It is my distinct pleasure to announce that Lady Fleur Peverell will now grace us with a song from her homeland of Avalon!"

The room buzzed with anticipation, a ripple of excited murmurs and applause sweeping through the crowd. All eyes turned towards Dany, eager to experience the magic of her performance. With a smile and a nod of appreciation towards Tyrion, Dany prepared to share a piece of Avalon's musical heritage, her heart brimming with pride.

As the first notes of her song filled the hall, a hush fell over the audience, each person absorbing the beauty and emotion conveyed through her voice.

"Wise men say  

Only fools rush in  

But I can't help falling in love with you  

Shall I stay?  

Would it be a sin  

If I can't help falling in love with you?"

Ned Stark and Catelyn Tully exchanged tender glances, their love evident in the subtle smiles they shared. Despite the complex circumstances of their marriage—initially a political arrangement to secure support during Robert's Rebellion—Ned and Catelyn had grown to find genuine affection and happiness in each other. As they swayed gently to the music, the lyrics resonated with their own journey, reminding them of the deep bond they had cultivated over the years.

"Like a river flows  

Surely to the sea  

Darling, so it goes  

Some things are meant to be"

Robert Baratheon, his rugged face softened by the song's sentiment, gazed wistfully at Cersei. The music stirred memories of Lyanna Stark, his lost love. Though the face of the woman he once claimed to love with all his heart had long since faded from his mind, the aching void she left behind remained ever-present. Each note of the song was a poignant reminder of the emptiness that no amount of power or conquest could ever fill.

"Take my hand  

Take my whole life, too  

For I can't help falling in love with you"

Cersei Lannister's composure cracked slightly as she listened, her mind consumed by thoughts of her twin brother, Jaime. The song's lyrics mirrored the forbidden, intense feelings she harbored for him—feelings that had become a central part of her life. The haunting melody evoked her yearning and frustration, a reflection of her tumultuous relationship with Jaime. Her gaze, while trying to remain composed, betrayed her internal struggle with longing and regret over a love that she felt could never be fully realized.

Tyrion Lannister, sitting at the edge of the crowd, was lost in his own memories as the song unfolded. The beauty of Dany's voice transported him back to a time of innocence and betrayal, reminding him of Tysha, the woman he had once loved with all his heart. Their brief marriage, shattered by his father's cruelty and deception, had left him with scars that never fully healed. As the song's melancholy notes filled the hall, Tyrion felt a familiar pang of loss for the love that was so cruelly taken from him.

As Dany's song reached its finale, the hall erupted in a wave of applause, the collective appreciation for her performance evident in the fervent clapping and cheers. Tyrion, his expression a blend of admiration and nostalgia, was among the first to offer his praise.

"Bravo, Lady Fleur!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with genuine warmth. "That was simply magnificent. Your voice reaches into the hearts of all who listen, and tonight, it has truly captured the essence of romance and longing. You have a rare gift for bringing music to life in a way that few can."

With a charming smile, he continued, "And the song itself—its depth and emotion—brought the spirit of Avalon to life here in our hall. Thank you for sharing such a piece of your homeland with us."

As the evening wore on, the echoes of Dany's song lingered in the air, weaving a thread of warmth and camaraderie among the guests. The revelry continued, but the shared moments of reflection and the connections made through music left a lasting impact. Harry and Dany, surrounded by friends and allies, toasted to their victory and the bonds that had been strengthened. With a sense of contentment and anticipation for the future, they departed the hall hand in hand, ready to embrace the challenges and joys that lay ahead.

---

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