CH10 The passing of years

6th day of the 4th moon, 238 AC. Bear Island.

"Ironborn!"

Lord Mors Mormont startled at the raven's croak.

"What?" He asked instinctively, and then immediately felt foolish for questioning a bird.

"Ironborn!" The raven repeated, staring at him with intense, beady black eyes.

"Away with you." Mors snorted. He had enough worries about the squids without birds taunting him about it too. It must have learned the word from someone and was now repeating it.

"Map!" The raven insisted.

That gave Mors pause and he stared at the bird warily. Something was wrong here.

"You want me to show you a map?" He asked slowly.

"Aye." The bloody bird even nodded as it said so.

Mors, now thoroughly unnerved and almost certain that this was no mere bird, went to fetch a map of the North. The raven hopped on to his shoulder, nearly startling him into drawing steel.

The map was spread out across a table, and the raven hopped on to it.

"Ironborn!" It cried, pecking at Sea Dragon Point. "Sea Dragon. Ironborn!"

"There are Ironborn at Sea Dragon Point?" Mors wanted to be sure, as absurd as the situation was.

"Aye." The raven confirmed.

Mors gave the bird a hard stare. Ironborn often stopped at Sea Dragon Point when conducting raids on the North, so this could very easily be true.

"Who are you?" He asked suspiciously. It had to be a skinchanger controlling the raven.

The raven hopped across the map again, pecking at the lands beyond the Wall.

"Crowfather." Mors said grimly. He had heard the rumors and hadn't been sure what to believe, but now it was clear. "There is no love between us, why warn me about the Ironborn?"

"Reasons." The raven croaked and fluttered off, leaving Mors very confused.

XXXXX

Harry opened his eyes and took a deep breath. First the Glovers and now the Mormonts, what a tedious thing to do.

Still, it was part of his pact with the Old Gods – they would help him wherever they could and he would punish oathbrakers, violators of guest rights and slavers in places where weirwoods grew. The Ironborn may call their captives thralls, but that was just another name for slaves. Hopefully the warning would be enough to spare him the need for personal intervention.

XXXXX

11th day of the 6th moon. 239 AC. Castle Black.

Brynden Rivers, newly elected Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, was sitting at his desk and thinking.

The Night's Watch was in trouble, there was no getting around that. They could no longer range properly beyond the Wall and many of the black brothers were angry about it, their hate for the wildlings shining through.

Something needed to be done.

Brynden suspected that Harry's beguiling spell may be defeated if enough people pushed through the Haunted Forest, but what would that achieve? Dol Guldur and the burgeoning city of Isengard around it were now too strong for the Watch to overcome, even discounting what fell magics may be sent against them. And the threat of what would happen should the banners of the North be called was still fresh in his mind.

No, attacking was out of the question.

Musgood had been resentful of the wildlings for the shame they had caused him, and it had made him stubborn. Brynden had no such issue. He would write to Dol Guldur and work out an agreement. Even if the ranging parties he sent out were just for show, there was no need for the rangers to know that, and it may give him an opportunity to dispose of the most belligerent ones.

The Night's Watch would survive.

XXXXX

20th day of the 2nd moon. 240 AC. Winterfell.

"I am surprised that you came yourself, Lord Umber." Edwyle commented. "I was expecting a raven, or your son if you felt it necessary."

"Thought I'd give my boy a chance to get some experience running things, he's more than old enough already." Hoarfrost Umber said, quaffing a whole mug of ale and ironically sobering up. "I was thinking of taking the black soon, actually."

"Truly?"

"Aye, those bloody wildlings and this sorcerer of theirs has me worried." Hoarfrost spat. "Never thought I'd live to see another King-Beyond-the-Wall rise, not after your father, Artos and I put down Raymun Redbeard."

"Nobody could have predicted such a thing." Edwyle sighed. Grateful as he was for the reduction in raids from the wildlings, it would have been simpler if Harry had never come to Westeros.

"I don't like this, Lord Stark." Hoarfrost admitted. "A sorcerer from lands unknown sets himself up beyond the Wall and a few years later weirwoods suddenly start growing all over the North? Why would he do that when he told you that he cares nothing for any gods? I've even heard tell of heart trees that have legs instead of roots."

"Aye, the dryads as Harry named them." Edwyle said with a slight grimace. "I know not why or how he gave the Old Gods such bodies, but the smallfolk are spinning all manner of tales about them. Some of Wintertown's street urchins have even taken to venturing into the Wolfwood and seeking them out. Sometimes they would be gone for days and come out with stories of the Old Gods helping them find food and shelter. Sometimes they do not return at all."

"He must be turning them over to his side." The big, hairy lord growled darkly. "To bring us down from within!"

"I do not believe Harry concerns himself with us at all, nor do I think he has any need for such subterfuge when he has already proven that he can murder us all in our own castles whenever he pleases. Every time I spoke to him I felt that he was treating me like a child. His designs remain inscrutable to us."

"All the more reason why we should march on him before he can finish whatever magic he's plotting." Hoarfrost insisted. "Leaving a wizard time to work his craft is never a good idea."

"I understand your concerns Lord Umber, but we cannot act." Edwyle stated flatly, having had this argument before, with more than one of his bannermen. "I told you of the ease with which he entered Winterfell three years ago. He sees too much and can move too quickly. I have consulted with my maester, as well as with Bloodraven and Maester Aemon at Castle Black, and we could find no way to guard ourselves against such powerful sorcery. Until we do, we have no choice but to bide our time."

There was also the fact that he genuinely didn't think that there was any real threat to the North. Adrastia had assured him that Harry had no interest in conquest.

"For the moment we can just be glad for the decrease in raids from the wildlings and for the warnings about the Ironborn." Edwyle continued.

"I don't suppose you know why the magical bastard is warning us about the bloody squids?" Hoarfrost asked with a sigh.

"No." Edwyle shook his head. "I have been receiving reports of ravens giving out warnings of Ironborn all across the western shore, and the Flints even found a longship drifting off the coast of Cape Kraken, its crew slaughtered down to the last man, but the ravens would only say that it was for 'reasons' when questioned."

Hoarfrost rubbed a hand across his face in exasperation. "Bloody ravens and crows. It wasn't enough that letters could fall into the wrong hands, now there's a chance that the fucking birds might be reading them."

"I doubt he could teach them how to read." Edwyle shrugged, but there was a seed of doubt in his mind. Could Harry teach a raven how to read?

"Bah, enough about that!" The big man said after a few moments of silence, forcibly changing the subject. "I came here to congratulate you on the birth of your son. Rickard, was it?"

Edwyle swelled with pride at the thought of his firstborn. He and Marna may not have any great love between them, but little Rickard was a bright spot of joy for both of them. "Aye, a strong boy. He's already growing like a weed."

Hoarfrost opened his mouth to reply, but the sound of frantinc running stopped him. Mere moments later one of the castle's guardsmen brust into the solar without so much as a knock.

"Lord Stark!" The men shouted urgently. "The great crow! She circles above Winterfell!"

Edwyle surged to his feet, grabbing Ice out of sheer habit even though he did not expect to need it, and quickly made for the courtyard. The guardsman and Hoarfrost followed behind him.

His mind raced to think of a reason that Velka could have for coming here. The giant crow had gained a reputation as Harry's messenger, and an ill omen besides. Did the wizard have something to say to him?

Soon they were out in the courtyard, staring up at Velka as she glided across the sky in slow circles. No doubt there would be rumors flying for a long time after this.

Velka seemed to notice him, as she began to descend. The Stark men-at-arms readied their weapons, some nocking bows.

"Stand down." Edwyle commanded firmly and they reluctantly did so.

The great crow gracefully alighted on the courtyard just in front of him.

"Lord Stark" Velka greeted courteously, inclining her head in a disturbingly human fashion.

"Lady Velka." Edwyle returned with equal courtesy, deciding that politeness cost him nothing. "What brings you to Winterfell?"

"I come bearing gifts." She declared, depositing a sizable chest on the ground with one gigantic black talon. "I also have a letter for you."

Edwyle cautiously stepped forward to take the letter that was indeed tied to the giant crow's leg, feeling very odd as he was used to messenger birds being smaller than him.

The first thing he noticed was the material of the letter. It was very fine and smooth, nothing at all like parchment. It was also a creamy white color instead of the usual pale yellow.

He unfolded it, noting the smooth edges, and was hit with a smell that had haunted his memory for years now. Adrastia.

Dear Edwyle,

Congratulations on the birth of your son. I'm sure young Rickard will grow up to be as strong, handsome and honorable as his father.

I still remember our brief time together with fondness and couldn't bear to let the occasion pass without sending you a gift. Luna also thought it a splendid idea and together, we managed to convince Harry to cooperate.I hope you like it.

With love,

Adrastia.

The writing was beautiful and graceful, just like the woman who put it there. Edwyle closed his eyes, briefly seized by such a powerful longing that he wanted nothing more than to take the nearest horse and ride for the Wall immediately.

But the moment passed and he opened his eyes to look into Velka's big black ones.

"Thank you for bringing this to me, it is appreciated." He said.

"It was no trouble." The great crow said, spreading her wings in preparation to lift off. "I hope you enjoy your gift. Farewell!"

Edwyle held tightly to the letter as the wind created by Velka's departure buffeted him.

"What is it?" Artos asked with a voice full of suspicion, startling him slightly. He'd been so focused on reading the letter that he'd completely missed his uncle's arrival.

"A gift in honor of Rickard's birth, from Dol Guldur." He replied, reaching over to open the chest.

There were only two things inside. The first was a cask that likely held more Godsmead.

That pleased Edwyle. The drink had both more flavor and more kick to it than anything else he'd ever tried, and it could keep a man warm for hours.

But it was the second that truly caught his notice.

It was an ivory drinking horn, polished to gleaming perfection and banded with bronze graven with runes.

A fine gift, one that spoke of deep understanding of what it meant to be of the North. In the south, such a thing would be sneered at as cheap and barbaric, its simple beauty, sturdy design and the obvious skill that went into its make overlooked or dismissed.

Edwyle once again regretted that he couldn't have married Adrastia. She may have come from further south than even the Dornish, but she would have made the finest Lady Stark that Winterfell had ever had. He was sure of it.

XXXXX

24th day of the 5th moon, 241 AC. Dol Guldur.

One of Harry's numerous projects since coming to this world had been the creation of a telescope, to observe how different the heavens were from Earth.

He had not been carrying one in his hammerspace nor ever learned how to make one, but he knew the general principle of them. It only took moderate amounts of trial and error before he was able to put together a sufficiently powerful one.

He was not overly surprised to discover that the star system they were in had eight planets, nor that the one they were on was the third, nor that the fourth was distinctly red, nor that the fifth was a large gas giant with many moons, nor that the sixth had a distinctive ring around it...

In short it was the Solar System 2.0. Frankly, at this point he would have been more surprised to discover otherwise. It certainly dovetailed with all the other similarities to Earth.

But the question still remained, random dimensional shenanigans or deliberate action?

XXXXX

10th day of the 8th moon, 242 AC. Valley of Thenn.

When word came that Sigrid's father was dead, she had immediately pleaded to be taken back to the valley. Harry hadn't really minded the trip and they ended up taking their children along as well.

Their arrival by Nimbus Cloud generated quite a bit of excitement, but Sigurd was able to calm people down without any trouble.

The new Magnar of Thenn greeted his sister with a hug and Harry with a brotherly clasp of the arm, then he crouched down to be eye level with the children.

"I know these two strong boys already, but who's this little one?" He said smiling at their third child, a pretty girl with dark black hair and bright green eyes.

"Go on, introduce yourself." Sigrid urged gently.

"Hello, I'm Verthandi." The five-year-old girl said shyly before turning to her mother. "Mama, who's he?

"He's your uncle, Sigurd. Sigmar and Sindri met him already, but they were probably too young to remember." Sigrid explained to her.

The eight-year-old Sigmar and seven-year-old Sindri had indeed been looking a bit confused and awkward, but after that explanation they were curious more than anything.

"Can I hold your sword?" The elder of the two asked eagerly, staring at the Valyrian steel hanging from Sigurd's hip.

Sigurd grinned at the question and promised to let him hold it later.

XXXXX

17th day of the 8th moon, 242 AC. Valley of Thenn.

"You've taught them well." Sigurd commented as they watched some of the younger Thenn children and his own two play fighting with sticks.

"Teaching them how to fight is easy when they already want to learn." Harry scoffed. "Teaching them to think? Now that's hard, the reckless little shits. But I suppose I can't blame them, I wasn't much different at their age. All I wanted to do was throw fireballs around."

Still, Harry was proud of them. They didn't whine or cry when someone else managed to hit them. He'd made damn sure that none of his kids grew up to be those kinds of wimps.

Sigurd chuckled and took another sip of the Godsmead, which he had instantly become enamoured with upon tasting.

"You could leave them here for a time." He suggested contemplatively a few minutes later. "They are Thenns through their mother, they should know our ways."

"Hmm." Harry frowned and considered it. "Give it a few more years, then they should be old enough to decide for themselves if that's something they want. There are still things I want to teach them in the meanwhile."

"Aye, fair enough." Sigurd agreed.

The next fifteen minutes were spent in silence, neither of the two men feeling the need to fill the air with chatter.

"Daddy!" A child's high-pitched voice broke the calm.

Verthandi charged right at him and clung to his leg like a limpet, staring up at him with sparkling green eyes and an adorable gap-toothed grin.

"Hello there." Harry said mildly, spotting Sigrid coming up just behind her. "Did you have a good time with your mother?"

"Uh huh." She nodded her head, beaming. "I met Mag, he's a giant!"

"You don't say?"

"And he has a mammoth that's even bigger than him!" Verthandi continued jabbering in excitement.

"Must have been a big mammoth."

"It was! It was a, a...giant mammoth!"

"As opposed to a regular mammoth?"

The little girl disregarded his sardonic question and continued to gush about the amazingness of Mag, her new best friend.

Sigrid siddled up to them with a slightly embarrassed smile.

"She made him carry her around in his hands." She confessed bemusedly. "I've never seen Mag so taken with someone before."

"Little girls are dangerous like that, they use their cuteness as a weapon." Harry said sagely.

Sigrid hummed and nodded, looking between them. "So, what were you two talking about earlier?"

"Sigurd suggested that our children stay here for a few years to learn what it means to be a Thenn." Harry explained.

He saw Sigrid's eyes widen in surprise and gain a gleam of interest. She was clearly in favor of the idea, but Harry wouldn't send any of them here unless they decided for themselves that it was something they wanted.

XXXXX

11th day of the 7th moon, 243 AC. Haunted Forest.

"Can we go home?" Nine-year-old Jala whined.

"No!" Hala snapped angrily at her daughter. This was the third time today that she'd asked when she should be keeping her eyes and ears open instead.

Jala's lip trembled and she turned away from her mother. Ash padded close and nuzzled her comfortingly.

Nearby, Sigmar, Havel and Nenya watched the altercation silently.

"I'm doing this for you, so that you'll be able to hunt and find food by yourselves." Hala explained, exhaling gustily to expel her irritation.

"But we've got food back home." Jala pouted.

"We have food today, but we might not have it tomorrow and I need to know that you'll be able to look after yourselves if things go bad. Understand?"

She'd turned thirty this year. There was still time, but it was running out and she wasn't a young woman anymore. Most free folk died before they made it this far in life.

Hala had once felt jealous and resentful of the fact that Harry wouldn't share his immortality with her, but a single conversation on the matter had wiped out all desire for it. Eternal youth was a curse as much as it was a gift, one that he'd have to give their children as well if he gave it to her and the others. And then their children, and their children's children...

Until something inevitably went wrong and they started dying, or choosing to die. The heartbreak in Luna's voice as she described the deaths of her children and grandchildren – some by choice, others by accidents or by malice– wasn't something she wanted for herself. No, Hala would much rather stay mortal and join her gods in the earth and the trees when the time came than experience that. Harry and Luna would still be there for them regardless.

Magic was a sword without a hilt, so went the old free folk saying. Harry claimed it was only true for novices, but Hala wondered if he'd just been bleeding for so long that he didn't notice anymore.

"How could things go bad?" Havel asked quietly.

Hala gave the huge boy a smile. Nine years old and he was already close to six feet tall, and very protective of his siblings. Ava was so proud of him.

"I don't know, but they can always go bad." She said grimly. "Your father is strong and wise and the free folk have never had it better than we do now thanks to him, but not even he can protect you from everything and he deserves better than to have his own children became stones around his neck. So grow strong and make him proud, alright?"

The four of them nodded and putting determined looks on their faces, Jala wiping her nose for good measure.

"Good. Now come on, I'll show you how to make camp since it's getting late."

XXXXX

30th day of the 3rd moon, 244 AC. Riverlands, High Heart.

Leaf ran her hands over the stump of the weirwood tree, just one out of the grove of thirty-one that had been cut down long ago by the Andal invaders.

She didn't think that she would ever understand the race of men. Where did all the wrath they seemed to always carry inside them come from? And how could they live with it?

"Hey, are you ready to get started?" Luna asked, appearing at her shoulder.

Leaf looked up at the golden-haired witch and her bright, open smile. This one was very different from the rest of her kind, but no less confusing.

"Yes, I'm ready." She said, offering a small smile of her own.

"Great!" Luna beamed and handed her a glass flask. "Rub this on the trunks."

Leaf did as instructed while Luna went around to give flasks to the others. The shimmering liquid of the potion clung to the wood, smoothing out the jagged cuts made from axe blades millennia ago until the stump was flat.

"Alright, time for phase two." Luna announced cheerfully once all the stumps were prepared, drawing an obsidian dagger.

Leaf drew her own, as did the twenty-nine other Earthsingers present, and made a cut on her palm, letting the blood drip onto her stump.

She could feel the Old Gods stirring, the potion and the blood having lended them a little strength, but there was still more to be done.

Leaf raised her voice in song, a song of life, death and rebirth that had no translation or words outside of the True Tongue. The trees and earth and wind all stirred, and then Luna joined in.

For all that the witch looked completely unthreatening, she was a magic user of terrifying power and her song showed it. She immediately took control of the choir, her voice pulling on the world in ways that hadn't been seen since the Dawn Age and their wars against the First Men.

The forest groaned, the earth stirred, the wind howled and finally, the wood cracked as new saplings pushed out of the stumps of the weirwoods. They grew rapidly, the potion allowing them to absorb the stumps as they connected to the old roots. Within hours, a new weirwood grove stood at High Heart, young trees with old roots.

Leaf stopped singing and panted for breath. That had been tiring, but she looked at what they'd done with satisfied pride. This place had still belonged to the Old Gods even with the weirwoods cut down, but now they were strong again.

"We did it!" Luna squealed and hugged her.

Leaf oofed as the air was squeazed out of her, but she gladly returned the affectionate gesture of her friend. "We did. Now we must carve new faces into the trees."

"You get started on that while I put up wards to discourage anyone with hostile intent from coming here." The golden-haired witch said and skipped off merrily.

Leaf drew her obsidian dagger again and faced her tree. She may not havemuch talent for the magical arts, but with the Old Gods to guide her, she could at least give the trees new eyes to see.

XXXXX

13th day of the 4th moon. 246 AC. Dol Guldur.

Harry carefully closed the book and swept his eyes over his sleeping children.

One of his lesser known skills was his exceptional storytelling ability. Few would even think to consider such a thing – with good reason, given how asocial he was – but there was a method to the madness.

Children absorbed lessons better if they were conveyed through stories than if they were told 'this is good, you should be like this' or 'this is bad, don't do this', and it worked especially well if you could make the story compelling.

That was a realization that had unfortunately come too late to be of use to his first set of children, but he had figured it out by the time his third grandchild had showed up. Since then, he had been accumulating stories and tweaking them so that they would teach the lessons he wanted them to teach.

So he spent many an evening in his children's shared bedroom, reading or reciting stories from memory. Sometimes Luna or one of the other women joined in, and there had been that one time that he'd pranked Adrastia into doing it, but by and large it was something he did.

The kids loved it, even if they often fell asleep halfway through and ended up begging for a repeat the next day.

Harry slowly rose from the comfy armchair – placed there specifically for storytelling purposes – and started making his way to the door.

"Dad?" A sleepy girl's voice piped up.

Harry stopped and quietly made his way over to the bed of the stubbornly awake girl.

"What is it, Skadi?" He whispered.

Skadi looked at him with big green eyes under brows that were unusually heavy for a girl. Not so unusual for a demi-giant though. Though his coloring seemed strangely determined to shine through in all his children this time around, the other physical characteristics tended to come from their mothers.

"Are you going to send us away?" The nine-year-old girl asked, biting her lip.

Ah, so that's what it was.

"Why would you think that?" Harry asked calmly, reaching out to stroke her dark black hair.

"You sent Sigmar and Sindri away." Skadi pouted.

"I asked if they wanted to go, and they said yes." He corrected.

"But why?" She whined. "Don't they love us?"

"Loving someone doesn't mean staying near them all the time. Your brothers have their own lives to live, as do we all, and sometimes it may take us far away from our family and friends, but that doesn't mean we stop loving them. You'll probably leave me in a few years, does that mean you don't love me?"

"I'll never leave you, Dad." Skadi muttered, already half asleep.

"If you say so." Harry quipped, spending another minute longer stroking her hair to make sure she was soundly asleep before getting up and leaving the room.

XXXXX

1st day of the 6th moon, 247 AC. Dol Guldur.

The lordling from the Crownlands was still young and somewhat more mentally flexible than you'd expect of a third son, no doubt the reason for which he was chosen.

"I am an emmissary for His Grace, Aegon V Targaryen, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm." He said respectfully upon being questioned about his purpose.

Harry had noticed him suppress the ingrained habit of kneeling to figures of extreme authority, which meant that he had at least educated himself on the local customs before coming here.

"Oh? And what does that snot-nosed brat want from me?"

"My lord, you cannot speak like that of a king!" He sputtered in protest.

Ah well, so much for mental flexibility. The man had defaulted to his programming the very first time things went off script.

"Why not?" Harry asked, amused. "He's not my king anymore than I am your lord, but what I most certainly am is a cranky old man. If we're going to speak then it's best to done without sophistry. So, what does he want?"

The lordling looked like he was having trouble dealing with this, which could be because Harry was in fact physically younger than Aegon V.

"His Grace is the blood of the dragon-" He eventually began.

"No, he's not." Harry interrupted. "The scum from Valyria may have made such claims, but that doesn't make it true. The Valyrians had more in common with pigs than dragons, and the same goes for the Targaryens." It was even true, genetically. Magically, after spending millennia around dragons, some crossover would indeed happen.

The lordling looked stunned beyond belief that someone would dare say such a thing.

"Mind your words, Sorcerer." He finally growled.

"Was that a threat?" Harry asked mildly. "It couldn't possibly have been a threat, because you're a guest here and guests don't threaten their hosts unless they want to be returned to sender in fifty-two separate pieces."

"You insulted my king!" The lordling protested, a bead of sweat running down his cheek.

"I spoke a truth that you're too blind to see. But it's alright, I don't hold it against you. Hotblooded children are forever mixing up truths and insults. Now, are you going to tell me why you're here or should I guess?"

The lordling visibly reined in his temper and got back to his purpose. "His Grace wishes to return dragons to the world and seeks your aid in doing so."

"Denied." Harry said casually without so much as a second thought.

"King Aegon would reward you richly for your aid." The lordling continued, only slightly surprised by the instant refusal.

"King Aegon has nothing to offer me." As a child and then a young man, Harry had been quite mercenary. Even well into his sixth century of life, he was still willing to trade services in exchange for things he wanted. His prices, however, had grown and mutated with his increasing power and age, to the point that it would be strange indeed if any mere human could pay them.

"Surely you are mistaken." His guest persisted. "I have heard tell that you can travel at great speed. If you would come to King's Landing you could discuss the matter with the king."

"Why should I?" Harry countered obstinately. "Aegon is the one that wants something, not me. If he wants to talk he can come to Dol Guldur."

"Such a journey would take him away from his duties for too long!" The lordling protested.

"That's his problem, not mine."

Thus ended Aegon V Targaryen's first attempt to get Harry's help in hatching dragons.

XXXXX

7th day of the 8th moon, 248 AC. Summer Isles, Walano, Tall Trees Town, Temple of Love.

"Greetings, Father." The six-year-old girl said formally, visibly nervous. She had bright emerald eyes, a skin tone of dark bronze and silky black hair that was notably different from the thick and coarse type more common for Summer Islanders.

"Daughter." Harry replied, giving her a smile. "You're even prettier than your mother."

The little girl giggled shyly.

"She's adorable!" Luna exclaimed. She'd already been nearly hopping with excitement and this proved too much for her. Now she knelt in front of the little girl and opened her arms. "Hello, I'm your aunt, Luna. Hug?"

The temple priestess that was her mother visibly relaxed and gave her daughter a nod when she looked up questioningly.

"I had feared you or Luna would be angry." She admitted, fondly watching the two hug. "Perhaps what I had heard of the Westerosi and their attitude to children was in error."

"If you mean their treatment of children born out of wedlock then no, your fears were entirely justified. Most Westerosi are cunts about it." Harry assured her. "Luna and I aren't native to Westeros, however, and live in one of the two parts of it where such attitudes are extremely uncommon."

"Regardless, I should have known my worries were unfounded." The priestess said with a wry smile. "In my dreams, I saw the gods smile upon me and knew that your seed had taken root in my womb. I named her Xanda, after the famed princess of the Sweet Lotus Vale."

"It's a good name." Harry said amicably and tilted his head sideways as if listening to something, which he was.

The local gods whispered to him, telling him of other children he had sired in their temple.

"You aren't the only one who bore me a child." He stated with certainty.

Her eyes widened and she practically projected her realization that he must have been listening to her gods. "No, there were two others. They wed men some years ago and left the service of the temple. They are good men, and your sons are being raised as if they were of their own get."

Harry nodded. He'd long ago stopped bothering with contraceptive spells when having flings unless the women specifically requested it – which probably wouldn't have made any difference in this case anyway, seeing as the gods of the Summer Isles were big on fertility – and it was far from the first time that someone else ended up raising his offspring. There was no need for him to stick his nose in any further.

"Will you come see her from time to time?" The priestess asked softly, placing a hand on his arm. "I'm afraid that I may have told her a few too many stories about you and she has been desperate to meet you."

"We'd love to!" Luna piped up, looked up at him with that expression she always got when there was no talking her out of it.

"Sure." Harry agreed easily. "We would have come sooner if we'd known."

If nothing else, seeing how the girl's magic developed so far from his other children would be interesting.

XXXXX

2nd day of the 4th moon, 249 AC. Dol Guldur.

"Why are we still using staves?"

"Don't whine, boy." Harry ordered, rapping his son across the knuckles with his own staff. "All it does is make you feel and look like a wimp."

"I bet you don't do this to the girls." The twelve-year-old grumbled, shaking out his fingers and ignoring the snickering of his brothers.

"Of course not, they're girls." Harry nodded, being well aware that the boy was just in the beginning stages of puberty and felt the need to test boundaries again.

"That's not fair."

"Neither is life, but if it makes you feel better you can take comfort in the fact that you got a stronger body, a more convenient way to piss and a more logic-oriented brain out of it. In return you just have to put up with more of the shit life throws at you. If it really bothers you I could turn you into a girl?"

"I'm good!"

"That's what I thought."

His and Hala's third child was an impetuous boy, but generally had his heart in the right place. He was showing the promise of a somewhat broader build than Garm and his eyes were emerald green instead of the blue-green of his elder brother, but they shared the same dark black hair.

It had been completely concidental that Hala had chosen to name their middle child after the guardian of Hel's gate, and when the time came to name their third, Harry hadn't wanted to break the wolf theme.

Of course, with the recent Lord of the Rings naming spree he had been on, the first thing that came to mind was Grond.

Hala still didn't know that her second son was technically named 'the Hammer of the Underworld'.

"But seriously, why are we still using staves?"

"Because," Harry sighed in exasperation, but at least Grond didn't have a whiny undertone in his question this time. "learning how to use a staff will prepare you for using damn near any other weapon. The spear, sword and even the club or the axe have enough similarities to it that skill with a staff will translate quite well. Plus, it keeps any of you from losing fingers due to accidents."

"But why can't we just use wooden swords?" Grond pressed.

"Because swords are shit weapons." Harry retorted immediately. "The only time that using a sword makes even a lick of sense is in a duel against an unarmored enemy, otherwise the only thing they're good for is showing off."

"But you told us that swords are more maneuverable and less tiring to use than axes or maces." Havel pointed out.

Harry gave his fifteen-year-old, seven foot son a nod as he replied. "That's entirely true, but it won't help you kill a man in armor unless the sword is magical and aiming for weak spots is really fucking hard, whereas an axe or mace will simply crush the bones under the armor without needing to get through it. And using a sword on a battlefield is even worse because most of the enemies you'll face will be using spears or some other kind of polearm and will thus have more reach than you."

"What's the best weapon, then?" Tarkus asked curiously.

Being a year younger than Havel, Tarkus was 'only' 6'5''. Puberty had hit both of the demi-giant boys, and their sister, like a freight train.

"There is no such thing as a 'best' weapon." Harry shook his head. "It all depends on the situation, but if you want the most versatile weapon, then that would probably be the poleaxe."

He took a moment to conjure up an exhibition piece before continuing.

"Combining the functionality of a spear, axe and warhammer, the poleaxe tends to be a good weapon for most situations. Unfortunately, you can't arm everyone with a poleaxe and be done with it. It uses enough metal to make several spears, which means it isn't very cost effective in comparison. In addition, the shaft can only be about as long as the staves we're using right now, both because the head is too heavy for anything more and because it would make the axe and warhammer parts useless."

Seeing that they were paying attention and looked interested, Harry nodded slightly in satisfaction. Hopefully, it would sink into their thick, teenage skulls that the Rule of Cool didn't apply in real life and that swords were mostly only good as backup weapons or status symbols.

Now it was time to reinforce the lesson.

"Alright, since you seem so bored with staves we'll go for some variety today. Pick a weapon and pair up. We'll rotate until you've all had a chance to give every weapon a try. And if you manage to not hurt each other too badly that will spare us a scolding from Luna."

All six boys nodded firmly, having experienced their tiny aunt's/fifth mother's gentle admonishments in the past and having no desire to be taken on another guilt trip.

XXXXX

Meanwhile, in another part of Dol Guldur.

"Why do we have to learn this?" Jala complained.

"Because, without the legal and social constraints of marriage, you have only yourself to rely on to keep your men under control." Adrastia explained patiently.

"I'd just stick mine with a spear if he strayed." Jala joked.

"We will be covering murder in a future lesson." The Black Widow replied smoothly.

"Murder?" Verthandi echoed.

"Of course. Men are generally easy to control if you know how to play them, but occasionally you run across a problematic one and it is best to be prepared to quietly dispose of him, possibly even blaming it on an enemy."

"Have you done that in the past?" Skadi asked curiously.

"Many times," Adrastia smirked. "but that is a collection of tales for another time. For now, I want to hear you recite the best ways to control your men."

"Smell nice." Verthandi piped up.

"Very good." Adrastia nodded at her. "And why is smelling nice important?"

"Umm, because it relaxes them?" Nenya ventured uncertainly.

"Yes, men are lulled into a state of relaxation and vulnerability by pleasant-smelling women, especially if they are in bed with them. What else?"

"Look good?" Narya offered.

"Obviously. Men are very visual sort of creatures and your appearance will be the first thing that draws them. As your relationship develops it becomes slightly less important to look your best, but remember that men will always be more accomodating to attractive women."

"What if we're just not pretty?" Skadi asked a bit sullenly.

Adrastia knew that the very tall girl felt that she wasn't as beautiful as her sisters, and there was some truth in that. She was much taller than any of them, despite being only twelve. She was also rather hairy and her features were noticeably heavier.

Still, that was no reason to despair.

"You must of course work with what nature gave you, but the trick is in finding your own type of beauty instead of attempting to be what you are not."

"Type of beauty?" Skadi repeated dubiously.

"I will work with you on it later, for now I want to hear more about methods of keeping your men wrapped around your little fingers."

The girls giggled a bit and Skadi looked less sullen.

"Don't shout when arguing?" Jala huffed, clearly disagreeing with the sentiment.

"Why not?" Adrastia Asked archly.

"I dunno." Jala shrugged.

"Don't mumble." The Black Widow ordered. "And don't slouch either, that won't help you no matter what you decide to do with your life. Now answer the question."

"Because it makes us sound hysterical." The surly teen huffed.

"Exactly. One may be tempted to shout to get their point across, but not only does that not work, the higher pitch of a woman's voice and our slighter builds also make us seem hysterical instead of threatening." Adrastia nodded and gave her and the very tall Skadi an assessing look. "Although you and Skadi could probably manage threatening, but that would likely only serve to lower a man's attraction to you, and with it the power you have over him. A man that feels threatened may instinctively begin to see you as competition, which is something they generally only feel for other men. So you should be especially careful to avoid raising your voice unless you want a weak man that is completely subservient to you, or if you come across one who finds aggressive women attractive."

Now Jala was finally looking thoughtful. Honestly, why did people ever want children with how much trouble they are?

"Never let him forget any mistakes he's made, but don't be too obvious." Narya chimed in eagerly.

"Explain." Adrastia ordered the sole redhead in the sea of black-haired girls.

"If you nag too much, their irritation might become stronger than their guilt." She answered promptly.

"Very good. Men are emotionally simple creatures and prone to chaining themselves up in concepts of duty and responsibility because it makes them feel important, but if those chains are placed under too much strain they will break beyond repair."

"Choose carefully." Vilya said quietly.

Oak's third child was another daughter, much to her dismay, but Adrastia thought that Harry was probably pleased that he was able to be able to finish his naming scheme for them. Blessed with more than a touch of the Greensight, all three of Oak's children were incredibly intuitive, so Vilya had possibly picked up on her mother's disappointment at least subconsciously.

Or she could just naturally be a very quiet sort, Adrasita wouldn't be able to tell the difference anyway. All of Harry's daughters were disgustingly adorable with their silky hair and green eyes, but Oak's brood was especially so with their rounded elfin features.

"Yes, that is indeed the most important part." Adrastia nodded. "With the right approach, almost any man can be brought to heel eventually, but they can make your life quite unpleasant before then. Remember not to be too picky, however. You will never find one that is perfect."

"Sex is valuable, so don't give it out too freely." Jala grinned saucily. Figures that sex would be a topic she liked.

"Indeed. Almost everything men do that isn't directly concerned with survival is done for the purpose of getting between a woman's legs. Allow them the feeling of triumph when they succeed, encourage it even, but make sure they have to work for it a little and that they feel indebted to you for it afterwards. They will get bored of you if you let them have it too easily, and you will grow resentful if they begin taking it for granted. Do not, however, withhold sex whenever you don't get your way, as that will eventually damage your relationship. Making them work for it so that they feel a sense of pride and accomplishment when they succeed, while at the same time not using it as a weapon when they displease you is a bit of a balancing act, but well worth it in the end, I assure you."

Adrastia was far from oblivious to the irony of her of all people saying that, but she was trying to teach them how to make a relationship work, not how to be man-eaters.

"Make your home a safe haven." Verthandi said.

"Yes, excellent." Adrastia smiled proudly, having been waiting for one of them to say that. "As women, the home will be your territory and a man will happily let you have authority over it as long as he feels feels safe and appreciated inside it. Men will go to insane lengths to protect places where they can let their guard down, so be extremely careful to keep hostility out of it. Use subtlety and play on their emotions to get your way instead of challenging them directly whenever possible. Unless they've already had their pride destroyed, men tend to respond to direct challenges by becoming stubborn and digging in their heels."

"Be careful with their pride." Nenya spoke up next, clearly taking her cue from what she'd just heard.

"Why?"

"Because pride defines a man. Attacking it can either make him violent or destroy his sense of self-worth and make him useless."

"And binding it to yourself will have him hold you closer to his heart than the gods." Adrastia finished, nodding approvingly.

Narya came forward with a question. "But what if they're too proud?"

"We will be covering the topic of a man's pride and how to deal with it in more detail in the future, but a large amount of that comes simply from choosing carefully." Adrastia answered, pleased by the sensible question. "Stupid men often have an unfounded amount of pride in themselves, while intelligent men don't have enough."

The lesson continued in that vein and Adrastia was more or less pleased with their progress. Harry had forbidden her from manipulating his children's life choices, but he had assigned her to tutor them on the subtleties of intimate social interaction. She had the boys tomorrow – ironically teaching them to be watchful for exactly the entrapment tactics she was teaching the girls, and how they might keep their own women in line – while he would take the girls for training in more academic and martial pursuits, although of the girls only Jala had any serious interest in learning how to fight. Luna and the other women also took them from time to time if they had something to teach.

All in all it wasn't too bad a situation. She would have certainly preferred it if Harry didn't care about the brats at all and allowed her to use them as she saw fit, but Adrastia had centuries of practice working within his restrictions.

XXXXX

23rd day of the 12th moon, 250 AC. Summer Isles, Koj, Pearl Palace.

Harry nibbled on the neck of the priestess from behind while Luna suckled on her breasts from the front, more or less competing with each other to see who can get the most reaction out of her.

He wasn't entirely sure when exactly it became a tradition for a Summer Isles priestess or two to come keep them company when it was Luna's night with him during their vacations, but there it was. They were known across the entire archipelago and no matter where they stayed, there was always a collection of nubile young priestesses with hopeful eyes waiting for them. They seemed to have convinced themselves it was a great honor to get into bed with them, which made sense with how their culture valued sexual prowess and fertility, not to mention the whole 'speaking to gods' thing.

Harry knew that he had over a score of children scattered all across the islands by now, all of them curiously emerald-eyed despite the fact that dark eyes were dominant over lighter ones. The gods apparently really liked his eye color and kept fudging the genetic lottery. Then again, that phenomenon wasn't exclusive to the Summer Isles, so the overall rules of genetic inheritance were probably a shade different than on Earth.

A knock on the door interrupted their fun and the priestess let out a frustrated moan.

"Patience." Harry purred into her ear and patted her rear.

"Hurry." She pleaded, giving him one last smouldering look before letting herself be led away by Luna.

He still had an amused smile on his face at her eagerness when he opened the door, which quickly slid off his face as he saw who was waiting for him.

Jala and Xhoran Dho, Xhallos' nephew, holding hands and looking nervous. Was it really that time already? Jala was only sixteen and some change, he'd thought it would be a few more years.

"You want to get married." Harry stated without preamble. He'd seen the two sneaking around like a pair of...well, teenagers, but he hadn't thought it was all that serious. Maybe his sensibilities were still calibrated for Earth.

They looked shocked.

"How did you...?" Jala stammered.

"There's only two reasons why both of you would be knocking on my door with those looks on your faces and I know you're not pregnant." Harry answered the unfinished question.

"How do you know I'm not pregnant?" Jala challenged.

"I have my ways." He smirked.

The Summer Isles were pretty much a perfect place for his kids to safely explore their sexuality, except for the peskily good chance of pregnancy, so Harry had cut a deal with the local gods to prevent it from happening. It was one of the reasons why he had so many kids here.

"Who's pregnant?" Luna beamed, appearing as if summoned by the P-word.

"Nobody, but these two want to get married." Harry explained, not at all surprised that she had inserted herself into the conversation so abruptly.

"That's great!" Luna enthused, hugging both of them tightly.

"You want to marry my daughter?" Harry ignored his wife's antics and stared at Xhoran.

The boy, all of nineteen-years-old, swallowed nervously and stiffened his spine before giving an answer. "I do."

Truth, he really did and hadn't been put up to it by his aging uncle.

"Why?"

"Because she is beautiful and fierce and I love her." Xhoran said and opened his mouth to continue waxing eloquent about his daughter's qualities, but Harry had heard enough and turned to his daughter.

"And you want to marry him?" He asked.

"Aye." Jala said firmly and far less nervously. "He can get a bit flowery when he talks, but he's a good fighter, pretty, knows how to get things done and I like his cock. I don't want some other woman stealing him from me."

Despite living in luxury unheard of in this world, neither Harry nor Hala had let their daughter forget that the world was anything but kind and that you had to fight for what you wanted. Now it showed in her haste to lock down the man she liked.

"You understand that you'll have to leave home and come live here permanently?" Harry asked, suppressing a smirk at Xhoran's look of mixed pride and embarrassment. Summer Islanders might be very open with things of a sexual nature, but nobody was as blunt as the free folk.

"Aye." Jala nodded.

Harry couldn't hear any doubt in her voice. Excitement and nervousness, but no doubt. She really did want this.

"Then I guess we've got a wedding to prepare for." He said, smiling as Luna squeed and hugged them again.

The teens ran off to share the good news with whoever and Luna went back to their bed and the priestess in it.

"This is grand news! We should give praise to the gods." Said priestess exclaimed a moment later. "Where is Harry? Is he not pleased?"

Harry shook his head in slight exasperation and looked to the side. "This has your fingerprints all over it."

Adrastia faded into visibility, smirking widely.

"You forbade me from directly influencing your children's decisions, but you said nothing about matchmaking." She said in an innocent tone that was entirely at odds with her expression. "I am glad to see that Jala has been taking my lessons to heart. Xhoran is a good choice, in looks, personality and position."

"You're intending to make him the next Prince of Koj, aren't you?" He asked, well aware of how her mind worked.

"It will be best for everyone." She didn't deny it. "He is stronger and smarter than any of Xhallos' children and Jala will make a far better princess than any other woman he could find on the archipelago. Koj will prosper under their rule."

"Riiight." Harry drawled. "Good night, Adrastia. I've got a priestess to screw."

"Have fun!" Adrastia said encouragingly and sashayed away with a distinct satisfaction.

XXXXX

19th day of the 2nd moon, 251 AC. Summer Isles, Koj.

Weddings in the Summer Isles were not solemn affairs. In fact, they were downright festive and Xhallos was so pleased by the match that he threw a huge party and invited what seemed to be about half the archipelago.

The actual ceremony was quite brief and shared similarities with many other matrimonial customs, such as a parent giving away the bride and the groom receiving her, a priest and priestess conducting the whole thing and handing out blessings like they were going out of style.

After that was done came the presents. As the parents of the bride, Harry and Hala were the first to present their own.

"I know you'd miss the Old Gods even if you didn't say anything." Harry said, placing a small carved wooden box into her hands. "That box has everything you need to successfully plant a few weirwoods, and I'm sure your new husband will help you find a good place to put them."

"Of course." Xhoran was quick to affirm.

"Thank you, Father." Jala said and gave him a tight hug.

Harry smiled at her and stepped aside to let Hala present her own gift.

"I'm getting a bit old for this." She said, presenting her daughter with her dragonbone bow. "Use it well."

"I can't take your bow, Mother." Jala protested. "And you're not that old."

"Old enough to be going grey, so don't be stubborn and take the fucking bow." The thirty-six-year-old spearwife scolded, although she was smiling. "I'm proud of you, my daughter."

Free folk women might generally be too tough for emotional episodes, but Harry could almost taste the waterworks potential in the air and decided it would be for the best to head that off.

"Come on, let's let the others have their turn." He prompted and led Hala away.

The gift-giving continued for a long while, especially given how many people Xhallos had invited, but it did eventually end and then the partying started.

Harry stayed off to the side and observed as was his wont.

His other eleven children were scattered about, eating the food and often being flirted with by the locals. Havel in particular seemed to have been cornered by the one of the daughters of the princess of the Sweet Lotus Vale, who was eating some fruit in an unmistakably suggestive manner. Like mother, like daughter.

Hala, Sigrid, Oak and Ava were sitting at a table and talking about something. They got a lot of interested looks, but despite their downright slutty culture, Summer Islanders tended to stay away from women in committed relationships. Made sense. Why risk upsetting someone when there were so many willing single women everywhere?

Luna seemed to have introduced some of the children present to the joys of Twister. Harry had a feeling that a pornographic version of the game was already on the minds of everyone older than twelve or thirteen.

Velka was the only member of the family not present, and that was because the giant crow just wasn't fond of large groups of people, or the heat of the Summer Isles for that matter.

"All these years, and you still hide behind spells during parties." Adrastia said wrily, sitting down next to him.

"What can I say? I'm a creature of habit." Harry shrugged and smirked.

Adrastia hummed and swept her eyes over the festivities. "Do you ever look at these Summer Islanders and think that they make no sense?"

Harry wordlessly pulled a notebook out of his hammerspace and handed it to her.

She opened it and flipped through the pages upon pages of observations, notes and theories on all the ways that Summer Islanders made no sense, her eyebrows climbing steadily higher.

"I see you do." She said drily and returned the notebook. "Make sure to add that a culture with this level of sexual promiscuity shouldn't be sustainable. Such a thing is usually the mark of a civilization on the brink of collapse."

"Their gods are keeping a lid on the consequences." Harry nodded.

"What a world you've landed us in, where invisible creatures can direct the course of history from the background." Adrastia chuckled ruefully. "I think I much preferred our old world, where I didn't need to concern myself with anything past human nature."

"When we first came here I assumed it was a low magic world." He said thoughtfully. "I'm beginning to reconsider that."

"Hmm?"

"I'm wondering if it isn't a high magic world pretending to be a low magic one." Harry elaborated. "Magic is too ubiquitous for a low magic world, however subtle it is. There are a handful of examples of magic far more powerful than anything we had back on Earth, and the gods bother me. Their existence is egregiously magical, yet proper spellcasters are few and far between? I think that they might be hogging all the power for themselves and only letting drips of it reach their worshipers."

"Are you sure that isn't just your bias speaking?"

"Could be." He conceded.

But he didn't think so.

XXXXX

The rising of a new religion was never quick or easy and the faith in the Father of Freedom was no exception. For years, it was no more than a dark secret whispered between slaves or an uncomfortable thought in the minds of certain slave masters that were of a more egalitarian bent.

But it slowly grew from there – In slaves who managed to hold on to pride and hope, in masters who treated their slaves with unusual kindness. Then it grew further still, as a quiet defiance brewed among the slaves, as wealthy citizens of the Free Cities began buying slaves only to free them and arguing that it was wrong to own people.

It was at about that point that the backlash started. The rising new religion became known and it was made illegal to speak of the Father of Freedom.

That didn't stop the dreams, and soon 'miracles' started happening as well. Wounds from harsh punishments healing overnight, food appearing out of nowhere, inexplicable misfortune striking the cruelest of the masters...

Magisters, archons and wealthy merchant princes started getting more than slightly worried. A few began having doubts about the practice of slavery when a god was opposing it, most became desperate to quash the problem and return to the status quo.

In Braavos, a temple to the Father of Freedom was erected. Not only were the Braavosi well known for their religious tolerance, they were also well known for their hatred of slavery. Encouraging a religion like that was a no-brainer for them.

In the cities of Yunkai, Astapor and Mereen, things were more difficult. Those cities were of Ghiscari origin and slavery was deeply rooted there. Not to mention that much of their economy hinged on it. The rising religion engendered a far more hostile response there, with anyone who spoke of the Father of Freedom often being executed in a most cruel manner. It still didn't completely quiet the whispers, and hardered those who had become convinced that slavery was wrong.

On the metaphysical level, Harry's little experiment garnered opposition as well, most notably from R'hllor. The religion of the Lord of Light advocated that all were slaves to R'hllor and its priesthood had its fingers deep in the slave trade. The God of Flame and Shadow disrupted Harry's efforts wherever he could, blocking his visions or at least trying to scramble them, though it could do little when he came in person instead of acting through a Glass Candle.

Nowhere was this more true than in Volantis. R'hllor was strongest there and Harry had a corresponding amount of difficulty getting the ball rolling, so he finally decided to go there personally.

XXXXX

16th day of the 4th moon, 252 AC. Volantis.

Melisandre froze in surprise, staring at the familiar black-haired figure. What was Harry doing in Volantis?

She hurried after him, paying no heed to the people getting out of her way in deference to her red priestess garb.

"Melisandre." He rumbled in a low tone, not even looking at her. "You're drawing attention."

"What are you doing here, Harry?" She hissed quietly, ignoring his admonishment.

"Visiting." He replied drolly. "Might I just say how charming this sweltering hellhole of a city is?"

Melisandred wouldn't have believed him even if his words and tone weren't fairly dripping with insincerity. R'hllor had sent her several visions about him in the past, visions of the great raven in the furthest north spreading his wings far and wide until their shadow stretched across all of Westeros and much of Essos, but the fire of the Lord of Light burned bright in the Free Cities and held the shadows at bay.

She hadn't gotten the feeling that she was to seek Harry out again, and had instead focused her energies on supressing the blasphemous faith of the Father of Freedom that was sprouting like weeds in the Free Cities.

"The Lord of Light does not want you here." She said, somehow utterly certain of that.

"I know, I can feel his eyes on me like smouldering embers trying to burn their way through my gut, but I won't have one petulant godling put me off my work."

For just a moment, Harry seemed to waver in her vision and take the form of an old man with a white beard and a kindly face.

"You..." Melisandre breathed in shock. "you are the Father of Freedom."

"No." He denied."I am, however, the one who has been sending people dreams and visions of him and performing the miracles attributed to him. R'hllor has been proving himself to be quite the nuisance, trying to disrupt my work at every turn."

Harry was committing blasphemy on so many levels that it took Melisandre a few seconds to even properly grasp the scope of it before she could respond.

"I should burn you for this!" She hissed furiously, stopping and grabbing him by the arm. The ruby in her choker burned brightly, brightly enough that it burned against her skin.

"Careful now." He warned, narrowing his eyes at her. "Your god might be pitting his will against mine at the moment, but don't think for a moment that I'm powerless."

"Why are you doing this?" Melisandre demanded, barely holding back the urge to summon flames to burn him on the spot. She could feel his own magic choking the air around him with lethal strength and knew that he was ready for any such attack.

"To learn of course." He said as if it was obvious. "What better way to understand the nature of the gods than to see if it's possible to create a new one?"

"You are mad." She whispered, letting go of his arm and staring at him with wide eyes. "Gods create mortals, mortals do not create gods. To think otherwise is madness."

"To be sane is to have a firm grasp on how the world works. To be a wizard is to change how the world works. The better a wizard understands the world, the easier he can change it. True power is to have firm footing on the edge of sanity and stare into the chaos beyond. You call me mad? No, Melisandre, I am the sanest man you have ever met, I just refuse to avert my gaze when things I don't understand return it."

What was there to say in response to that? Melisandre didn't know, but she knew the will of her god.

"I cannot allow your blasphemy to continue." She declared, preparing to engage him in battle.

"Blessed is the mind too small for doubt." He returned mockingly.

It was over in an instant. Melisandre conjured flames around him, only to feel a great force lift her off her feet and throw her into a potter's merchant stall across the street.

"Too predictable, Melisandre." Harry said, his clothes slightly singed but otherwise unharmed. "Fire is not the solution to all of life's problems."

Melisandre's back stung from the pottery shards that had cut into it and the breath had been knocked out of her by the rough landing, so she couldn't reply.

"You've chosen a dark path, red priestess, but walk it freely." He finished solemnly, touched his belt and vanished into thin air.

As the people who had seen the altercation began jabbering with fear, excitement and wonder, Melisandre wanted to curse when she realized what Harry had done.

They had seen her accost him in the street, have an argument that they probably hadn't been able to hear, seen her get defeated in a magical duel, and then Harry had used the words that were coming to be associated with the Father of Freedom to bid her farewell.

She may not be the high priestess of the Temple of the Lord of Light here in Volantis, but she was a prominent figure in it and her sorcery was an open secret. To see her bested so easily would do more to bolster the faith of the Father of Freedom than anything Harry could have done without her interference.

XXXXX

21st day of the 8th moon, 254 AC. Dol Guldur.

Harry stared at his sons, trying to determine how serious they were.

"You want to go live in the Valley of Thenn, permanently?" He finally asked.

Sigmar and Sindri nodded, both of their faces bearing the blue tattooes of Sigrid's tribe that they had gotten applied some years ago.

"They are our mother's kin, and there is much we could teach them." Sigmar said eagerly.

That was true. The Thenns still lived in much the same conditions as they had just over twenty years ago when he'd stolen Sigrid from them, whereas Isengard had advanced greatly in knowledge thanks to his teachings. Sigmar and Sindri could indeed uplift the Thenns if they lived among them.

Harry still suspected Adrastia's hand in this, however subtle it was. That his sons would want to step out of his shadow was unsurprising, that they wanted to do it in a place where they were almost guaranteed to take over leadership was just a tad too convenient.

Well, no matter. He'd been expecting some variation of this event for a few years already. Most of his kids had been getting more and more antsy ever since Jala's wedding.

"And why are you asking me for permission?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow. "You're grown men, you can make your own choices."

"We aren't asking for permission, we're telling you that we're going. We just thought you'd like to know so that you'd have time to dump the running of Isengard on someone else." Sindri drawled. His personality had veered towards sarcastic with a dry, caustic wit, quite unlike his gregarious older brother. Still, they were thick as thieves.

And it was true that they – along with his other children – had been handling much of Isengard's administration for the past couple of years. It had been Adrastia's suggestion, meant to teach them a thing or two about responsibility as well as make up for his lack of interest in doing so. A perfectly reasonable suggestion that was nonetheless transparent in its intention to prepare them for rulership of their own lands.

"Cheeky brat." Harry grumbled, amused more than anything. "Fine, but don't think I'm letting you go without a gift."

"A gift?" Sigmar asked curiously.

"Of course. It's a dangerous world out there and you're going to need something to kill people with."

XXXXX

25th day of the 8th moon, 254 AC. Deep below the earth.

"What is this place?" Sigmar asked in wonder, looking around him in awe.

It was a vast natural cavern, with rivers of glowing magma flowing around a rocky island and streams of it pouring from the walls. On the island itself, an impressive forge was set up. There was a large smelter for melting down metals and a massive anvil that several people could easily use at the same time without getting in each other's way.

"I call it the Anvil of Creation." Harry smirked slightly. "A pretentious name, but names are powerful things and a soul is made stronger for having one. We are deep beneath the surface now, closer to the world's fiery heart than any man has ever been. There is great power here, power that we will use to forge your weapons."

"What's that?" Sindri asked blandly, pointing at the lava river.

A serpentine form slythered through the molten rock, the lash of its tail throwing a few droplets on their island.

"Fire wyrm." Harry answered just as blandly. "I think that they spawn in the core, but I obviously can't check."

XXXXX

They worked the forge for three days, sleeping in an adjoining chamber that Harry had prepared years ago.

First they smelted the proper metal, because no simple steel or iron would do. Through the use of alchemy and the raw power of elemental fire available to them in such a place, magically saturated metal poured from the smelter and into prepared moulds, hardening into ingots shortly after.

Once they had the materials, the hammering began. The ingots were re-heated and hammered into shape, with spells being weaved together with each blow of the hammer. And when the time came for the quenching, a small floodgate was opened that connected to an underground river several miles upwards.

Towards the end of the forging, they fished a couple of fire wyrms from the magma rivers and fused them into the nearly completed weapons, permanently endowing them with the flame affinity of the creatures.

At last it was done and Harry looked proudly at what he and his sons had forged together. They had learned well, even if they were nowhere close to him in skill as smiths.

He grabbed hold of the first weapon, a great warhammer with a sizable impact surface on one side and a slightly curved backspike on the other. It gleamed a bronze color and had a stylized fire wyrm snaking its way up the hilt and head, a consequence of fusing it with the creature.

"This is Ghal Maraz, the Splitter of Skulls." He said, holding it up for Sigmar to view and trying not to look too amused at the reference he was making. An immortal had to find ways to amuse himself, even if it was at the expense of his son.

Sigmar's eyes gleamed with eagerness and he extended his hand to take it.

Harry brought the the head to his lips and whispered in the True Tongue, his words easily audible and carrying a crushing weight despite his low tone. "Only the worthy may take up this hammer."

Runes lit up across both the shaft and the head, glowing dimly for a few seconds before fading back into quiescence. The command had been etched into the very soul of the world, becoming natural law every bit as immutable as gravity.

"What did you do?" Sigmar asked curiously.

Harry handed him the warhammer and nodded to himself in satisfaction when his son was able to lift it easily. "That hammer is a powerful weapon, and I'm sure you'll want to pass it on to your own descendants, but they may not be worthy of it. As long as strength is tempered with wisdom, pride is tempered with humility and you have courage in your heart, Ghal Maraz will sit lightly in your hands and smash your enemies, but if it finds you unworthy then neither man nor god will be able to lift it."

Dora had subjected him to innumerable Odin jokes back in the day, sometimes even commenting that it was a shame Imhotep hadn't slashed out his eye or that he should let himself grow old to complete the image. There had been far too few opportunities to make use of that aside from his ravens, even if the cinematic version from that ancient set of superhero movies wasn't the most accurate depiction of old One-Eye.

"I will not disappoint you, Father." Sigmar said fiercely, gripping the handle tightly.

"I know." Harry replied simply. Respect for one's parents was a much bigger deal here than it had been on Earth and all of his kids were very much in a 'death before dishonor' mindset.

He picked up Sindri's weapon next, a long spear that looked like it was made of burnished bronze, but was in fact made of something far stronger, just like Ghal Maraz. A fire wyrm coiled around the shaft and its open mouth acted as a sort of crossguard in front of the blade.

"Only the worthy may take up this spear." Harry whispered to it in the True Tongue, once again making certain that no hotheaded idiot would be able to use it to spread stupidity across the land.

Once that was done, he presented it to a patiently waiting Sindri.

"Gungnir, the spear that always strikes with perfect accuracy." Because more Odin references. "Use it well."

"I suppose it'll make hunting easier if I can't miss." Sindri smirked, though his tone hinted at gratitude and the care with which he took the spear spoke of reverence.

"Cheeky brat." Harry scoffed, amused.

XXXXX

19th day of the 7th moon, 255 AC. Dol Guldur.

Adrastia lounged alone in what Harry had once dubbed 'the Plotting Room', her only company a glass of refined alcohol.

Across an entire wall a map of the world was spread, which she stared at and considered her plans.

Harry was as good as deified, with the vast majority of the people north of the Wall thinking him a god made flesh. His aloofness meant that she could shape his reputation with an almost completely free hand and she had availed herself of the opportunity to start many wild rumors that culminated in that becoming general opinion.

Part of that was his willingness to teach, as the sheer scope of his knowledge made people wonder if he knew everything that there was to know. Isengard boasted many skilled craftsmen thanks to him; blacksmiths, carpenters, stonemasons, builders, glassmakers, alchemists, herbalists... The city thrived because of it, growing rapidly. Its population was now close to fifty thousand, having drawn in almost every free folk clan in a wide radius, either by absorbing the remnants of would-be attackers or because of immigration. There were still some that prowled the vicinity and tried their hand at raiding, but they were by and large not very successful.

Adrastia had used every trick she could think of to turn these squabbling savages into a unified people. Public parks, taverns, bards, saunas, games, events, sports...she'd even managed to get the long-desired communal baths going.

A settlement this large had never managed to form in the past simply because the lands beyond the Wall couldn't sustain having so many people in a single place. Hardhome had come the closest because the Shivering Sea was teeming with fish, but even that was on a much smaller scale. However, Harry teaching the secrets of glass to these people and the alchemists he'd managed to train were able to bypass the problem of food and fuel. Food was produced in vast quantities inside greenhouses and mystical alternatives for wood or coal that burned for much longer were made.

Things were progressing well and she was quite satisfied, even if playing city planner had been a pain.

Speaking of things going well, Jala was now the Princess of Koj. The Summer Islanders had taken to calling her Jala Serpent-tongue after she discovered the gift of Parseltongue. She had already brought a son into the world and was pregnant with her second child. The archipelago as a whole held her and the rest of Harry's family in high esteem. That was most excellent.

Sigmar, Sindri and some two hundred young men and women that went with them had settled into the Valley of Thenn and were already well on their way to usurping control of it through sheer force of competence. Also very good.

Garm and Grond had taken a much larger group of people east, to the ruins of Hardhome. The lessons given to them over the years, Hala's encouragement and their desire to make their father proud had convinced them to rebuild that old ruin and turn it into a thriving port. Harry had forged them legendary weapons of their own and left a standing offer of advice should they need it. That was exactly what Adrastia had been hoping for, but hadn't been sure if she could pull off with the restrictions she had to work under.

Tarkus had set off to the north with no particular plan in mind. The lumbering boy wasn't sure what he wanted out of life and was dreadfully unambitious. Still, with him being well over seven and a half feet tall and carrying a legendary weapon of his own, he may yet end up in charge of some clan or other. Adrastia was just glad that she'd been able to teach all of Harry's sons the importance of not tying yourself to the first woman you fucked, something that having the Summer Isles as a place to vent their sexual urges on had been a big help with.

Havel was still in Isengard, apparently determined to stay close to look after his sisters. With Harry's disinterest in actually ruling that wasn't so bad, actually.

Harry's daughters...Adrastia frowned at the thought of them. What a waste.

Jala had done exceptionally well for herself, but the others were not nearly as proactive. Skadi appeared doomed to the life of a librarian, going by the amount of time she spent looking after Dol Guldur's book collection. Verthandi had gotten herself pregnant with some nobody, apparently forgetting her lessons on the dangers of thoughtless romance. Nenya, Narya and Vilya spent more time among the Earthsingers than they did among humans.

Adrastia's eyes slid down the map, below the Wall and towards Winterfell. This was at least halfway Edwyle's fault, the useless boy. How hard was it to get a woman pregnant four or five times? That was really the only thing his wife was good for, yet those two had only produced a single child, neatly ruining all of her plans to establish a foothold in the North. She couldn't try to matchmake the only Stark child with any of Harry's unattached girls right now without stirring up a political shitstorm that would inevitably cause more harm than good. All that effort into stringing Edwyle along was now useless at best, and damaging at worst if the shrew he was married to managed to pass on her resentment to their son.

And any other family was out of the question. The Northmen were too suspicious, while those further south remained for the most part ignorant of what was truly happening beyond the Wall due to their dismissive attitudes. She would have to put that idea on hold for another generation.

At least things at the Wall itself were progressing fairly well. The Night's Watch was neutered as an organization. A few more decades of 'cooperation' and they would be so reliant on Dol Guldur that they'd barely remember how to take a piss without permission. Brynden Rivers and Maester Aemon might be smart, but they were mortal and couldn't perceive the full impact of her plans.

The only other asset she had to the south was the recently elevated Archmaester Pycelle. She made sure to send him a wet dream of herself every so often to keep him from forgetting her, but at this rate he'd be dead before she could use him.

If only Harry was willing to play properly... Adrastia thought with a sigh. His occasional dabble when he was in the mood was nice, but just didn't come close to what they could do together if he was truly interested. The idealistic King-Who-Never-Grew-Up sitting on the Iron Throne was sending increasingly more desperate-sounding entreaties for Harry's help with the hatching of dragons. His reign was failing because he was a weakling that couldn't bully his vassal lords into compliance and couldn't control his children enough to bribe said vassal lords with marriages. He saw dragons as his salvation and Harry as his best chance to bring them back. There was so much leverage to be had there, but Harry didn't care to use it.

Well, at least things would finally start picking up now. The past twenty or so years had been far too slow for her liking.