CH12 Skagos, magical boob jobs and maesters

1st day of the 12th moon, 257 AC. Skagos.

"Looks like they want to talk." Tormund noted, seeing two men from the opposing army riding out on unicorn mounts bearing the white flag of parley.

"Ah, my father told me about this." Grond perked up in interest. "I believe he called it 'the time-honored tradition of pre-battle taunting'."

Houses Magnar and Crowl had scrambled to muster their strength after the quick defeat of House Stane, something that Grond had been content to let them do.

Not only would trying to march deep into enemy territory in an attempt to secure a quick victory be reckless, but he'd needed the time to establish a strong supply line, quell any rebelliousness from the locals and keep his own men in check.

The Skagosi 'smallfolk' generally didn't care who ruled over them and the restraint imposed upon his men kept the resentment to a minimum. Added to that was the fact that the Skagosi nobles had still practiced the Right of First Night, despite it having been banned in the Seven Kingdoms for a good two centuries.

Learning that that was getting abolished had earned them quite a bit of good will with the locals. It also helped that the provisions they'd brought and the previously mentioned supply lines meant that they didn't have to take food from the villages as armies usually did.

Still, that didn't mean they could be trusted not to stab them in the back if an opportunity presented itself.

When his father had started teaching him and his siblings about leading armies, they'd all been expecting lessons on martial skill, positioning, strategy and tactical maneuvering. While they had received all of that, they had also gotten uncountable lectures on logistics and the key role they played in either victory or defeat.

Grond had never imagined that knowing how to dig a proper latrine pit would receive more attention than troop composition, but Father was always delighted to shatter their misconceptions.

"So, are we goin' to talk to them?" Tormund asked.

"Of course, there's no reason to be rude just because we're trying to kill each other." Grond nodded cheerfully.

"Aye, let's make it a polite slaughter." The ginger snorted.

With a final order to the army to not do anything just yet, the two of them went forward to meet the enemy leaders.

They met in the middle, the presumed Lords Magnar and Crowl having already dismounted their unicorns and stuck the white flag into the ground.

Grond had always found House Magnar's name to be funny. Since 'magnar' meant 'lord' in the Old Tongue, the lord of House Magnar was literally calling himself Lord Lord.

"I am Jarl Magnar, Lord of House Magnar of Kingshouse." The greying man introduced himself formally.

Grond had to gnaw on the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. He remembered from his father's stories that 'jarl' had been a title for a chieftain among a people from his world that had also lived in a northern land of harsh winters. The head of House Magnar was essentially named Lord Lord Lord. This was just too good, he'd have to tell Garm and his other siblings about this so they could laugh about it. Father too, he was sure to get a kick out of it.

A strained cough from Tormund told him that the redheaded man was finding it funny as well, and he only knew two thirds of the joke.

"Osric Crowl, Lord of House Crowl of Deepdown." The somewhat younger other man said.

"I am Grond the Stonebreaker, son of Harry, the Sorcerer of Dol Guldur." Grond followed their example.

"Tormund Thunderfist, ice-breaker, horn-blower, the man whose giant cock leaves women ruined and men weeping with jealousy." Tormund announced pompously and with far too much relish.

The two Skagosi lordlings looked at him with contempt.

"Wildling." Crowl sneered.

"Skag." Tormund returned cheerfully.

"What are we here to talk about?" Grond interjected before someone got mad enough to break parley.

"Your invasion." Magnar growled. "Scurry back where you came from and we won't slaughter you savages to the last."

"I have a better idea." Grond countered. "Surrender and we'll let you and your families leave with everything you can carry."

The two Skagosi's faces twisted with outrage at the suggestion.

"Then you'll die, wildling." Crowl spat out. "And I'll take that fancy mace of yours for myself after I cut your head off."

Grond hefted the Last Word off his shoulder and gave it a thoughtful look. Then he threw it at the man's feet. "Go ahead and take it then."

Magnar and Crowl had jumped back when he threw the mace and were now looking between him and the weapon warily.

"What trickery is this?" Magnar demanded.

"No trick, go ahead and try to pick it up." Grond assured, even stepping back a few paces with his arms spread out as a show of harmlesness.

Crowl gave him one last suspicious look and tried to pick the weapon up. He heaved, huffed and puffed, but the mace wouldn't budge an inch.

Tormund started chortling. "That there witch weapon won't let just anyone handle her. She's a picky bitch, she is."

The Skagosi lordlings scowled at him, scowls that turned to shocked alarm when Grond opened his hand and the Last Word eagerly flew into his grip.

"If you're not going to surrender then we should get to the killing." He said. "No sense in wasting time."

"I'll meet you on the battlefield." Magnar promised ominously, quickly hiding his fear.

XXXXX

Grond took a final survey of the battlefield and nodded to himself. The fight would be simple and straightforward, just infantry and archers. Skagos was too mountainous for cavalry and had no horses living on it anyway. Unicorns were the closest thing to a mount available, and that was not an animal suited for war.

The conquest of the island had been underway for some time already, but this would be the first – and last – actual battle. After they mustered, the Skagosi had been trying to bleed his forces with small skirmishes and harrying attacks.

Attempted, because the strategy had been backfiring on them and they were the ones bleeding. The Greensight and friendly ravens reporting on enemy movements were a far greater advantage than familiarity with the territory.

Grond had been content to advance at a leaisurely pace, keeping his army rested and in high spirits while the Skagosi ran around and slowly lost heart at the constant failure, but then Magnar and Crowl had apparently wised up and decided to bet everything on one big battle.

That wasn't likely to work either. Skagos was not a rich place and it showed in their army. Most of their force were untrained peasant levies. What armor they had – if they had any at all – was usually no more than furs over padded cloth, and their weapons were often just repurposed tools.

In contrast, his entire force – minus the support personnel, but they had been left behind a few miles back anyway – were well equiped and trained. They had come here with intent to conquer and hadn't skimped out on preparation. Every man at the front had a gambeson with steel plates sewn in, a well made spear, shield and secondary weapon. The archers had proper war bows instead of hunting bows and even a small company of crossbowmen. Despite being at a slight numerical disadvantage, Grond was confident that they would have a decisive victory.

Still, that didn't do anything to quiet his anxiety. He had fought before, but this was his first true battle and the enemy's warhorn sounding the advance made his heart speed up.

"Archers, ready!" He called loudly, watching in satisfaction as they nocked arrows but didn't draw. Teaching the free folk combat discipline had been the hardest part.

"Crossbows, stand ready and keep watch for anyone that looks to be giving orders or looks important." Grond continued, giving the company of crossbowmen a warning look, knowing that they would be tempted to loose bolts indiscriminately.

Or crossbowwomen as the case may be.

There had been just over a hundred women that had insisted on joining in the fighting after the Skagosi attack on Hardhome. All fierce to be sure, but that number had now dwindled to less than thirty.

He hadn't fully believed his father or Adrastia when they said that having women in an army was nothing but trouble, but the truth of it had been proven over and over since then. Whenever they were present during training, there had inevitably been flirting slowing things down. Fights sprung up over them as multiple men tried to lay claim to the same woman. Worse yet, the women sometimes encouraged this or used sex to get men to do their work for them. All of that and more went on, enough to thoroughly convince Grond that women learning to fight was one thing and having them part of an organized fighting force was quite another.

A good chunk of the original hundred women that wanted to fight had to stay home on account of pregnancies, others hadn't been able to keep up with the training and gave up and a few had to be booted out because of disruptive behavior.

Grond wished he could have left the rest of them behind as well, but there was a limit to how much the free folk listened to anyone. That was why he had asked Father to help him keep them as far away from the fighting as possible without actually telling them that they couldn't fight and his answer was crossbows.

A good solution that kept them away from the melee without making them useless since most didn't have the upper body strength to fire the large war bows. Even so, there were still some men who had insisted on staying close to protect them. No doubt they were hoping to fuck them later.

A horn sounded from the Skagosi and they began charging, screaming challenges as they went. Nobody could fault their courage at least.

"Archers, draw...and fire!" Grond bellowed once he judged that the enemy was in range.

Some of the arrows didn't fly as far as they needed, but most did, the months of training with the bows showing. Those of the Skagosi that had shields held them up against the arrow rain, but many were struck.

"Aim for their archers!" Grond continued shouting as the Skagosi's own archers started returning fire. "Spearmen, prepare to receive!"

The front line had already formed a shield wall under the direction of their sergeants, and were thus largely safe from the enemy's arrows. Any sense of order to the battle quickly disintegrated as the Skagosi crashed into said shield wall and everything devolved into men hammering at each other until one side spilled its guts on the ground.

At this point Grond threw himself into the fight, making his way towards the banners of House Magnar.

His magical armor made him practically invulnerable. Swords and spears didn't even scratch it. Axes and maces were more problematic, but the padding under the dragonbone was enchanted to resist blunt force. The only true vulnerability in it was the lower part of his face and the front of the neck that the helmet didn't cover, but that was a small target to hit and he knew how to protect it.

He quickly lost himself in the killing, the feel of bone shattering under the hits of his weapon and the screaming. There was a peculiar clarity in the blood rage of the battle; it was as if the world slowed down and he was able to instinctively understand the chaos around him, like he'd become part of it.

Grond had just caved in another man's chest when an indistinct roar of challenge met his ears. He couldn't understand the screamed words, but he grasped their meaning.

There was a man rushing at him, with a fine sword and shield and wearing far better armor than most of the Skagosi. He also looked kind of familiar, and had the green lobster symbol of House Magnar painted on his shield.

Grond parried away the sword strike and stumbled back under a shield bash. The sword came at him again and he caught with the top of his mace, where the six blades formed a sword of crown shape. The sword got stuck in between the blades and he used the sharp spires as a makeshit stabbing weapon. The Magnar was forced to let go of his trapped sword in order to properly evade the blow.

Now unarmed, the Magnar tried for another shield bash, but Grond was ready for it and rammed his shoulder into it, sending the man stumbling. That was all the opening he needed and he swung the Last Word at the shield with great force.

The man tried to block, but that was a mistake. The mace might feel light to the wielder, but it was anything but and it struck hard. The Magnar's arm broke under the blow and he cried out in pain.

A cry that was silenced as the Last Word crushed his skull.

Grond heard a roar of grief and saw Jarl Magnar running at him with his longsword raised.

Must have been his son. Grond realized distantly, bracing himself for the attack.

Unnecessarily as it turned out. Multiple crossbow bolts punched through the side of his armor and he collapsed with a look of pained disbelief on his face.

Grond turned to his right and saw a group of crossbow-wielding spearwives grinning bloodthirstily at their kill.

He gave them a nod for lack of anything better to do and returned his attention to the battle. To his surprise it looked to be almost over. The Skagosi were breaking and routing, they had lost too many people in the initial exchange of arrows and the melee clash, and seeing their leaders picked off by crossbows was apparently the last straw. He had been so caught up in his battle trance that he hadn't noticed what was going on.

Grond stood in place, trembling with energy that had nowhere to go. He wanted to keep fighting, keep killing, keep doing something. The battle hadn't been nearly long enough to exhaust him, only get his blood up.

He saw that he wasn't the only one. Some men were running after the fleeing Skagosi, while others were dragging off the spearwives to the nearest bit of flat ground that didn't have any corpses on it. To be fair, the spearwives didn't look like they minded.

One of those spearwives marched right up to him, a pretty young thing with chestnut-colored hair, and almost glared at him.

"Let's fuck." She growled, her dark eyes wild.

Ironically, that snapped Grond out of his strange daze. He didn't have time to fuck, no matter that her near-demand had him feeling ready to burst of his armor from the inside. He had to re-establish order.

"Later." He growled back at her and strode towards the nearest problem, which was a six-way brawl over a single spearwife that was about to turn deadly. The spearwife in question wasn't helping matters, squirming half-naked on the ground and telling the idiots to hurry up.

XXXXX

That evening.

Tormund stared despondently at the ration bar and wished it was a nice hunk of roast boar. Or chicken.

Mmmm, chicken

He took a bite and chewed, scowling at the thick, almost tasteless brown mass.

He wondered if the alchemists that Grond's old da' had trained made the stuff so unappealing on purpose. Sure, it could feed a man for a whole day, was easy to carry and didn't spoil, but would it have killed them to add some flavor?

His chewing was interrupted when Grond sat down next to him with an exasperated sigh.

"Long day?" Tormund asked with a grin, mood improving. Poking fun at his friend always put him in a better mood.

Grond gave him a dirty look. "I just had to spend half of it herding idiots and breaking up fights over pussy."

"The price of lordliness." Tormund nodded sagely.

The dirty look turned into an evil grin. "Aye, a price you'll be paying soon yourself."

"What?"

"We've won. The Skagosi are beaten and at worst we'll only have a couple of quick sieges to do before they figure it out."

"So?"

"So, what do you think happens now? I can't manage all of Skagos by myself."

"And you want to make me a lord?" Tormund wanted to be sure on this point, because it sounded crazy.

Even just being Grond's second in command of the army had almost been overwhelming. All those reports to listen to, problems to deal with, tempers to keep in check, disputes to settle, inventory to take stock of, supplies to keep track of...

"Aye. You could call yourself Lord Bullshit since you keep making up stupid stories about things you didn't do every other moon."

"Oi, fuck you, me stories aren't stupid."

"It wasn't even a tenday ago that you told me how you punched someone so hard that it started a thunderstorm."

"What's your point? That was a good story."

"Sure it was. So, do you want to be a lord or not?"

Tormund was feeling a bit conflicted. He was free folk through and through, but he had to admit that things were changing. Grond had told him about that meeting with the southron king and his lordlings. The True North was becoming a kingdom in its own right, and the free folk weren't scattered among hundreds of clans anymore. Chieftains were no longer enough to lead them.

Had it been just some King-Beyond-the-Wall trying this, Tormund and many others would be a lot more upset, but it wasn't. The Sorcerer of Dol Guldur and his Witch-Queen were gods made flesh, who had children of weirwood and wielded powers even greater than the Children of the Forest. The Old Gods spoke through them.

And it wasn't like they demanded any bowing and scraping, or kneeling. Just like the gods, they were simply there; teaching, guiding, protecting and the free folk were better for it.

"I guess I can give it a try." Tormund decided, scratching at his beard. "If I fuck it up you can just unlord me and that'll be that."

He was going to be a lord. Da' wouldn't been so proud, or maybe he would've smacked the shit out of him. The old man had always been unpredictable like that.

XXXXX

17th day of the 2nd moon, 258 AC. The North, Wolfswood.

Vilya sat against the trunk of a weirwood, spirit drifting through the boughs of the forest. She was inspecting the spells that hid their small community from from anyone that might accidentally wander across it.

A hunter had almost stumbled upon them about a moon ago and she wanted to be sure that the recent improvements to the wards were done properly so that there would be no repeats. They did not need rumors spreading through the North about Children of the Forest living in the Wolfswood.

Father wouldn't think twice about coming here and giving us remedial lessons if he thought we were being sloppy. Vilya thought ruefully.

Not that they didn't want to see their father and other family again, but she, Nenya and Narya were determined to prove that they could handle themselves. Their brothers had always worried about them and been a bit overprotective because they were the smallest, even though they were by far the most magically inclined.

"Vilya!"

The shout startled her and she scowled at the approaching form of her red-headed sister.

"What?" Vilya nearly snarled in frustration.

Narya paid no heed to the tone and simply beamed happily. "I'm pregnant!"

Vilya blinked in surprise, then the words registered and she surged to her feet to give her sister a hug. "Congratulations!"

Narya's smile widened. "Mother will be so happy, she's always telling us to hurry up and find a man or we'd die old and alone."

Vilya had to laugh at that, because Narya hadn't found herself a 'man', strictly speaking. The father of her child was an Earthsinger, one of the few that were with them here in the Wolfswood.

Their little community numbered less than thirty, with many of them being Earthsinger children of the new generation that had been conceived with their father's assistance. She, Nenya and Narya had come along to help watch over them, and the latter had set her sights on one of the two adult males that had come with them. She had pursued him quite insistently for a long while before he gave in to her advances.

Still, their blood mother and the others would assuredly be pleased about it nonetheless.

XXXXX

Dol Guldur.

Luna stopped in the middle of the hall and tilted her head to the side curiously.

"Grandbabies?" She questioned the empty air, wondering where the sudden urge to squeal in happy anticipation had come from.

When no answer presented itself she shrugged and continued on her way, but now she skipped instead of walked. Something good must have happened somewhere and that was reason enough to be happy.

Soon she reached Harry's workshop and breezed in without knocking. He'd have locked it if he was doing something sensitive.

"Hello, dear." She cooed, hugging him from behind and peeking at the blackboard. It was full of complex arithmantic calculations, alchemical formulae and a diagram of the human skeleton. "New project?"

"Luna." He greeted warmly with that smile that he only gave her. "And more like a contigency plan."

Luna took a closer look at the blackboard, this time actually considering what the end goal might be.

"Harry, we agreed that we wouldn't be going for any 'how do I survive the destruction of my body' types of immortality." She said disapprovingly.

While they weren't in a hurry to die, they weren't afraid of it either and had long ago decided to not make any further effort towards immortality aside from the Elixir of Life. They were already overstaying their welcome in the land of the living, no need to be even more rude about it.

"I've had to reconsider." He frowned. "I was thinking that I want to hatch the dragons soon, which is guaranteed to increase the world's ambient magic, and it ocurred to me that my soul is linked to the sun and I'm pissing off a god linked to it. Not to mention that the underlying rules of reality seem a shade different here. My life is one thing, but I'm not so keen on leaving my soul without a safety net."

That was another matter. If something happened to their souls then they wouldn't join their family when they died.

"Will you make one for me too?" Luna asked. It wasn't something she wanted to do, but she knew that Harry would be more careful if he was also doing it for her rather than just himself.

"Of course."

"What about Adrastia?"

"I'm not sure." Harry admitted.

"You should." Luna had long since accepted the statuesque witch as part of the family, and she was the type to be interested in this on its own merits, rather than just as a precaution.

"I'll think about it."

Luna hummed and let it go, knowing that he would do as he said. Her thoughts went to the potential new bodies he was designing for them.

"You can shape our new bodies however you want, right?"

"As long as they stay humanoid, yes." He replied, giving her a curious look. "You've got some requests?"

"Can you make me seven feet tall?" Luna asked excitedly.

Harry paused and stared at her blankly. "I thought you liked being short, you always say that it's better for spooning."

"Well, yes, but I've been short my whole life. I want to know what it's like to be tall." She admitted.

"That'll add weeks, maybe months of work to it." Harry said, rubbing a hand across his forehead. "I'll have to do everything from scratch instead of using your current body as a template."

"And I want big bouncy boobies." Luna added quickly, remembering some of Adrastia's comments on providing incentive. "But keep them perky and firm, with super sensitive nipples."

"Anime tits, got it." Harry drolled.

"Ooh, and an anime butt!" She continued enthusiastically, building on the idea. "The kind that jiggles when you smack it, but is still firm enough to deflect bullets like an armor plate."

"Just...make me a list." He sighed. "And include drawings while you're at it."

"Okay." Luna chirped, wondering why he sounded so exasperated. "And don't forget to make yourself at least seven feet tall too, I still want to be the little spoon."

"Talk about having your cake and eating it too." Harry muttered with a shake of his head. "Why did you come here for in the first place?"

"Oh, I made you a sandwich." She said, bringing the snack out of her hammerspace and handing it to him.

"Thanks." He said with a smile and bit into it.

"Do you want to go visit Nenya, Narya and Vilya with me?" Luna asked out of the blue.

Harry slowed down his chewing and raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"I just have the sudden urge to hug them."

XXXXX

It took two weeks for Harry to decide that offering Adrastia a chance to switch bodies had limited potential to backfire horribly. It would just give him a lot of extra work to do.

"These bodies, you can design them in any way you please?" She asked intently as soon as the offer was made.

"Within reason." Harry nodded. "They have to stay humanoid, but I was already planning to use spellforged metal instead of bone for the skeleton. The flesh and organs would also be more resilient and easier to repair. I'm still working on the idea of incorporating some form of magical photosynthesis, but that hasn't shown much promise so far."

"Intriguing." Adrastia said thoughtfully. "Could you add in a feature to change skin, eye and hair color? Or even a limited metamorph ability?"

"I..." Harry trailed off with a frown, thinking. He hadn't considered that. "Actual morphing is out of the question. The physical characteristics have to be hardwired in to construct the body, but I may be able to add in the ability to change coloring. It's basically just increasing or decreasing melanin quantities after all."

"I don't just mean natural colors." Adrastia clarified. "I mean, for example, if you could you give me the ability to make my skin metallic golden."

"But I like your skin." Luna pouted, running a hand across the other witch's naked belly.

"I like my skin too, " Adrastia chuckled. "however, sometimes I might need to blend in with a group of pale people and dark skin would be conspicuous, or vice versa. Other times, having an unnaturally exotic coloring would suit my purposes better."

"I...might be able to do that." Harry brought the conversation back on track. "I'd have to tinker with the cells that produce melanin so that they produce organic dyes instead, and I'd have to somehow give you the ability to control what they produce or it would be worse than useless...or something like that...this is shaping up to be another long project."

"As long as making me seven feet tall?" Luna wondered.

"Seven feet?!" Adrastia exclaimed incredulously.

"Yes, it seems Luna wants to see the world from a higher perspective." Harry drolled. "I suppose you don't want something similar?"

"Heaves no." She shuddered theatrically. "That kind of height would make it impossible to blend in anywhere and possibly scare off any prey I have my sights on. My natural six feet is already pushing it."

"You still want the anime tits and arse though, right?" Luna asked, making big, hopefuly eyes at her.

"Well...I did always try to keep myself shaped as appealingly as naturally possible, but if you're offering to give me an unnaturally appealing shape..." The dark-skinned witch grinned.

"Another set of anime bounce and jiggle, coming right up." Harry huffed in amusement.

"Hmph, as if you weren't going to make your cock bigger." Adrastia rolled her eyes.

"Just a little." He prevaricated, thinking of the various other improvements he had been considering for his genitalia.

"And speaking of reproductive organs, since I won't be needing mine, can you take them out and replace them with something more useful?"

"Not if you want to keep your estrogen levels where they're supposed to be." Harry replied drily.

"Couldn't you make smaller, more specialized organs for that instead of having so much space wasted?" Adrastia asked, knowing that Harry loathed inefficiency.

"...possibly, but this isn't exactly swapping lego blocks we're talking about here. I can magically clone organs and implant them easily enough, but making entirely new ones and hooking them into a complex organic system without having them rejected...that would probably take me years of experimentation to just to figure out how to make them do the same job as the originals, especially now that my only access to modern biological sciences is through books. To make entirely new organs with new functions would undoubtedly take decades."

"We're immortal." Adrastia pointed out. "And I can't believe you never researched this before."

"I lost interest when I realized how difficult it would be." He admitted. "It was always a fairly niche line of research with relatively few applications and I had other things to work on. And we might be immortal, but I need this to be ready soon-ish. Within the next few years preferably."

"Why the rush?" She asked with a frown.

"Contigency plan in case my poking at the local gods ends badly."

"Ah, nevermind then." Adrastia sighed, but then gave him a sly look. "Unless you were willing to recreate your Hyperbolic Time Chamber...?"

Harry frowned. He hadn't felt like there was any kind of rush, so he hadn't remade that particular room, but Adrastia's suggestion did have some merit in light of the circumstances. And there was the occasional instance where he missed having the ability to steal a few extra hours or days for himself. It hadn't been enough to merit the time investment of recreating the HTC, but with this new project also gearing up to consume a large amount of his limited time...

"You don't have to focus on creating new organs specifically if that would really take as long as you say." She cajoled further. "It may be for the best not to mess around with that anyway since I don't think I could continue using my specialty without a functional reproductive system, but having the extra time to polish up all the other features would still be good, yes?"

"You probably won't be able to use it anymore if you go along with this no matter what, even if I filled your ovaries with hyper-fertile eggs." He refuted, not replying to her other comment since he was still thinking about it.

Adrastia frowned and turned her head to look at him more fully. "Why wouldn't I be able to?"

"Because of what you'd become if you choose to do this." Harry explained. "Remember that this is a measure to safeguard a soul against outside tampering, which means locking it away..."

"A phylactery. Lichdom." She breathed out in shock, having never expected such a thing from him. Harry always been firmly opposed to anything of the sort. He must be truly worried if he had reconsidered his stance. "Meaning I wouldn't be able to use my speciality because...

"Life cannot come from death." He finished. "We'd be undead for all intents and purposes, and while I do intend to make the bodies perfectly biologically viable and alive by any scientific measure through judicious use of the Elixir of Life, no amount of tinkering or cheating will ever give undead the ability to create new life. Seeing as your little trick plays on exactly that..."

Adrastia took a deep breath, mind no longer on playtime. "And it didn't occur to you that doing such a thing while we're living on the doorstep of a powerful race of ancient necromancers was a Bad Idea?"

"The bones would have a fire alignment and I'm almost positive that they're too closely aligned with ice for their magic to affect us thanks to that. It might even give us an advantage against them if it ever comes down to a fight."

"Wouldn't that also shift our magic itself towards a fire alignment?" She asked.

"It might." Harry allowed. "Still, the effect should be minimal due to it not being our original bodies and us being so old and set in our ways. Far less than what a veela has."

"Very well." Adrastia conceded, mollified. The thought of an enhanced, nearly indestructible body was too tempting to discard over something as trivial as technical undeath. Although..."Would there be any other effects?"

"We would gain a significant death alignment, so anything to do with the natural life cycle would become largely anathema to us." He admitted. "The magic of the earth would also no longer be welcoming, but that's more a problem for Luna and me rather than you. On the plus side, since our souls would be safely kept in phylacteries I think we might actually be able to leave the boundaries of a planet's magical field without instantly being driven insane."

He didn't mention that for him and even more so for Luna, this was a huge sacrifice. Neither of them was eager to have nature reject them after centuries of learning to attune themselves to it, which was why they wouldn't go through with it unless absolutely necessary.

"What of mental effects?" Adrastia questioned further.

"Should be kept in check by the body itself." Harry answered. "When I first figured out how to properly ascend to lichdom I was thinking of just possessing a spellforged skeleton, but that would have been a really bad idea. The mind is not meant to operate independently of the body's biological impulses. I suspect that thinking would be a lot clearer, but there's no telling how twisted it would become over time." Even after all these years, the sheer otherness he had sensed from Imhotep remained vivid in his memory.

"You will, of course, run tests before we commit to this." Adrastia stated with certainty.

"As much as I can." He agreed. Plan of last resort or not, there was no excuse for being sloppy. "Actually, I could probably make you a new body without the phylactery if you're worried about that. You'd still be subject to regular death, although it would be harder to do it, but you also wouldn't be undead. I'm only going with a phylactery because I may need to isolate my soul from outside influence."

Luna perked up at that, but Adrastia merely looked contemplative.

"I'll consider it." The darker witch said, weighing the pros and cons.

Luna eventually got bored of the silence and started nibbling on her right nipple and Harry started on the left a few moments later, but she remained too caught up in her thoughts to respond. It did, however, shift her train of thought into what other features she could request.

"Could you add pheromones to my sweat glands?" She asked out of the blue.

Harry popped his mouth away from her nipple, to give her a deadpan look. "Pheromones."

"Or an equivalent of some sort. Perhaps a diluted lust potion in aerosol form?" There were already magical perfumes that had such effects.

"And why exactly would I bother with that?"

"Because it would make for an interesting project?" Adrastia offered.

"A potentially complex one." He muttered, intrigued in spite of himself as ideas on how to make it work went through his mind. "If it doesn't take too long, then fine. Any other requests? Maybe you'd like a webspinner attached to your arse or an ovipositor with which to lay eggs in people?"

"Kinky, but no." Adrastia grinned. "However, I wouldn't be opposed to having my uterus removed and the extra space used to lenghthen my vaginal canal. The uterus doesn't secrete any hormones, right?"

"No, it's hormone responsive, rather than hormone-producing." Harry replied. "But you do realize that you need your uterus for your brand of sex magic, right?"

"I am heavily leaning towards taking the phylactery option." She admitted. "The extra security against death is an attractive prospect and the downsides you've mentioned are minimal for me."

"Anime vagina!" Luna suddenly proclaimed, removing her mouth from Adrastia's nipple so abruptly that she gasped in surprise.

"What?" Adrastia blinked in confusion at the seemingly random outburst.

"That would probably be 'hentai vagina'." Harry corrected, ignoring her entirely.

"Hentai is a subset of anime." Luna argued and then her face suddenly turned wistful. "I miss anime. Some of them were very cute and entertaining."

Harry said nothing. In his personal opinion, the loss of anime culture was a net gain for the world. Even if he did steal ideas from it every once in a while.

"What is an 'anime vagina'?!" Adrastia demanded. She was familiar enough with the tropes of the long dead entertainment medium to decipher what 'anime tits and arse' meant, but she'd never watched any, much less the more perverse variants, and had only guesswork to fall back on with how it related to genitalia. From what little she knew, hentai often involved tentacles and, this being Luna, one couldn't be too careful.

"Tighter, hotter, wetter and more responsive than a real vagina." Harry summarized. "Also has a supernatural ability to accomodate insertions and recover from stretching."

"I like it." Adrastia smiled imperiously. "Make it so."

"As if I was going to miss out on a chance to improve my favorite holes." Harry scoffed.

"Aww, that's so sweet." Luna cooed.

Adrastia just huffed in amusement.

XXXXX

7th day of the 7th moon, 258 AC. Angmar, Dol Guldur.

Marwyn had never imagined that he could be so fortunate. He had only recently taken his vows as a maester and had been considering traveling the world in search of magic, which had always been the focus of his interest.

Then as if in answer to all his hopes, news started spreading of a powerful sorcerer living beyond the Wall. He had been shocked to learn that this news was over twenty years out of date and had been briefly seized by the urge to strangle the archmaesters.

They had known, had heard of him long ago from Maester Aemon of Castle Black, but they had kept quiet and tried to deny it. All because magic made them uncomfortable and they would have preferred that it died with Valyria and the Targaryen dragons.

But they couldn't keep it quiet forever. News eventually trickled south even from the isolated North. Rumors spread from the sailors at the docks of Jala Serpent-tongue, the pale Princess of Koj that was said to be the daughter of a powerful sorcerer from the furthest North and could speak to snakes. Most especially, the king's journey to the Wall the previous year to treat with the Sorcerer after one of his sons invaded Skagos couldn't be denied.

Marwyn immediately scrapped his half-formed plans to journey across Essos in search of magic in favor of going beyond the Wall, to Angmar.

The cold was far worse than he expected it to be, but it hadn't been his main concern. Doubts assailed him the closer he got. Would the famously savage wildlings kill him before he even reached his destination? Would the great master of magic scorn him as a bumbling fool and send him away?

But none of that had happened. While he couldn't say that the wildlings – or would that be the Angmari now? – were exactly welcoming, they hadn't done him any harm.

And the Sorcerer himself had patiently listened to his plea to learn before smiling and offering him a place in Dol Guldur as a student.

That had been a mere turn of the moon ago and Marwyn had already learned much. Not just of magic, but also the kind of science that the maesters at the citadel would give their souls to learn. Secrets and wonders that peeled away the mysteries of the world. Answers to questions that he hadn't even known to ask.

He would have happily done nothing except sleep and study, but the Sorcerer – Harry, as he permitted himself to be called – had other duties, other students, which left Marwyn with some free time. Seeing an opportunity to put his maester training to use and repay his teacher in some small way for the knowledge he was being freely given, Marwyn offered to do some teaching of his own.

Normally, it was the lords who paid the Citadel for a maester's services, not the other way around, but what did Marwyn care about that? It was only since coming here that he could truly see what a shameless collection of frauds the Conclave of Archmaesters was. The Citadel hoarded knowledge like rats hoarded food and then put on airs of enlightenment.

That was the one thing that niggled in the back of his mind. The idea of the Citadel was a good one, but it had been corrupted by selfishness and pride. The more Marwyn learned, the more he wondered if he could eventually return and somehow reform the Citadel into what it should have been.

It took him a few days to muster up the courage to speak to Harry about it.

"It would be dangerous." The wizard stated frankly. "Organizations – be they religious, governmental, financial or otherwise – have a way of perverting noble ideals and good intentions. Men are weak and power is seductive, even the illusion of power gained from prestige and social standing. The archmaesters won't appreciate you returning to the Citadel and shaking up their comfortable little world."

"I know, but I feel that I must try." Marwyn confessed. "What is the use of learning if the knowledge remains unused? There is much that the Citadel could do to help people and with the things you are teaching me I could easily rise to the post of archmaester myself. Then I may be able to turn it into something better. That is, if you do not mind?"

Despite his desires, Marwyn respected Harry too much to go against his word. It was easy to see why the Angmari thought him a god made flesh. He had such raw presence that it was difficult to hold his gaze. Marwyn still had to fight against his instincts, which were forever screaming at him that this man was a great lord at the very least and should be referred to as such.

"It's your life, do with it as you will." Harry waved off. "But do try to be careful, hmm? I'd hate to lose my best student."

To his mortification, Marwyn felt his face heat up like that of a shy maid upon meeting her bethrothed for the first time. He managed to stammer out an excuse and escape the chuckling wizard's presence without further incident, although the warm glow of pride in his chest didn't disappear.

The conversation filled Marwyn with a renewed sense of purpose. He would stay at Dol Guldur and learn as much as he could, then he would return to the Citadel and try to reform it.

It was still a few hours before he had to teach his own students and his feet took him to what had instantly become his favorite place in the tower.

Dol Guldur's library was a room of truly tremendous proportions, so vast that it shouldn't have even fit inside the tower, but magic made sure it did. It held so many books, hundreds of thousands, perhaps even millions of them, more than the Citadel had for certain. When Marwyn had first seen it, he had felt like weeping with joy.

"Marwyn!" The librarian greeted happily when he entered, standing up from her desk and the wondrous magical Index Book that kept track of every other book in the library.

"Skadi." He returned with a smile. Harry's daughter was a woman that took her duties as the tower librarian seriously and he had great respect for her.

That she was seven feet tall had taken some getting used to, but he had managed to stop gawking like a fool after the first two days.

"I thought you might be showing up soon." She said with a smile of her own. The giant-blooded woman couldn't be called traditionally beautiful in the soft manner of a lady from the south, but her strong features, shining black hair and brilliantly green eyes were quite striking. "I've already set up the books you were reading last time in your favorite corner, and I left a snack for you as well. I know you can get carried away and forget to eat sometimes."

Marwyn was touched by the caring gesture thanked her sincerely, thinking that the nobles south of the Wall could learn a thing or two about hospitality from the people they derided as wildlings.

XXXXX

That evening.

"Why is he not getting my hints?" Skadi complained, sulkily crossing her arms and glaring at nothing in particular. "I did all the things you said to do. I smiled, kept my body language open, leaned into him, dressed up to show off my figure and he didn't even notice. I did nice things for him and he just thanked me. Is he playing dumb or is he really that dense? Should I just give up on subtlety and carry him off to my bed?"

"It would undoubtedly make your interest clear, but it probably wouldn't be a good idea." Adrastia replied, trying to hide her amusement. "I'm afraid that you seem to have set your sights on a man so focused on his goals that he fails to notice much of what goes on around him."

"Why would it be a bad idea?" Skadi asked.

"Men like that are only interesting as long as they stay single." Adrastia explained. "Pair him up with a woman and he will quickly become as dull as a blank wall. You probably could claim him for yourself, but he would lose everything that drew you to him in the first place, leaving both of you miserable."

She had targeted such men in the past and delighted in watching their spirit slowly wither as they were forced to use up their energy in futile attempts at keeping her happy instead of what they were truly passionate about.

Adrastia sometimes wondered how many Beethovens, Teslas and other such asocial geniuses she had ruined with her games.

"Figures." Skadi grumbled. "I wanted a man that liked books as much as me and when I finally find one it turns out he likes them too much."

"I could try finding you a man, if you'd like." Adrastia offered.

Times had changed and it was no longer simply a case of picking whoever you liked and stealing them. That practice had been a show of strength and skill, a way of proving that you could abscond with another clan's girl and get away with it. Stealing a member of your own clan proved nothing. In any case, Skadi didn't want to leave the tower and its library, which was another factor that narrowed down her options.

Skadi bit her lip and considered it for a long moment before hesitantly nodding. "Alright, but tell me about them before you set anything up!"

"Of course." Adrastia agreed.

XXXXX

27th day of the 9th moon, 258 AC

"SIIINDRIIIII!"

Sindri rolled his eyes and stopped walking.

"What, brother?" He drawled once his loud sibling had caught up.

Sigmar looked momentarily irritated by his tone before speaking. "I just got a report from one of the scouts about a huge man in black armor coming our way. I think it might be Tarkus."

"It is Tarkus." Sindri confirmed, grinning at the surprise on his brother's face. "In fact, I was just going out to meet him to prevent any...misunderstandings."

Such as any of the border patrols challenging him and ending up chopped to bits for their trouble.

"How long have you know he was coming?" Sigmar asked flatly.

"Oh, I've suspected for a tenday, but I've only been certain for three." Sindri shrugged. "Our biggest brother is quite noticeable."

At 7'9'', Tarkus was a mere inch taller than Havel, making him the tallest of Harry's children.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sigmar demanded.

"I wanted to surprise you."

"You and your surprises. " He huffed. "Go out and greet him then, I'll see if I can prepare a welcome for him in the time it takes you both to get back here."

Sindri didn't mind the order. Sigmar was the Magnar of Thenn after all, even if in practice they ruled together.

It had been laughably easy to usurp the title from their cousin, Styr. They were simply bigger, smarter, stronger and better warriors than him, even neglecting their admittedly somewhat meager talent for sorcery. Unlike the fools south of the Wall, blood was not as important as merit among the Thenn.

Sigmar had been the natural choice for the title itself, being more charismatic and responsible, leaving Sindri with more time to enjoy the perks of leadership without having the same amount of responsibility. Still, he did apply himself to the gathering of intelligence by either magical or mundane means, which was why he had known about Tarkus so much earlier than his brother.

Fortunately, the magnar's seat was close to the outer border of the Valley of Thenn, so it only took a few hours for Sindri to encounter Tarkus.

His half-brother plodded through the woods in a distinctly giant-ish manner, an unhurried pace that nonetheless gave the impression of an unstoppable force.

Tarkus paused for a moment when he saw him, brushing his shaggy black hair out of his eyes. Then his equally shaggy black beard pulled apart in a broad grin.

"Sindri!" He bellowed jovially, stomping over to embrace him.

"Tark-oof!" Sindri wheezed as his ribs creaked in protest. The big lummox was as careless with his strength as ever. "Air!"

Tarkus laughed, the booming sound no doubt scaring off every animal in a wide radius. "Hah! You've gone soft since you've settled down, brother. You didn't used to complain about getting hugged."

"You did that on purpose and you know it." Sindri glowered, forcing himself not to smile. "Don't make me stab you in the balls with Gungnir."

"Feh, as if that little poker could do any real damage." Tarkus dismissed with a wide grin. "It's not as good as my Stormcleaver."

"Hmph, still so proud of that monstrosity?" Sindri scoffed, glancing at the two-handed sword hilt peeking over his brother's shoulder. "I don't know what Father was thinking when he made you such an unwieldy weapon."

Unbeknownst to either of them, their father was thinking that he really wanted to make the Greatsword of Artorias.

"You shut your mouth." Tarkus glared and reached over to caress the hilt, his lips twitching. "She's my baby."

Sindri shook his head in exasperation. "You need a woman, brother."

"I'll have you know I've had plenty of women!" Tarkus retorted indignantly. "I've fucked half the spearwives in the Frostfangs on my way here."

"The Frostfangs must be emptier than I thought." Sindri smirked, knowing it would annoy the other man. "Come on, Sigmar decided that you deserve a proper welcome for some reason and it would be a shame let all his work go to waste."

"I won't turn down a meal." Tarkus agreed.

XXXXX

It would have barely been considered a feast in the south, but Tarkus dug in enthusiastically. After having to catch his own dinner for the past couple of years, it was quite the luxurious spread of food.

"So, what brings you to Thenn?" Sigmar asked.

"I wanted to see my brothers and sisters again." The demi-giant replied with his mouth full of meat. The years spent in the wild, away from Adrastia's lessons on table manners, were on full display. "Figured I'd visit you two first, then make my way down south back to Isengard, then east to Hardhome and Skagos. Was thinking of getting on a ship down to Koj from there."

"You could just ask Father to take you to Koj." Sindri pointed out.

"Bah, where's the fun in that?" Tarkus scoffed.

"Didn't you take over the Hornfoots and a bunch of other clans while you were in the Frostfangs?" Sigmar asked with a frown. "That's what we heard, at least."

"Aye, but not on purpose." Tarkus grumbled. "You kill a man for being a cunt and before you know it you're fucking his woman or his daughter and everyone is doing everything you say."

"How'd you get away from them, then?" Sindri asked, amused.

"Told 'em to go to Isengard if they want someone to tell them what to do." He laughed, downing a whole mug of Godsmead. "Although I do miss some of the women."

"Havel is not going to be happy with you when you reach him, especially if you left any presents in the girl's bellies." Sigmar snorted and gave his hair and beard a critical look. "Neither will Aunt Luna now that I think about it. You know how she is, the moment she sees that crow's nest on your face she'll start fixing it up."

"She better not." Tarkus made a protest that all three of them knew was nothing but bluster. If Luna wanted to groom you then you'd best just resign yourself to it.

"Maybe you could help out around here for as long as you're around." Sindri suggested. "There's a tribe of cave people living to the west that's been getting a bit bold recently. We could use your help clearing them out."

"We can talk about that later." Tarkus declared, standing up with his stare fixed on one of the servants. "That girl over there has been making eyes at me all evening."

"He better not get her pregnant." Sigmar grumbled, wincing as the girl shrieked with laughter when Tarkus picked her up and carried her off to his room. "I don't want to be dealing with a small army of him in a few years."

"I don't know, a small army of him could be pretty useful." Sindri joked.

"Aye, as long as they're not too much like him and just do whatever the fuck they want all the time."

XXXXX

12th day of the 3rd moon, 259 AC. Crownlands, King's Landing, Red Keep.

Pycelle was still getting settled in to his new post as Grand Maester. Truth be told, the appointment had come as a surprise. When his predecessor had died on the road to the capital not even a moon's turn after his appointment, King Aegon had suggested that a younger man be given the post and Pycelle suddenly found himself being the most likely choice.

It was a heady feeling, to have already reached as high as it was possible for a maester to go. Not bad for the bastard son of a minor noble from the Westerlands.

"Nice room you have here."

Pycelle yelped in shock and spun around, only for his eyes to bulge in shock.

There, lounging on his bed, was the woman who had haunted his dreams for twenty-six years now.

He had only recently learned that Halaster Blackcloak was the powerful sorcerer who had set himself up beyond the Wall and went by the simple moniker of 'Harry'. To think that he had spoken to such a man and not known it.

More pertinently, he had also learned what Adrastia was to him. King Aegon had described her as a reasonable woman of great intelligence. Pycelle personally remembered her as a sultry seductress.

Now here she was, dressed in a tiny black leather corset that left most of her stomach exposed and seemed designed merely to support her breasts and call attention to the dark mounds. Her legs were clad similarly in black leather that clung to them so tightly that she may as well have been wearing nothing. The outfit was finished off by a pair of boots, also black leather, with a pronounced heel, a silver collar and golden bracelets.

Pycelle had found himself unable to keep to his vows of chastity and regularly partook in the services of whores, but he had never seen anything even remotely as vulgar as what Adrastia was currently wearing.

"Not happy to see me, Pycelle?" She asked with a small smile.

"Of course I am happy to see you, my lady." The words slipped from his mouth before he had a chance to even consider them.

And it was true. He still dreamed of the night they'd spent together so long ago.

"That's good." She said, swinging her legs off the bed and sauntering towards him. "I was afraid you'd be upset with me for Harry's decision to engage in brigandry during his visit at the Citadel."

Pycelle swallowed thickly. Now that the shock of her appearance and dress was passing, he was finding himself incredibly aroused. "His sins are his own."

"Indeed, but it can be terribly troublesome to be bound to him when he behaves so churlishly. I have lost friends because of it in the past, so I am grateful for your understanding."

"Bound..." Pycelle repeated softly, looking at the collar and bracelets and recalling that Adrastia was not a free woman.

"Bound." She nodded with a slight grimace, rubbing a finger across the collar. "I was in a difficult situation long ago and Harry offered aid in exchange for servitude. He was impressed enough with my efforts that he decided to keep me around and here we are."

Sympathy welled up in him. Slavery was a horrible practice.

"Why are you here, my lady." He questioned.

"To congratulate you on becoming Grand Maester, of course." She said as if it was obvious.

"And your...clothes?" Pycelle wasn't sure if that was an appropriate term for what she was wearing.

"Slaves must sometimes endure certain indignities." Adrastia said with another grimace before shaking her head. "Don't concern yourself with it. It was worth it to be allowed to visit you."

A long list of potential indignities went through Pycelle's mind that might require such clothing and he grasped at her hands, feeling a flash of guilt at the thought that she had suffered for her desire to see him.

"Can you not escape him?" He demanded.

"The sorcery that holds me is stronger than you can imagine." She shook her head ruefully. "But it isn't so bad. Harry isn't so bad. In many ways, my life is better than that of many a noble lady, certainly better than any other slave."

To Pycelle's ears, it sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than him.

"Adrastia..." He trailed off, his chest tight. He wanted to save her and felt so terribly powerless to do anything.

"Shh." She hushed, placing a finger against his lips. "Don't worry about me. I just wanted to see how the kind young man that I spent a wonderful night with so long ago had grown up."

"The encouragement you gave me helped." Pycelle said, remembering the faith she had in his ability to become a most excellent maester. It had meant the world to him back then to have a beautiful lady express such sentiments.

"I'm glad." Adrastia said with a warm smile, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "My time is almost up, but I will try to visit again. Please continue to be the best man that you can be."

And then she was gone, disappearing into thin air like dust in the wind, leaving Pycelle with only his anguished emotions for company.

XXXXX

Dol Guldur.

Harry looked up from the book he was writing in when a pop announced Adrastia's return.

"That was quick." He quipped, appreciating the eye-candy. It was nothing he hadn't seen before, but a sexy woman in tight black leather was a sight that took a long while to get old. And it had a high refresh rate.

"Yes, it does take remarkably little effort to give people that impression that you're an abusive monster." Adrastia purred, deliberately twisting this way and that to show off.

"Excuse me?" Harry arched an eyebrow.

Adrastia sashayed over to him and straddled his waist. "I went to talk to Pycelle, the new Grand Maester, and implied quite heavily that you are mistreating me."

Harry considered that for a moment before replying, absently stroking the small of her back. "So you've made the Northmen and Aegon think that I'm a relatively decent guy, and now you've made one of Aegon's top advisors think that I'm an evil bastard? That's some contradictory messages you're putting out."

She smiled and wiggled closer. "That's not all I'm putting out."

Harry knew that she was trying to avoid explaining what exactly the point was, but he let her do it. Whatever chaos she was planting in the south was of no concern to him aside from maybe a little drama to watch for the amusement value when it bore fruit.

XXXXX

18th day of the 5th moon, 259 AC. Crownlands, King's Landing, Red Keep.

Aegon V stared morosely at Dark Sister, the famous Valyrian steel blade of Visenya Targaryen. Great Uncle Brynden had given it to him two years ago at the conclusion of the diplomatic talks with Harry and his sons, most likely sensing that his life was nearing its end. It was good for the royal family to regain one of its two heirloom swords, but a poor substitute for the dragons he'd truly hoped to get.

In hindsight, Harry had just been humoring him by listening to his attempts to bargain for the secret of hatching dragons. In fact, Aegon could see a lot of similarities to the way he'd humored his own children when they wanted something that he had no intention of giving them.

The most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms, and he'd been treated like a precocious child.

Very well then, if Harry wouldn't help then he would have to attempt hatching dragons on his own. He had sent men as far as Asshai to gather dragonlore and was not completely ignorant on the matter. It would have been better to have the aid of an actual sorcerer, but needs must.

The dragons would return!

It would have to be soon, though. The Band of Nine was causing a lot of trouble in Essos and the Free Cities had so far failed to stymie them. They would likely still flounder before achieving anything, but on the off chance that they became a legitimate threat he needed to attempt the hatching before another war could start and take up all his attention.

XXXXX

4th day of the 7th moon, 259 AC. Dornish Marches, Summerhall.

Harry wasn't quite sure why he'd come to this burned out ruin. Curiosity, he supposed. Maybe a little bit of schadenfreude combined with exasperation.

He'd watched Aegon's attempt at dragon hatching through the Glass Candle, at least until the magic of the event had made it impossible. Rituals always did have a way of screwing up attempts to scry them.

Harry didn't know what Aegon had been smoking when he'd set this up, but it had to be some good shit.

A ritual that required a sacrifice of life with no sacrifices prepared, set up to honor gods that would take offense to it. Multiple unnecessary participants, including his heavily pregnant granddaughter. Crackpot pyromancers and the unstable back-alley embarrassment to the art of alchemy that they were so proud of apparently added 'just because'...it was amazing that there were any survivors at all. You'd have to try pretty hard to cobble together a more volatile ritual.

Harry slowly made his way through Summerhall, occasionally using magic to shift aside or stabilize debris.

When he finally made it to the ritual site, he was greeted with a little surprise.

"Well hello there." He said to himself softly.

Five of the dragon eggs were cracked open, with no sign of the hatchlings. Most likely the Wildfire added to the ritual had killed them or they'd been crushed by debris somewhere.

Two eggs were still intact.

"I'll hatch you boys in Aegon's place." Harry said faux solemnly. "I'm sure it's what he would have wantet."