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123 AC, Dragonstone

Rhaenyra Targaryen stood above the training yard in Dragonstone, happily watching her three eldest children sparring in the yard. They were growing so quickly. It felt like it was barely a few moons prior, when they barely fit in the palm of her hands, and now they were training under the supervision of some of the best knights in the seven kingdoms, and they surely would join them.

And yet, she couldn't help but feel some grief as she saw Harwin's features on every single one of their faces. He would never get to see them grow up, never see Jace rise as King of the Seven Kingdoms. He had died the fire in Harrenhall alongside his father, and the future Queen of Westeros was sure that it was either Alicent's work or that of her wretched father.

She had to admit that the last few years were quite hectic. Everything that happened since Laena's death felt like a dream. Laenor's tragic death, Harwin's and Lyonel's deaths, and Otto Hightower's return as Hand of the King. The only upside was her marriage to Daemon, and even then, it wasn't quite what she imagined.

She always admired him in his youth, dreamed of him whisking her away in a spur of passion, and ruled beside her, but something in him had been different since Laena's death. Something was missing. Their nights together were passionate, but there was something missing that she had with Harwin, a tenderness that should have been there when they looked in each other's eyes, one that was present when he looked at his daughters with Laena and his sons with her.

It was the right decision to marry him, an answer to that wretched half-brother of hers taking Vhagar and binding him to her cause instead of rushing to fight another war. Yet, she always felt like she would have been happier marrying Daemon.

But her happiness could come later, after she ascended to the Iron Throne, as her father decreed. Alicent and Otto seemed to believe that it was the support of the Lords that would give them the throne. In a world without dragons, perhaps that would have. This was proof of how little they understood their legacy. How could a few swords and armies matter if they could be burned in minutes? It was a lesson that Aegon Targaryen taught Westeros almost a century ago, and yet it seemed that the Hightower did forget it, until Aemond claimed Vhagar.

This was the moment that the Hightowers became a threat to her possible ascension, and now, she needed to be careful. Sure, she still had the advantage in numbers, but Sunfyre was growing quite quickly, and adding in Vhagar meant that Otto had options, something that she really didn't like.

She took a gulp of wine from her goblet, deciding to put these thoughts to rest. She would worry about the throne later. For now, she would look at her sons' training with pride.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Erryk Cargyll, her new sworn shield who was appointed to her after Harwin's death, bowing towards her, "Your Grace."

She motioned for him to rise, and he did, but he looked hesitating for some reason, "Speak your mind, ser."

"I'm not quite sure how to say this, Your Grace, but there had been some concerning reports from some of the smallfolk. I wasn't sure if I should bring this to your attention, but what I have seen was quite odd and slightly disturbing."

Rhaenyra was quickly running out of patience, and she gave him a sharp nod, while Syrax let out a screech in the distance. The knight stiffened and spoke quickly, "I was in a tavern in one of the villages below the Dragonmont. There was a man there, a fisherman, who told a most curious tale in exchange for a few drinks. I heard my fair share of tall tales, but this was different. He spoke of his son falling from his boat. He spent hours swimming, trying to find him, fearing the worst, only for the boy to end up on the shore, talking animatedly with a well-dressed woman with golden hair, who had saved him as he drowned. The woman even gave them a silver coin, wishing them well. I asked for proof and he showed me the coin. I bought it off him for a gold dragon."

Her sworn shield handed her a large silver coin, which was surprisingly heavy. It had the carving of a dragon on one side, and another bearded man on the other, but it was undeniably silver. There were markings written there in a language she couldn't read. Rhaenyra would never say that she was the best scholar out there, but she could recognise most dialects in Westeros and Essos, at the very least.

Not waiting for her to continue, Erryk seemed to finish his story, "I took it to a jeweller, since I thought that someone might have been making counterfeits, but even after hours of work, he couldn't even make a scratch. I hit it with a sharpened axe, a hammer, even my sword, but it was there, indestructible. The only thing that I've ever seen with the same properties was Valyrian Steel. Curious, I went to the beach where the fisherman said he found the man, trying to trace his steps, and…"

"Please continue," Rhaenyra insisted.

"And there was a manse there, on the beach, seemingly having merged with the cliff itself, a lot like the fortress, your Grace. I didn't believe my eyes, but I swear that it wasn't there a moon ago."

The future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms gave him an incredulous look, "Someone built a manse on my island without me knowing about it?"

"It seems so, your grace. It was quite large, your grace, and made of some sort of white substance that seemed to melt together, much like this fortress."

That seemed absurd. The materials and manpower necessary to build a large building would have made keeping it a secret almost impossible. And the fact that it used what seemed to be some sort of Valyrian construction methods, something that was lost to the world with the Doom, made it all the more concerning.

Magic was involved. She could feel it in the coin in her hand, humming faintly. She needed some confirmation, but a sorceress under her command would be a great boon. She heard of the Red Priests in the east, and their supposed control over fire, and the Sea Snake had told her of his time in Asshai by the Shadow, which, while unsettling, was still the home of some very powerful beings.

The faith was going to side with the Hightowers either way, so their discontent would be useless, but the potential power, as well as introducing Valyrian Stone once more to Westeros, was bound to get the support of a lot of Lords hoping to renovate their castles. It would also cement her father's decision to keep her as his heir.

But that was still speculation, and she was getting ahead of herself. She needed to know more before making any commitments. "What else can you tell me about the manse?"

"Aside from the stone, it was a few stories up, with a small garden in front of it. But the building itself looked odd. I think it was inspired by some Essosi buildings, but I'm not sure. I'm sorry, your grace, but buildings are not my speciality. However, I did try to question the woman by knocking on her door, and a man answered instead. He wore odd clothes as well, and called himself Harry Potter, the Last Peverell, whatever that meant, and that the woman was his wife, Daphne Potter."

That disappointed Rhaenyra slightly. Their names sounded Andal, which meant that the chances of their being some remnants of Valyria from Essos were very unlikely. But that didn't explain the strangeness of the situation. Nevertheless, the methods of construction could be useful on their own, and the coin in her hands, probably taken from some old Valyrian ruin, would be worth far more than normal silver if her sworn shield's words were true, and she had no reason to doubt them.

Suddenly, she had a small spark of recollection at the name.

Potter…

She spoke up without meaning to, "Wasn't that the name of a Knightly house in the Reach?"

The Cargyll knight scoffed, "No Westerosi noble, especially a knightly house, would raise a man like this. He was unarmed and looked like he could barely swing a sword, let alone last more than a few seconds in a proper fight. If I had to make a resemblance, I'd say he was an Acolyte in the Citadel, perhaps a young Maester if he wasn't married. There's definitely some sort of noble blood in his and his wife's veins, or, at least, they carry themselves like nobility."

There was also the other name, Peverell. Now that was an odd name. It wasn't quite Valyrian, but it seemed somewhat close. A lot had been lost in the Doom, after all. If so, why not use it? It was far more dignified, and even if he had inherited it from his mother, it was better than 'Potter'.

Now, it felt more like a title, but she had no idea of its significance.

Curious, she asked, "And was this Harry Potter forthcoming?"

"Gods no. He told me, in no uncertain terms, to fuck off," the knight asked, before blushing as he realized that he cursed in front of the Crown Princess of the Seven Kingdoms.

She snorted in amusement, only to stiffen as she registered the words, "You introduced yourself as my sworn shield, correct?"

"Yes, your grace. He told me that they were travellers and that they were staying here for some time as a 'change in atmosphere', whatever that means. When I asked the man if he had gotten permission to build his manse, he simply shrugged and asked if the Dragons here had gotten permission to build their nests on the Dragonmont, and then to go away. He then closed the door on my face. I tried breaking in, but I could barely make it budge. Even my sword didn't seem to dent it. I decided to come see you to request more men to break through the manse so that the man would face justice under your grace's judgement."

Rhaenyra suppressed the mirth she felt at the shame her knight felt, as he failed to deal with a single unarmed man and his wife. Still, the gall of that Potter to compare himself to a dragon of all things irritated her. Dragons were the symbol of their house, beasts of magic and destruction given form, who had forced the Valyrian Freehold, the greatest empire in history, in blood and flames, and that Aegon Targaryen only needed three to conquer all of Westeros.

This needed to be handled delicately. The possibility of some sort of indestructible silver and Valyrian Stone was too much of a prize to remove. Their Andal names and arrogance aside, these travellers could prove themselves to be a boon to her cause. Just to make sure, she'd get the Maester to look at the coin to see if he could find its origin, as well as its potentially magical nature.

A voice behind her spoke up, "He compared himself to a Dragon?"

She hadn't heard Daemon come, so transfixed by the oddness of the situation. It was strangely ironic. He was a man who loved being noticed as soon as he entered a room, but sometimes, he could be as silent as a cat. Yet, this was another problem; Daemon had heard them, and, as she expected, he found the comparison to a Dragon to be quite vexing as well.

Rhaenyra could hear the rage in his tone, his purple eyes almost looking like they were glowing, and a screech in the distance. Her husband's bond with his dragon was a strong one, enough for his temper to bleed through the connection.

She raised her hand and calmed him soothingly, "My love…"

He didn't let her continue, "Don't tell me to calm down. A foreign lord and his wife built a manse on your island without your permission, and had to gall to insult our blood, our legacy, to your own sworn knight. You cannot show mercy for such dishonour."

"I am not showing mercy. They will pay for what they said, but the benefits of Valyrian Stone could make me tolerate it a bit more."

"A very likely tale," he scoffed, "Do you not think it odd that a supposed Valyrian treasure came into our hands like this, in these times. Given how their names sound so Andal, this is likely a plot from that cunt Otto. Perhaps he wishes to make you look like a fool, or to sow trouble in your rule over Dragonstone. I know not, but you cannot show weakness. Not now."

That stayed Rhaenyra's hand slightly. She wasn't entirely convinced, but her husband had a point. Why would a traveller, anyone, really, decide to stay in Dragonstone of all places? The manse showed that this Harry Potter and his wife were likely wealthy, and they could have stayed in the Summer Isles or even in the city of Braavos. Hell, they could have gone to the Driftmark or Spicetown, and Corlys Velaryon would have eagerly accommodated their stay. Instead, they went to the frankly dreary island of Dragonstone, where the only things of interest were the Dragons, and her, the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

Yet, the prize was too much. Was it truly a coincidence? Could Alicent's spies find out about the man and offer him a place in King's Landing? No, she couldn't risk it.

Before she could make a decision, Daemon grabbed the silver coin from her hand, put it on the table, and spoke up, "Perhaps this will prove it to you."

She barely reacted as he took out Dark Sister and swung the sword onto the coin.

Yet, it didn't move.

There was a sharp clang as Dark Sister struck it, a clean sound that cut through the air and silenced the training yard for a moment. The vibration rippled out across the stone table, but the coin remained exactly where it had been, utterly unmarred. No dent, no scratch, not even the faintest sign that it had been struck by one of the deadliest blades in the realm.

Her husband stared at the coin for a long time, the silence between them weighty. Then, slowly, he sheathed Dark Sister, not in defeat, but in something colder, heavier. Interest and curiosity.

"Where was this manse you spoke of?" he asked quiely he said quietly, voice edged with interest more than anger now. "I want to meet this Harry Potter. Personally."

"Don't be reckless, Daemon," Rhaenyra chided, but she already knew that her husband's mind was set.

"Don't worry. I will take Caraxes with me. Perhaps he will learn some respect at the sight of a dragon. If not… I suppose he won't be useful anyway. It wouldn't do for the Greens to use him."

123 AC, Dragonstone

Even after decades flying on Caraxes' back, Daemon Targaryen couldn't help but smile at the euphoria he felt as he soared through the air. He wasn't happy about many things these days, and wasn't that an understatement, but he was one step closer to securing his family's legacy, which his brother had done his best to ruin over his rule.

He had allowed the Hightowers too much influence, making the court resemble that of an Andal King instead of the one belonging to the Conqueror's legacy. He could see it, slowly occurring, the Maesters and the Faith's slow influence over the crown. He had done his best to steer Rhaenyra's children to get them to learn what it meant to be a child of Valyria. They were young, but he had to admit that Jacaerys was promising. He had the steel of a future ruler and took his duties very seriously. His younger brother, on the other hand, reminded Daemon uncomfortably of Viserys. He had inherited his mother's kindness, but none of the fire in her veins.

Nevertheless, despite their nature as bastards, Daemon would support them, so that his family's legacy wouldn't be forgotten, as it would have under the reign of the Hightower spawn. Perhaps, his child with Baela would be of the correct colouring, and they could put this mess behind them, but that barely mattered compared to the possible loss of their legacy.

People often thought that Daemon sought the throne, and while he was tempted in his youth, as he had been his brother's heir for a while, his marriage with Laena had strayed these thoughts completely. It had been an act of desperation on both their parts. She was desperate to escape her wretched betrothed, and he was desperate to get married after the bronze bitch's death, hoping that. Viserys wouldn't tie him down to another Andal woman.

She had been the only potential Valyrian bride left, and they had done so. He never expected to love her. She completed him in a way that he never thought possible. She was just as free-spirited as he was and loved testing the waters throughout his marriage. Just watching her soar on Vhagar, just happy to be in the sky, just made him smile in the air.

Her death had made the world seem greyer, left a void inside him that Rhaenyra and all the power she could promise him couldn't fill. Instead, he decided to focus on safeguarding his family's future, and gave his daughters with Laena, the lives they deserved, as Queen and Lady of the Driftmark respectively.

The reminder of his wife's death sobered him in the air, and he commanded Caraxes to circle around the Dragonmont, doing his best to be vigilant for a possible attack from a wild dragon, before gliding near the beach where his wife's sworn shield said a manse had been built.

It didn't take him long to find it; the manse wasn't completely hidden, and he had to admit that the knight had been right to be overwhelmed. The entire structure looked like it was made from a single stone, much like Dragonstone was, and the architecture was very different. It was more akin to an amalgamation of Essosi and Westerosi architecture than anything else. He had never seen something quite like this, and Daemon was well-travelled.

Nevertheless, he landed his dragon with a loud thud and commanded Caraxes to release a loud roar, to intimidate the upstarts who had come here, to his family's island, and built a manse without any permission.

That ought to scare them shitless, and as he expected, he saw the door to the manse opening. Good. Now, he only had to get down with Caraxes and see the look of awed terror on this Harry Potter's face. It was a guilty pleasure of his.

And yet, as he landed, he didn't see any fear or awe, just a man giving him an unimpressed look, standing casually. Cargyll was right. He was unarmed, and his clothes were quite odd. He was wearing a long brown coat, obviously finely made, but without any of the ornaments the noblemen likely to have. Then there were some sort of weird clothes beneath it, but what was most striking was the Myrish glass that was held with metal, which he was wearing on his nose, in front of his green eyes. He couldn't help but wonder if it was some kind of far-eye that he'd never seen before.

He also understood why Cargyll immediately assumed that he was a nobleman. Despite the lack of luxury, a peasant or a merchant didn't have this kind of presence. It was like Daemon was looking at a walking contradiction that just wouldn't make sense no matter what he tried.

The man raised his eyebrow in greeting, "You're loud."

That brought whatever Daemon had been planning to say short. Here was a man who was faced with a man capable of reducing his entire home and life into cinders. And yet, he had the gall to say that he, the Rogue Prince, was loud.

He should have been angry. He had every right to be. He was being disrespected, but the lack of fear, the lack of hate or scorn, or anything other than mild irritation at best, was something that the Rogue Prince had never seen before.

Instead, he simply burst into laughter, "Are you not afraid of Caraxes?"

"I'm assuming you're talking about the dragon… but no. Should I be?"

"Yes," Daemon insisted, feeling incredulous at the moment.

"Then I apologise. I'll do my best to be properly frightened the next time I see one," the man replied dryly, in a way that Daemon honestly missed, since his time fighting in the Stepstones.

"I like you," the prince then declared, to the man's obvious confusion.

"That's nice, but it still doesn't excuse the noise," the stranger replied before turning towards Caraxes, "But I have to admit, he is quite the specimen."

Ignoring Daemon's protest completely, the man walked out of the manse and moved towards the Blood Wyrm. Caraxes hissed at the approaching man, and Daemon could feel the man's probable demise. He tried to do something to stop the man, only for Caraxes' rage to turn suddenly to fear in a fraction of a second, and slowly move back, as if trying to appease the man.

Seeing his partner's obvious apprehension, Daemon instinctively reached for his sword, ready to kill the man at any moment, whatever amusement he felt at the man's actions disappearing immediately. "What are you doing to him?"

"Nothing," the man replied calmly, "I'm simply looking at him. I was right. He truly is quite a specimen. Do you know that your dragons are not natural? I don't mean it as an insult, but they're obviously created, not naturally evolved. Yours seems to favour a more serpentine form, likely from one of his ancestors. He's intelligent… Very intelligent… Likely a result of your bond with him, or is it what allows the bond in the first place? Some very impressive ability to sense magic as well. How curious."

Daemon raised Dark Sister, pointing it at Harry Potter's back. The man seemingly turned, amusement in his eyes, before Daemon suddenly realised that his sword was in the man's hand.

He traced the surface of the blade, his ears to it, as if listening to something, and shaking his head, "What a bloody little weapon you have. Fourteen souls empowering the soul of an unborn dragon, with two types of steel. One is obviously enhanced with some blood of some sort, with fire properties. Not quite like your dragon, but something similar. The other is familiar. Ah, Dragonglass. The steel is almost infused with Dragonglass. Spell-forged under a magical flame, of course. Hardness, sharpness... No, this is just the byproduct… Eternal… Quite a weapon, if a little inefficient. It will serve you well, especially against most magics. As long as they can't overpower the souls maintaining the enchantments, of course."

Daemon understood maybe half of what the man muttered, yet stood completely silent as he was handed back his sword without anything. Never in his life did he feel so completely overwhelmed. Had the man used magic to steal his sword? Or was he so fast that Daemon didn't it being taken from him?

The man turned and walked back to his manse. Daemon wanted to say something. He didn't know what it was. He wanted an explanation, to tell the man to stop and face him, but the words simply wouldn't leave his mouth. Yet, the man paused right as he neared his door, and spoke up, "Aren't you going to come in?"

Daemon silently followed with Dark Sister in his hand, still ready to attack at any time, and followed the man inside. He would have his answer no matter what.

The moment he stepped inside the manse, he had to restrain the urge to gasp. This place had some luxuries everywhere, yet not. It was weird. There were seemingly glass items all over the place, as if it didn't cost a fortune to manufacture. There were porcelain plates to beggar an entire house. There were paintings and portraits hung everywhere, but what was curious was the lack of gold and jewels, unlike most nobles he had met. It was akin to only showcasing half of their wealth on a whim.

He was so caught off guard by his surroundings that he hadn't seen the woman with golden hair, seemingly tending to some plant. No, now that he was looking at it, it wasn't any normal plant, but an extremely small Weirwood Tree, with minuscule red leaves, and a face carved into it.

The woman didn't greet him, seemingly preoccupied with the impossibility she was studying. The man sat on one of the chairs, and he motioned for Daemon to do the same. The prince was too overwhelmed to argue and just sat down. "So, I'm guessing you didn't make such a ruckus for no reason. So, let's start with the introductions. My name is Harry Potter. This is my wife, Daphne."

The woman raised her head and nodded at him before returning to her task. Her husband chuckled, "Don't mind her. She tends to be absorbed whenever she sees something new that interests her. I can't exactly complain. This is a habit she got from me after all. Now, as I said, I'm guessing that you didn't come here for no reason."

Deamon stiffened slightly, finally finding a comfortable topic, and threw the silver coin to Potter. He was about to speak up when the wife raised her head for the first time and looked towards him, her blue eyes meeting his violet ones. "Where did you get this?"

"How curious. That was exactly the question I was planning to ask you," the prince answered back.

He looked towards the man, waiting for him to chide his wife or something, yet the man didn't seem concerned, and the blonde didn't relent, this time with her voice much firmer, "I gave it to a fisherman and his son. Did you steal it from them?"

"Steal it from them? Do you think I am some common thief? I am Daemon Targaryen, brother to the king, Viserys Targaryen, the Rogue Prince, rider of Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm. I have no need to steal silver from a peasant."

"Quite a long list of titles, you have there, mate," the man retorted, "But that doesn't explain how this coin came to your possession."

"One of the guards bought it on a whim from a fisherman who had drunkenly boasted of the tale. He paid him an entire Gold Dragon for it, more than what he probably makes in a year."

He noticed that the woman hummed, seemingly content, before turning back to her tree. Daemon turned towards her husband, expecting some sort of explanation, and yet nothing came, only a look of amusement.

The Rogue Prince gritted his teeth and asked, "So, where did you get this coin?"

"Where else," the strange man retorted, "I got it from a bank. Now, where they got it from must be quite the story. Silver so easily trades hands nowadays. Perhaps it belonged to a mercenary at a time, or a carpenter… Oh, the stories such a coin could tell."

"Silver is also normally not indestructible," Daemon retorted, "And I'm quickly tired of these word games of yours."

The man snorted, "Then why didn't you say so. I'm afraid I don't know much about the coin's mintage. Goblins are quite secretive with their metalsmithing. And I never really cared to look, to be honest."

"Goblins?" Daemon asked despite himself.

"Ah, yes, very quick to anger and very slow to forgive, these people. Extremely territorial over their magic, especially when it comes to their artefacts."

So, the coin was made with magic, but not their own. Were the Goblins some sort of people, a remnant of Valyria that had retained their magic somewhere?

He needed these questions answered and quickly, "And where can I find these Goblins?"

"Oh, I don't think you have the means to reach them. You might even say that they're out of this world," Potter responded while snickering at something that Daemon didn't understand.

That was the limit.

Whatever little patience Daemon Targaryen had long dried out, "By all rights and laws of men, I have the right to kill you and burn this entire place to cinders. You have come into my family's island and built this place without any permission, and now, that I come to you in good faith, you think that you can just mock me."

He felt Caraxes react to his anger and screech, but it was strangely subdued, before turning silent suddenly.

Harry Potter, though, still had that amused expression on his face and was unaffected by his threat, "My dear, you're talking with the same assumption that you, somehow, have any right to decide any of our actions, that your laws and crowns affect us in any way. You can no more command me than a peasant can do a dragon…"

Daemon felt some sort of invisible pressure, making it harder to breathe, and yet the man didn't raise his voice. He didn't even frown. He still had that infuriating smile on his face.

Then a voice spoke up, "Harry!"

And just like that, the pressure disappeared. Daemon gasped and heaved slightly, and it took a few seconds to recognise that it was the man's wife who stopped him.

Yet, the woman didn't seem angered or even annoyed, "Come on, Harry. You promised me that we'd move around a bit, and while that tree is interesting, I'm curious about this castle of theirs. Besides, they have a point. We were pretty rude, just setting up this place without any permission."

The man, Harry Potter, huffed, "Seriously, Daph?"

"You said that you chose this place for me, right? I want to meet the locals."

"You do realise that they'll do their best to drag us into their mess, right?"

The woman rolled her eyes. "Are you seriously telling me that you're concerned about a bunch of muggles and their dragons?"

Muggles. What were Muggles, and why did the woman call them that?

And why did Daemon feel like he was in the middle of a marital spat more than anything, and that their dragons, their house's pride, were being belittled so much?

He was tempted to say anything in retaliation, but the man's response brought him short, "Of course, I'm not worried. But they'll be annoying."

The blonde just gave him a severe look, and the man deflated, while muttering something that Daemon couldn't hear under his breath. He then turned towards the prince and spoke up, "Fine. Expect us at your castle tomorrow for Breakfast. We'll answer any questions you have then. Goodbye, Daemon Targaryen."

The Rogue Prince barely had any chance to protest before being escorted back out of the manse. He was outside when he processed what he had just experienced.

A part of him wanted to rage at the man and his arrogance, to take Caraxes and burn everything to the ground. And yet, another part of him remembered the pressure he felt when the man got irritated, and he hesitated.

In a way, Daemon had gotten what he wanted. Harry Potter and his wife were coming to Dragonstone to explain themselves to their wife. Unfortunately, he didn't know if this was such a good idea.

He didn't even get to ask the man about how he built the manse in the first place.

or his help in this chapter.

123 AC, Dragonstone

Rhaenyra Targaryen, the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, waited impassively in the Dragonstone's Great Hall. It was almost completely empty, save for her family seated at the long stone table. Platters of food sat untouched, steamed greens, roasted boar, warm bread still letting off steam, filling the room with a scent that only made the silence more unbearable.

She sat at the helm of the table, surrounded by her family, her fingers tapping a steady rhythm on the table. No one lifted a fork. If someone were to look at her, they wouldn't know the anger coursing through her veins. It had taken her years to master her expressions, but she had to admit that she didn't think she would have gotten so annoyed by this Harry Potter.

She wanted to yell at Daemon for his misstep. He went to confront this Harry Potter the previous day, and had returned shaken, telling her that the Potters had agreed to come to break their fast with her and her children that day, something that she didn't appreciate.

Rhaenyra had expected them to come for a petition, not something as intimate as this. She liked to break her fast with her family, without any courtly matters distracting them. It was something she wished her father had done with her in King's Landing. Instead, there was always a member of the small council or some important lord. Of course, Alicent was always there, and Otto, when he was still Hand of the King, and they constantly undermined her, tried to do their best to distance her father from her.

She did her best not to make the same mistakes with her children, and she was proud of the men they were growing to be.

Daemon knew for a fact that this time, the start of the day, was reserved for family and yet, he decided to invite this Harry Potter and his wife, two people who were supposed to come to her, begging for mercy, for their trespass.

She had raged at him the previous night, but he seemed oddly subdued; the fire that often coursed through his veins, the anger, ready to swallow everything at any moment, was all but gone.

She thought that it was because he drank too much wine. After all, her husband barely returned to their bedchambers in the middle of the night, obviously drunk, while proclaiming that the Potters would break their fast with them the following day, nothing more. She had raged at him, and instead of arguing back, he just stood there, without saying anything.

Wine, if anything, made Daemon reckless and frayed the tight control he held over his simmering rage. However, she saw none of this last night. If anything, he was more subdued and calmer.

Still, Rhaenyra could understand why he agreed to make the meeting with the Potters private. Talks of magic and sorcery were not ones that she wanted to be public. She could only imagine how Alicent would twist the events, spread rumours of her consorting with demons or something as abhorrent. She had always been so small-minded.

That didn't mean she had to be pleased with this arrangement.

Her children were seated beside her—Jacaerys, Lucerys, and little Joffrey—but they weren't alone. Baela and Rhaena sat across from them, chatting quietly, their heads bowed close as they laughed at something Lucerys whispered. Jace, ever the older brother, was trying and failing not to smile too much, his shoulders stiff with the weight of expectation. Rhaena's eyes kept flicking toward the entrance, nervous, while Baela looked far too unimpressed with the entire ordeal.

Daemon hadn't wanted his daughters here. He claimed it was unnecessary, that they shouldn't be involved in affairs they didn't understand yet, but Rhaenyra pressed him, and he relented. She wasn't sure if it was pride or fear that made him wary, but she wouldn't let him hide the girls away from something this important. Not when the future of their house would one day rest on all of their shoulders.

Daemon, for his part, sat far too relaxed beside her. There was a tension beneath it, she could tell, his fingers drummed softly against the table, his eyes locked on the door, but his posture was loose, settled.

Her husband's misstep wasn't exactly why she was angry. Instead, she was raging because of one simple fact: "They're late."

She had sent a welcoming party to escort their visitors to the castle nearly half an hour ago. Courteous, formal, discreet. And yet, here she sat, at her own table, in her own hall, with her children and husband, waiting like some minor Lady for a pair of errant travellers to grace her with their presence. Rhaenyra Targaryen did not wait on anyone, least of all strangers who built manses on her island without permission and spoke to her sworn knight like common fools daring the storm. She tightened her grip on her goblet, the polished silver creaking faintly beneath her fingers. If this were some game they were playing, they would learn quickly that she didn't take well to mockery.

Her husband didn't speak up at her statement, and she muttered, "I have half a mind to take Syrax and just burn their manse to the ground for keeping me waiting."

"You're just saying that because you're hungry," Daemon joked back, but there was something else beneath his attempt at humour.

"Now, you speak," Rhaenyra complained, "I've been waiting for you to say a word since we came here."

"I've been having a lot on my mind."

"I'm assuming that this is about our late guests."

Her husband took a deep breath and snorted, "Yes. Guests. That's what they are."

"What happened yesterday, Daemon?" she couldn't help but ask, "You have been… different since your visit to the Potters."

Daemon hesitated for a fraction of a second before taking a deep breath, "I don't know much of it myself. I'm still trying to understand it. But I know one thing for certain: this man, Harry Potter, is dangerous. Very dangerous. I could feel it in my bones. Do not underestimate him and do not anger him."

"You're talking as if he were some demon. We have a small army of guards outside and enough dragons to burn a kingdom to ash in mere days," she answered while snorting.

"You don't understand. Caraxes was afraid of him. He actively tried to avoid him, to flee him. He used to play around with Vhagar... before…" he trailed off at the thought of his dead wife before shaking his head and continuing, "I felt Caraxes' fear, and it was beyond mild panic. I didn't even think that dragons could feel like this."

That brought her short, and for the first time in their conversation, she didn't know what to say. After all, what could she say about a dragon being afraid of a man? No, Daemon had to be mistaken in some way. Dragons were a power beyond men. They were what allowed Aegon Targaryen to conquer an entire continent with just his sister-wives. They were what allowed her ancestors to conquer most of Essos, building the Valyrian Freehold, before the Doom, of course.

If there was a power that surpassed theirs, that somehow allowed a man to pose a threat to a dragon, then it would have been known by now, much like how Scorpions are infamous for Meraxes' death, despite it being a lucky shot that went through the dragon's eye. So far, no magic had ever come close, with the fate of whoever tried over the years ending in the same way: Fire and Blood.

Instead of needling Daemon about the experience, she chose to change the subject, "And what of the magic, the coin and the stone? Did you get any answers?"

"Potter proclaimed that the coin was not of his own creation and instead was minted by a people that he called 'Goblins', who appear to be quite secretive of their magics. I believe that they might be a colony of Valyrian sorcerers who survived the Doom, but they did not elaborate on the subject. Perhaps the means he used to build his manse were of a similar origin. I cannot tell for sure, but I could feel it. The man is a sorcerer, perhaps even his wife."

Rhaenyra did her best to hide her excitement at her husband's answer. If what the man said was true, then these 'Goblins' provided an immense opportunity. Inviting them to live somewhere in Westeros wouldn't be that hard, especially with her father's love for their homeland. His wretched hand, Otto Hightower, would oppose it, of course, but she knew that not even his hold over her father would be enough to prevent her from witnessing a fragment of the glory of Valyria in the Seven Kingdoms.

And if they refused to come, then trade would be an option, and Rhaenyra would make herself indispensable to the realm through trade alone, much like Corlys Velaryon was. Given her alliance with the Sea Snake, this could easily cement the Blacks' position in court and in Westeros as a whole.

Despite her best efforts, her husband seemed to sense her excitement: "Do not underestimate this man, Rhaenyra. Harry Potter told me, after a second examining my sword, how Dark Sister was forged. Four and ten human souls were sacrificed, and that of a dragon egg. That is what he said."

"Men have been trying to discover how to forge Valyrian steel for centuries, with no avail, and you are telling me that a random man did it with a glance. I did not take you for a fool, Daemon, to believe such a boast."

"I am no fool," Daemon gritted out, his eyes almost glowing in suppressed anger, before calming down, "He wasn't proud of what he said, or even proclaimed that he could imitate it. I know that look in his eyes. It was akin to a warrior watching a duel or a Maester reading an interesting book. He was studying the sword, not boasting. What I am trying to say is that Magic is not something either of us has encountered before, and we do not know its limits. We have to be careful."

Rhaenyra hummed in agreement. It wasn't common for Daemon to recommend caution over action, and so, she had to give his counsel some serious thought.

It was something her father would do. For all her love for him, she had to admit that he was a weak king, easily led around by his small council, specifically Otto, whose words he seemed to worship. The man might as well wear a crown, given that he practically ruled over the Seven Kingdoms.

She could see the damned man's influence when her father had all but banished her to Dragonstone after her wedding to Daemon. He hadn't exactly put it into words, but she hadn't received any letters since returning to Dragonstone after her wedding. Not that she was planning on going there frequently. As much as she hated it, she had to leave her father alone with her enemies. With Otto at hand and the aftermath of the incident at the Driftmark, Rhaenyra knew that her children would be in danger for every moment they spent in King's Landing. That's not to mention that she didn't wish for them to grow with their every action watched and judged with whispers of their parentage always on everyone's lips.

Her best choice was to replace Otto as hand, curb some of his influence at the Capital. But she would have to wait until her children grew to do so, when they would be old enough to fight their own battles. This Harry Potter might hold the key to eventually oust Alicent's father from his position, but she wasn't so sure.

Now, onto finding some leverage on that potential sorcerer, "What of his wife?"

Daemon hummed, "She barely spoke, instead focusing on some potted miniature Weirwood tree that she was taking care of. I'm not sure if she's a sorceress or not, but he seemed to listen to her counsel. She's the one who convinced him to come, but she treated this more like a casual visit than any concern of meeting the royal family."

So, the man listens to his wife's counsel. That might be an avenue to convince him if he proves to be obstinate. Yet, she joked, "So, I assume that your theory of this being a plot by the Greens wasn't correct."

"I do not think that even Otto would ever risk inviting this man to our shores. And even if he could, I do not think that he could get someone like Harry Potter to follow his commands."

She was about to reply, only for Jace to complain loudly, "Mother, can we break our fast? We're all hungry."

Before she could say anything, the doors of the Great Hall opened unprompted. That was odd. Normally, her guards would have announced someone entering. She turned towards the door, ready to demand an explanation, only to freeze as she saw two people entering the room casually. One was a man, thin, of relatively normal height, with very unkept hair, and green eyes that were behind some odd contraption made of glass that resembled a very thin far-eye. He was wearing some well-made, yet odd clothes, much like Daemon described them. His wife, a beautiful, golden-haired woman with blue eyes, wore a simple yet fine dress and stared at them with a neutral smile.

She could feel Daemon stiffening slightly next to her, and Rhaenyra finally understood why he had been so unsettled the previous day. Looking at them, especially the man, felt very similar to staring down a dragon. They had this presence, some sort of power, that seemed to emanate from them.

Her guards unsheathed their swords, ready to attack the intruders at once, who looked at them without any concern on their faces. Seven Hells, the woman's smile had even remained soft, but Rhaenyra couldn't help but notice that her eyes tracked every guard's movement like a hawk surveying prey.

Rhaenyra raised her hand, stopping them in their tracks, and was about to introduce their guests, only for the man to smile widely, "Sorry for being late. We've been admiring your lovely castle. Very impressive, but you seem to put dragons on everything for some reason."

Before she could say anything, her eldest, Jace, spoke up and gave him a curious look, "That's because we ride dragons, silly."

"Perhaps," Potter explained with a kind smile on his face, "But most people also happen to ride horses. Should they also have statues of horses all over their castles?"

Rhaenyra released a breath that she had been unconsciously holding. The man obviously had a weakness for children, or had, at least, known how to interact with them easily enough.

Jace's adorable, thoughtful look on his face almost made her heart melt. He then answered, "But horses didn't conquer Westeros, dragons did."

The man who was possibly a sorcerer nodded sagely, as if her son gave him a pearl of wisdom, "They did. But this castle was built before the Conqueror was even born."

Jace's eyes widened in disbelief. "I did not think of that. Is it because they fly?"

"But so do ravens and eagles, yet there aren't any here. Me? I've always liked owls the best. One of my oldest friends happens to be one?"

Her boy giggled at the absurdity of the statement, "You can't be friends with a bird."

"Is that so?" the man answered with a twinkle in his eyes. The moment he finished his sentence, a white bird - an owl, she recognised - swooped into the room and landed on his shoulder. He gave Jace a smug grin, "This is Hedwig. She's been my friend ever since I was around your age, maybe a bit older."

"She's beautiful," Rhaena retorted in awe.

The owl turned towards its master and hooted proudly. Potter snickered and turned towards the young girl, "Well, she seems to like you as well, princess. Tell you what, why don't you spend some time with her? Hedwig likes to be pampered a lot, but be careful with your food. She's a bit of a glutton."

The children nodded eagerly, and the white owl flew towards them in a surprising form of intelligence for a bird, and perched itself right next to her smiling children. With that interruption out of the way, Rhaenyra was finally able to snap out of her shock and properly greet her guests, "I, Rhaenyra Targaryen, Crown Princess of the Seven Kingdoms and Princess of Dragonstone, bid welcome to Harry Potter and Daphne Potter."

The man nodded and bowed slightly, "Thank you for your invitation and hospitality."

He then brightened and clapped his hands, "Alright, with all of this out of the way, I believe we have some very important matters to attend to. Breakfast. I'm famished."

Rhaenyra gave the man an incredulous look. She wasn't exactly used to this kind of informality at her table, least of all from someone she hadn't even decided if she considered a guest, a trespasser, or something else entirely. The absurdity of it all, entering unannounced, joking with her son before greeting her properly, speaking so casually in the seat of House Targaryen's power, made her want to clench her jaw.

And yet, he didn't seem mocking, not exactly. Just… casual. Like this was an ordinary meal with ordinary company, even his wife looked vaguely exasperated, as though she'd told him to behave and already given up.

Rhaenyra, for all her poise, didn't know what to make of it. Something about the entire encounter felt off-balance, like a dream that veered off course without warning. But one thing she knew with absolute certainty: whatever came next, she would never forget this breakfast.

123 AC, Dragonstone

Rhaenyra, for all her poise, didn't know what to make of it. Something about the entire encounter felt off-balance, like a dream that veered off course without warning. But one thing she knew with absolute certainty: whatever came next, she would never forget this breakfast.

The future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms watched as their guests calmly ate their food. This was further proof that they were of nobility. What she had in front of her was essentially a small feast, more than enough to beggar some Knights and even some Minor Lords. It was made by some of the best cooks in the Seven Kingdoms, and yet, the Potters didn't seem especially impressed with it. Anyone who was not used to this would have been salivating despite themselves. She had done this small test with many lords and merchants, and it allowed her to quickly make some judgements about who she was meeting.

Her children and Daemon's daughters seemed enthralled by the white owl, petting the disturbingly intelligent creature, who had, just as Potter stated, started to eat one of the sausages from Lucerys' plate. That bird even turned towards her master occasionally and gave what she could only describe as smug hoots.

Perhaps she was imagining things.

Nevertheless, she did not invite them to eat her food. Instead, she spoke up, directly, "Lord Potter, I admit that I am quite curious about your name. Do you have any relations to House Potter from the Reach?"

A wide, delighted smile grew on his face, and he asked excitedly, "There is a House Potter here as well? How wonderful!"

Daemon snorted, "A Knightly House at best, barely more than a few decades old. I would not be delighted to be related to them."

Harry Potter smiled at him, "Oh, I'm not related to them. I've traced down my lineage back centuries, and I know for a fact that I'm the first one to ever come to Westeros, let alone found a house. Yet, the world is full of coincidences, isn't it?"

Her husband wanted to say something, but she decided to intervene, "You said that this is your first time coming to Westeros. So, where do you come from?"

"Far away, very far away. I very much doubt that you know of it," he answered with a slight smile on his face, "The world is far larger than most people know, and life blooms in even the most unlikely of places. One need only look."

That was a vague answer if she heard any, "I am quite well-educated, my lord. I might surprise you."

"Oh, it's not my education I doubt, your grace, but the general knowledge of all Westerosi."

That made Rhaenyra's hackles rise, "So, you're calling me and my people ignorant."

"No. I call you uninformed about certain matters. And I am sure that I am uninformed about matters that would feel trivial to you, such as the legends of Old Valyria. When one believes that they know all there is to know, that is when they are truly ignorant. One must never stop striving to learn more, to understand more," the young man lectured as if he were a Maester.

"Is that why you came here? To learn," Rhaena asked, while looking up from the owl she was so taken with.

The man gave her a soft look, "Well, of course. I'm a traveller of sorts. I explore ruins, civilisations, try to understand as much of the world as I can, and then I leave."

"Have you been anywhere interesting?" Jacaerys asked.

It was the woman who answered this time, "Harry, let's not traumatise the children with your adventures, especially not while we're eating."

The man rolled his eyes, "Sorry, kids. I guess you don't get to know of the treasures and tombs I explored and the monsters I fought."

"Monsters?" Baela scoffed, "You don't look like a warrior."

"I don't?" he replied in a falsely confused look, before turning towards his wife with an accusing tone, "Why did you never tell me that?"

"I thought that it was implied, my love," the blonde woman answered with a sly grin on her face, "You've always preferred staying by a good book than fighting a war."

The man's face fell, and he pouted. The children giggled at the byplay, before Lucerys asked, "Is that why you're wearing far-eyes on your face? To read from far away?"

"Now, that's a very interesting question. But no, these are not far-eyes. They're glasses, or spectacles if you want to be fancy, and they're meant to cure blurry vision. You see, sometimes people are born with eyes that see the world as blurry. Most people, when they get older, end up with this affliction anyway, but the average life span in Westeros is a bit too short for it to be an issue on a large scale. Anyway, these glasses help unblur the vision, essentially correcting the world to allow them to see. The glass is warped, shaped in a way to achieve this, in a very similar way to how Myrish far-eyes operate."

A weakness. Rhaenyra did her best not to gape as the man, just casually admitted to a weakness, something that she had never seen before. He looked unbothered, as if no one could even make use of this weakness against him.

"You can't see without this contraption?" Daemon asked, perking up, probably coming to the same conclusion she had.

"Oh, I got that fixed after a few years. Now, I just wear them because Daphne grew to like the look."

The blonde woman blushed slightly and hit him on the arm. Rhaenyra decided to take the initiative before her children could ask him more inane questions, "My husband mentioned a name. Peverell. I do not recognise it, but much of Valyria's history was lost."

The man snorted in amusement, "Believe me, I'm not Valyrian. You're right, though, Peverell is an old name, thousands of years old, I believe, who married into my family. I am the last of that line, I believe."

"Then why did you not take that name, if it has such a distinguished history?" Rhaenyra pressed.

"Well, distinguished is certainly a correct word, but the truth is that infamous would be a more suitable description of the Peverell name."

The blonde rolled her eyes at her husband's words, "Don't dance around the subject, Harry." She then turned towards them with a mischievous glint in her eyes, "They were all hunted down because of a children's story."

That brought her short, "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"There was an old story about three Peverell brothers, Antioch, Cadmus, and Ignotus Peverell. The brothers, travelling together, came upon a traitorous river, one that took the life of anyone who tried to cross it. Yet, the three brothers were no ordinary men, but sorcerers. They used their magic to create a bridge to cross the river. Halfway across the bridge, a hooded figure appeared. It was Death, or as you call it, the Stranger. It was enraged as it felt cheated of its dues. However, Death did not show its wrath towards the brother and instead pretended to congratulate them for their cleverness and offered them a boon each. The eldest brother, Antioch, a warrior, asked for the most powerful weapon in existence. Death took a branch of Elder and gave it to the man, and so, the Elder Wand was created. The second brother, an arrogant but grieving man, asked for the power to recall the deceased from the grave. Death picked a stone from the river and gave it to the man, and so, the Resurrection Stone was created. The third brother, humble and wise, asked for something that would let him hide from anything, even from Death itself. Reluctantly, Death handed over its own cloak and handed it to the man, and so, the Invisibility Cloak was created."

Lucerys grinned and asked, "And did they work?"

The man was the one who answered this time, "According to the story, yes. The Eldest Brother won many battles, killing armies with a flick of his wand, yet after boasting of the power of his weapon, he was later slain in his sleep, the Elder Wand missing. The second brother, who had wished for the stone to see his deceased beloved, whom he wished to marry, was able to summon her from the great beyond. However, he lost himself to despair and madness, for the woman he loved did not belong in the living world. She was cold and sad. The brother couldn't handle it after some time and took his own life. As for the third brother, he was able to hide, even from Death's gaze, and he grew old, passing the cloak to his son, and then meeting Death as an old friend. Together, the Wand, the Stone, and the Cloak make what we call the Deathly Hallows."

Rhaenyra hadn't heard this story before, and it was definitely a grim one. There were often lessons in children's stories, and yet she couldn't find any, not really. Perhaps it was about accepting one's death, but that was hardly suitable for children. Instead, she felt unsettled by the story, as if something was telling her that there was some truth in it.

Baela spoke up, obviously fascinated by the story, "And are they real, these Deathly Hallows?"

"They were real enough for people to kill one another over some myth or another, enough to hunt down every Peverell they could find, hoping that they would lead them infinite power or some nonsense. Then again, they might be real. Who knows?" he tapped his nose playfully, "Who knows?"

The children giggled at the joke, the mood of the room lightened significantly, yet Rhaenyra felt on edge. There was something about this man, about the story, the way he said it, that made her feel threatened. Yet, it was just a story.

Wasn't it?

Daemon seemed to feel it too. He hadn't touched his food once, his eyes fixed on Potter with a kind of wary intensity, like a man watching the sea for signs of storm. The children, blissfully unaware, had taken to arguing quietly about which of the three Hallows was the most powerful. Jace, predictably, was championing the wand, while Baela scoffed and insisted the cloak was cleverer. Rhaena looked down at her empty plate, thoughtful, likely imagining something that would let her speak with her mother, and Lucerys just tried to keep the owl from stealing his second sausage.

But Rhaenyra couldn't shake the sensation, like they'd been shown something important and only half understood it. The story, the smiles, the harmless humour, it all felt too polished, too rehearsed. Like a mask placed carefully over something older and far more dangerous.

She took a sip of wine, her eyes not leaving Harry Potter's face.

He was still smiling. But she suddenly wasn't sure if it reached his eyes.

He looked at them, still smiling. And yet, he had a knowing look in his eyes, as if waiting for them to do or say something. He stayed silent, and it was extremely disconcerting. Then again, why were they talking about a children's story in the first place?

She had wished to meet him to get the man to share his knowledge of the indestructible metals these Goblins were making, and of his method of construction. She was planning on leveraging his illegal construction of his manse in her island to force him to agree to her terms, which were frankly quite generous, given that she could execute him and his wife with a single command and no one would fault her for it.

For all of Daemon's warning, she still had expected a very nervous man, meeting royalty who rode dragons, who could swallow him whole.

Now, she needed to guide the conversation back to its main topic. She put a smile on her face and asked, "So, what brought you to Dragonstone?"

"Nothing much. We needed a place to stay while we planned out our next expedition. This island seemed nice and quiet enough to do that in peace. Daphne wanted to study Weirwood trees, and I wanted to study Dragonglass, and this seemed like a good place to stay in the meantime," the man answered casually.

"You built an entire manse on my island, something that could easily cost you your life, because it seemed like a nice place to stay?" Rhaenyra asked with incredulity in her tone.

"Well, that's not all of it," the man answered sheepishly, "This island has a very impressive history, which makes sense, given that it stands on a mountain of Dragonglass."

Rhaenyra furrowed her eyebrows and asked, "What does Dragonglass have to do with Aegon's Conquest?"

Harry Potter snorted in amusement, "Believe it or not, history did not begin when Aegon conquered Westeros. This island, for example, has existed before the very idea of Valyria was born, let alone your house. No, Dragonglass was used primarily by the Children of the Forest when they still roamed Westeros. From what I gathered, it also happened to be the main weapon used by them and the First Men during the Long Night."

Daemon snorted, "You're japing, surely. What are you going to do next, hunting Grumkins and Snarks? These are stories, legends told to scare children into behaving themselves."

"The cave I discovered on this island with paintings on its walls that are thousands of years old, begs to differ. Then again, I'm not here to convince anyone of anything. This is just to satiate my own curiosity. I just find it fascinating that Religions, continents apart, all have the same account of a war against an endless winter, all the way from the North to Yi-Ti. They're distorted, of course, but they are eerily similar. Of course, there's the Wall. One does not build such a monument to keep away a few savages, do they? Nevertheless, we're planning on visiting it soon enough."

Rhaenyra shivered as the man spoke. She remembered her father's words as if they were yesterday, of the seriousness in his voice, of the burden of House Targaryen, the shadow and ice, coming from the north, swallowing everything.

The room seemed to also share her awkwardness. The children looked uncomfortable, and even Daemon looked slightly unsettled.

"But they're all just stories?" her eldest asked.

"Every story ever told really happened. Stories are where memories go when they're forgotten," the man answered with surprising wisdom and a kind smile. "In my travels, I found that the world is far larger than one would ever imagine. For example, I have been in places where the idea of riding a dragon is considered to be pure folly, and yet here you all are, a family of proud Dragonriders. Even fewer would believe that an entire family could be so intertwined with fate as yours, guided all the way from the Doom of Valyria, as if it were following a song woven by fate itself, one of fire and flames. Perhaps, that is what the world would need to battle the coming darkness and ice."

That froze Rhaenyra completely. She could see it now, the small allusion to the Long Night being real, the story about Death and its lessons, the mention of songs of fire, and battling ice. This man, somehow, knew of Aegon's prophecy. He knew of the secret only told to the King or Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, the burden of House Targaryen.

How was this possible?

Had her father told him? Did her grandfather or great-grandfather? It was technically possible, even if it was very improbable. He didn't look much older than her, and Rhaenyra was barely more than a child when the Old King died.

This went beyond talks of Valyrian Stone and building an illegal manse. This was her house's legacy. The mischievous look on his face all but confirmed that he knew exactly what she had realised.

The future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms slowly stood up, her eyes severe, and spoke up, "Out."

Everyone gave her a confused look, and she yelled, "Everyone but the Potters, leave this room at once."

The Great Hall emptied at once, and she motioned the Kingsguards to do the same, yet Daemon didn't move. She glared at him, "That includes you, husband."

"Do you think I could…"

She interrupted him, "This is not a request, Daemon."

He glared at her before turning and leaving, following their children out.

Now, in an empty room, she turned towards the couple and their blasted owl, who still looked unconcerned with a Dragonrider's anger. She spoke up in a neutral tone, "I have questions, and you will answer them now. What do you know about the Song of Ice and Fire?"

I would like to thank my beta, Awdyr, for his help in this chapter.

123 AC, Dragonstone

Now, in an empty room, she turned towards the couple and their blasted owl, who still looked unconcerned with a Dragonrider's anger. She spoke up in a neutral tone, "I have questions, and you will answer them now. What do you know about the Song of Ice and Fire?"

Rhaenyra suppressed the urge to growl at the man as he ignored her question and took a bite of his food, uncaring that the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms had commanded him to answer. She felt her temper flare and did her best to calm herself. She kept her voice cold and neutral, "I will not ask again. What do you know about the Song of Ice and Fire? If you do not feel talkative, then perhaps you will answer as Syrax burns your manse."

Harry Potter turned towards her, and finished chewing, with a calm smile on his face, ignoring her threat, "It's so easy, isn't it? To burn everything to ashes when you have a dragon at your disposal. I suppose it makes the act of murder feel more detached than if you did not do it yourself. Then again, as a princess, you probably had guards to do it for you. Perhaps, you've never been denied before, not truly, for you to feel like a couple of strangers owe you answers."

"The song is my family's legacy, and as its heir, it falls to me to secure it," Rhaenyra answered back in a frosty voice.

The man rolled his eyes, "It is the height of hubris to think that a prophecy belongs to your family. I suppose a descendant of the man who thought that his line would save the world would think that. No, princess, the Song of Ice and Fire, as you aptly called it, is known far and wide in this world, provided that one can listen, of course."

"Explain," she demanded, making Daphne Potter give her a disappointed look, one that hurt far more than it should have, given that it had come from a stranger whom she had just met.

Nevertheless, her guest just answered without any protest, "Your ancestor, Aegon, had some talent in divination, a Dreamer, as you call it. If I had to guess, it would be that such a talent exists in dragons, a way to perceive the world differently than other normal beasts. From what I gather, from a preliminary look, your line, and likely that of other Dragonlords in Old Valyria, gained their ability of riding dragons through blood rituals, somehow merging an extremely small fragment of dragon's blood into their bloodlines, not enough to quite lose their humanity, but enough that the dragons saw them as kin. It actually explains quite a lot, including the few dragon-like stillborn children when the dragon's blood becomes too strong, overwhelming humanity."

She stayed silent, processing the man's theories, which made a disturbing amount of sense. It was fascinating, and in many ways, information that her father would have craved about their ancestry, if the man wasn't a mummer, of course.

Thankfully, he continued, "It makes sense that, much like dragons, your blood could allow a few lucky, or perhaps unlucky few, to see visions in their dreams and remember them vividly. Your conqueror might have been one of them, but the act of seeing the future is not bound to your bloodline. Similar talents emerge all over the world, some even in Westeros. The vision itself would have existed regardless, but it is perceived differently with every method. Is it truly a surprise that a prophecy as large and as important as the one your ancestor had dreamt of would be perceived by others gifted with the Sight as well?"

Rhaenyra's hand stilled as he finished this. The man had explained this in a way that was quite similar to a Maester teaching a child. She would remember to write it down. Harry Potter proved himself to be a source of invaluable knowledge, given the certainty in his voice.

Still, she had to focus on the subject at hand, "What of the prophecy itself? What do you know of it?"

Potter actually chuckled at that, "Trying to understand prophecy is a fool's errand. Fate is rarely powerless enough to need help being fulfilled. But even I have to admit that to have this prophecy spread around so far and wide, so far back from its source and too far back to prepare, it reeks of desperation. I do wonder if it has something to do with the state of the world."

This time, it was his wife who spoke up, looking interested for the first time since the conversation began, "I did feel that something was wrong, but I wasn't exactly sure if I was imagining it."

"It's subtle, if you don't know what you're looking for," the man answered, "The world is broken. No, that's not quite it. The world is a remnant, what's left after a battlefield. Its very essence is fractured, kept afloat with some fading magic and good intentions. What did happen is something that I do not even know."

Daphne Potter giggled at that answer, "So, that's why you brought us here. You wish to solve the mystery."

The woman's husband gave her a mischievous smile, "You know me so well."

There was a lot there that she simply didn't understand. The world did not seem broken, at least not to her, nor did she know of a war of this scale happening recently, not since Aegon's conquest. It didn't matter, not yet; she had to keep pressing on her family's prophecy.

Still, Rhaenyra felt the rush to take back control over the conversation, "I feel that we diverged from our conversation. As interesting as the nature of prophecy is, I feel it is more pertinent to understand my house's legacy."

Potter rolled his eyes. "Haven't you heard a word I said? This prophecy is not your house's legacy; something as primal as this doesn't care about something as pedestrian as thrones and kingdoms, but it has use for you. Daenys' dreams that allowed your family to escape Valyria, Aegon's dreams that pushed him to conquer Westeros, it's obvious that your line is intertwined with fate. But that doesn't guarantee that you are blessed, or that you'd even survive the next century. Somewhere down the line, a member of your family will do something. It might be some bastard somewhere, it might be some descendant of an exiled family member, but that doesn't matter. They will do what fate bids, and the prophecy will be complete. That is all. It might even be the last descendant of House Targaryen sacrificing themselves, with no dragons flying the sky, and even this doesn't guarantee that you would stop the coming darkness, or the next Long Night. Prophecy does not care. Fate does not care, and it isn't a good thing to be in its gaze, for this usually ends in tragedy."

The man's short speech froze Rhaenyra's blood in her veins. Would Aegon's dream lead her family to ruin? She didn't know, and the accounts of Dreamers and prophecies were extremely sparse. She hadn't truly tried to study the subject too much, much too preoccupied with securing her birthright, but it was something that she regretted now.

She hadn't wanted to obsess over dreams like her father. She needed to speak with him, with this new information. His obsession meant that he had studied the subject extensively.

Yet, she remembered something he had said, "The Long Night? Is that what Aegon's darkness is? I thought it was just a tale."

The man seemed to shrug, "I'm currently studying the Long Night. The subject is quite hard to see. There seems to be a veil separating the world before and after it happened, blocking any sight of the matter. There is a similar veil appearing somewhere in the next two centuries, starting from the Land of Always Winter, which points to it being a second Long Night. I'm hoping to see more when we visit the Wall."

That settled it. She needed to speak to her father. He was more experienced in these matters. As for now, she needed to make the man, and his wife stay, which was challenging, since they were obviously planning on leaving soon, "Perhaps it would be better to wait. I am more than sure that my father would grant you a royal protection for your expedition, should we meet him. He has always been ardent in my ancestor's dreams."

The man chuckled, "My dear, what makes you think that I need any protection? Besides, you have a much bigger problem than some prophecy that will likely take place after your death. After all, the coming civil war between you and your half-siblings will likely preoccupy you."

For what felt like the hundredth time since the conversation began, Rhaenyra felt out of her depth, as if the man before her could see through her completely, "There will not be any wars. I am the rightful heir to the throne."

The man simply shook his head in disappointment, "This has been an experience, princess. I wish you good luck."

And just like that, Harry Potter left the room, leaving her alone with his wife. The white owl gave her a dismissive look before turning and flying back to its master. Even the golden-haired woman seemed just as disappointed as her husband, but did not leave. Rhaenyra chuckled bitterly, "Do you have anything more to say before you leave as well? Your husband has a way with words."

Daphne Potter snorted, "He's quite proud of this little fact. He's a scholar now, always strived to be, but he used to be a warrior once."

"He doesn't look like one," Rhaenyra joked back, trying to bring some levity to the conversation.

"I suppose he doesn't. Yet, Harry has spilt more blood than most could ever imagine, and he hated every moment of it. He hadn't wanted to fight a war. He always wanted to travel around, see what every corner of the world had to offer and learn from it. We did that, of course, after the war, but ever since then, he has always won with words. He's quite a master at it. He could turn armies with just a few clever sentences and plans. People often think that most of our enemies' mistakes were to let Harry talk. There is some truth in it, to be honest. And yet, I know something they don't. It's when he doesn't talk, when he's silent, that you need to be very, very afraid."

"And should I be?"

The woman shook her head with amusement, clear on her face, "No. He doesn't care enough to even get angry. You disappointed him, nothing more. It takes a lot to make him angry, and I'm afraid, I don't think you're quite capable of that."

"I disappointed him?" Rhaenyra Targaryen answered with astonishment in her tone, "I am the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, rider of Syrax, why would I care about some stranger's judgement, just because he doesn't think that there could be a ruler queen?"

"Where we're from, we've had many ruling queens over the years," the Potter Lady replied, surprising Rhaenyra completely, "For example, Queen Mary, Queen Elizabeth, and Queen Victoria all ruled over our home, and while historians debate whether they were perfect rules, their gender wasn't isn't regarded as an issue, not now. No, he isn't disappointed in your gender. He was disappointed in your answers and your actions, and I can see why. Civil war is on the horizon, and your father is ill. Your children's parentage is in question. I don't care if it's true or not, the rumours exist, and they will cause another succession crisis after your own death, even if you take the throne. Your side is not an attractive one, only enforced with an ill monarch's fondness for his first wife, and your dragons, which would have been enough, had the opposite side not had dragons as well. If you don't do anything, this will escalate into a war, one fought with dragons, and you probably know the consequences of something like that happening."

Rhaenyra slumped down, both angry and afraid. This stranger, a woman she had just met, just poured salt onto her fears for her future. She had known that she would need to fight Aegon over her throne, but for the facts to be laid out like this. It was extremely unsettling.

Thankfully, the woman hadn't expected a reply and continued, "You shouldn't really care about our opinions. We never planned on doing anything. Like we said, we are travellers and scholars, mostly. This is not our land. You are not our future Queen, nor is your half-brother our future King. But while Harry was obviously disappointed, he did offer you a boon. Consider it reparation for building a manse on your island."

"What are you talking about?"

"I mean the necklace around your neck," Lady Daphne answered with amusement in her voice.

"What necklace…" Rhaenyra answered while touching her neck. She froze when she realised that she was wearing a necklace. She removed it and took a good look at it. It was made of small strands of gold, as thin as hair, braided together. And instead of a special stone, there was a small sphere of glass, as big as a drop of rain. It was releasing a faint glow, which was oddly captivating to watch. She looked up at her guest and spoke up, "How?"

"The sphere is a vial. Inside is a liquid, specifically a phoenix tear, an immortal bird of fire and light. Their tears are extremely rare and very sought after. This drop is likely worth more than entire kingdoms, perhaps even more. That's because of its effect. Phoenix tears are, by far, the single most restorative serum in the world. It could bring someone from the brink of death. Perhaps it could even heal a king who has been slowly dying from a seemingly incurable disease."

Rhaenyra found herself breathless at the treasure in her hands. A part of her thought that it was a mummer's farce, perhaps even an attempt to kill her father, but she could feel it in her bones that the liquid could not possibly be harmful. While holding it, she felt comfortable, in a way she hadn't for years, not since her mother died.

"This should give you more time to prepare yourself for what's coming, and this is the only boon my husband and I are prepared to give you. What you do with it is up to you. Now, I must join my husband before he ends up promising anything to your children. He always does have a weakness for preserving their innocence."

And just like that, the golden-haired woman left the room without her permission. Yet, Rhaenyra didn't care. Instead, she was staring at the priceless treasure in her hands.