Hadrian Snow
They had seen the smoke rising from Oldtown before the Hightower even came into view on the horizon. Their ride south through the Reach down the Roseroad was done unopposed, with any travelers or knights they encountered fleeing rather than risk combat.
It was when they were a day and nights ride away from Oldtown that his scouts saw the smoke, rising in the general direction of the city. It grew in volume alarmingly, before cutting out the next morning as his column of men-at-arms appeared within viewing distance of the city itself.
The city’s gates remained shut, as Harry hadn’t bothered with stealth in their approach. Having Margaery and Arianne in tow, he did not want to subject the two Ladies to violence. Sacking the city would be his least favorable option, and he would do his best to negotiate first before resorting to force.
He rode up close to the gate, stopping ten yards away before a guard on the walls got the courage to speak up. “Halt! Who goes there?!”
“I am Hadrian Snow, Commander of the two thousand men you see before you by the order of Lord Eddard Stark, Hand of the King!” He announced himself. “I command you men to open these gates and surrender this city to my authority!”
“Hah! You only have two thousand men! What good will that do you here?!”
“These same two thousand men took Bitterbridge, and even helped me ransack Highgarden.” Harry replied easily, making the guards in view blanch. “Trust me, I could take this city with only a tenth of the men behind me!”
The old captain who had spoke reddened. “A mummers tale if I’ve ever heard one!”
Harry resisted the urge to whip out his magic and let loose. He had a hundred different ways to take this city without convincing the old geezer in front of him to open the gates. But it was his preference to avoid violence that made him come forth like this, knowing it work out better for all parties involved if no blood was shed.
That said, some of his men had dressed up as refugees and snuck into the city already, and he could easily have them open the gates from within in the dead of night. And then there was the option to bring Margaery forth, as the daughter of Mace Tyrell would surely be able to get them inside on her word alone.
But before he could so much as mutter a response, something on the other side of the wall seemed to get the guards’ attention. He could hear some shouts and a lot of commotion, but not violence, and soon the gates opened.
A thin blonde woman rode out on her mount. She looked innocent and pale, akin to someone who spent most of their days reading in libraries rather than riding. A noblewoman if he ever saw one, yet exhausted and unclean, with her cloak dirty and blonde hair pulled back into a messy braid.
The woman wetted her lips and straightened her shoulders, clearly not used to dealing with tense situations such as these. “I am Malora Hightower, eldest daughter to my father, Lord Leyton Hightower of Oldtown. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking to?”
Malora Hightower. He couldn’t say he had ever heard of the woman in front of him, not that it was all that surprising. The only woman of House Hightower he really knew anything about was Lynesse Hightower, a noblewoman who held a certain bit of infamy in the North for what she did to House Mormont. And besides that, Harry was a northern bastard who didn’t spend his days memorizing family trees of southern Houses in the Reach.
He immediately assumed that the woman in front of him was the highest authority behind Leyton Hightower, as there was no way a southron Lord would let his daughter handle a situation like this. It meant that Oldtown had likely undergone fighting, if the smoke he saw was any indication, and that Malora might be the last Hightower still living.
“I am Hadrian Snow, base born son of House Stark, and acting under the direct authority of Lord Eddard Stark, Hand of the King.” He stated boldly, making the woman tense. “I have come to investigate any traitorous acts that Lord Hightower is suspected to be involved in, and determine the fate of House Hightower.”
“T-The fate of my House?” The blonde stuttered. “S-Surely one such as yourself cannot carry out such a decision on your own.”
She was right in the sense that dissolving or executing members of a House, especially a powerful one like House Hightower, couldn't be done by someone as lowly ranked as him. Typically House Tyrell, or probably even the King himself, would have to do it. But the war had made the world a different place, and Ned had been clear in his instructions to him.
“We live in uncertain times, my Lady. And it is the suspected use of dark magic that has the crown on edge, worried that Leyton Hightower will continue to use his power to drag the kingdom into further ruin. We do not want another revived and empowered corpse similar to Loras Tyrell running around once again, much less for Lord Hightower to create a veritable army of them.”
It had been his fight with Loras Tyrell’s reanimated corpse that led to this, as Harry had confided in what he saw that day to Ned. The Hand of the King had ordered him to investigate the matter forcefully, giving him the full authority to do to House Hightower as he saw fit.
And that was something that the woman in front of him was coming to realize. He could tell by her startled expression that Malora Hightower knew something was amiss. The accusations of sorcery were not immediately shot down by her, which he expected, as she instead seemed to be more worried about her House’s future.
“I-I…” She worked to compose herself, closing her eyes and sighing. “I shall allow you inside the city’s walls, and residence within the Hightower for the time being.”
Harry bowed in gratitude atop his horse. “Thank you, my Lady.”
She turned atop her horse, with Harry following along with his retinue. Meanwhile the city’s guards watched from the roadsides as hundreds of armed men entered Oldtown, knowing that the situation could easily come to blows if anything went wrong.
He couldn’t help but notice the condition of many of the Hightower men, blooded and beaten. They were tired, much like their Lady. Many of the buildings were burnt or damaged, blood marring the walls and streets. They had been attacked, that much was clear, but he wanted details.
“If I may ask, what happened here?”
“The Greyjoys took the Arbor, not that it was a challenge with most of their fleet sunk.” Malora said as they rode. “They attacked in the night, and even managed to fight all the way to the base of the Hightower itself. My remaining brothers died in the attack, and my House has truly never been weaker.”
“You have my condolences, truly.” Harry said, genuinely earnest, and she shot him a glance that spoke of some surprise.
“My Father still lives, but it is doubtful he will survive another fortnight.” She continued. “It was the reason I allowed you entry, as it is pointless to execute a bedridden Lord with no direct male heir.”
“I see.” He had thought she allowed them into the city too easily, and realized now it was more out of desperation and hopelessness for her situation than anything else. The woman was tired and not someone who craved power or Lordship, which was why she gave in to his demands.
They crossed over a bridge that still had the marks of fresh battle, corpses pushed to the sides with destroyed barricades still visible. He could see the doors to the keep’s main courtyard were battered open from a battering ram, which proved that the Greyjoys had indeed managed to penetrate this far.
There was no grand reception, as Malora simply dismounted before turning towards what was the tower’s main entrance. “Come, my father is-”
“A moment.” She turned in confusion to see him standing in place, watching as a guarded carriage was pulled up.
It stopped and Harry moved up to open its door, as Arianne stepped out first, followed by Margaery. He turned around to see a look of utter shock on Malora’s face, clearly not knowing he had the two noblewomen with him.
“L-Lady Margaery…” Malora stuttered out.
“Lady Malora, a pleasure to see you once again.” Margaery courtsied. “I apologize if we are imposing on your hospitality.”
“N-Not at all.” Malora’s eyes went to Arianne next.
For her part, the Dornish princess only smirked, seemingly amused at the struggle session he was putting this woman through. “I am Princess Arianne of House Martell. A pleasure to meet you, Lady Hightower, and might I say how beautiful you are?”
The two had obviously never met, and he enjoyed the bewildered look on her face, especially as she looked back to him. Harry could tell Malora was reassessing him, wondering how a supposed bastard had the likes of these two beauties following him around.
But, as amusing as it was to see the woman’s brain malfunctioning, he had tasks to finish. “Lady Malora, may we continue?”
“O-Of course.” She said faintly, turning and leading him into the massive lighthouse that served as the keep for House Hightower.
Harry was only grateful the place had elevators, else he would’ve had to enchant and construct them himself out of sheer frustration. A building that was supposedly taller than the Wall would take hours, maybe even days, to navigate through traditional stairwells.
What had to be the Lord’s quarters seemed to be near the top of the tower, and came with many windows and balconies. The views were akin to looking out of a skyscraper in his old world, except that the viewer would instead look over a medieval city.
Lord Leyton Hightower was indeed bedridden, surrounded by aids who quickly left the room when they entered.
His chest was covered in blooded gauze, and Harry could see unnatural looking black scars on his exposed flesh. It was like a giant tentacle had slashed part of his body, teeth marks scarring in circles that dug into his skin.
“Leyton Hightower.” Harry said. “I have come under the authority of Lord Eddard Stark, Hand of the King, to judge you for your crimes.”
“So you finally came.” The old man coughed roughly. “Here to finish me off, boy?”
“It seems I came to late for that.”
“Indeed, the Stranger will take me soon.” Lord Hightower smirked in a self deprecating fashion. “I deserve nothing less for my crimes.”
“So you admit it?”
“My new King made me do it.” He answered in shame, all while Malora looked on in worry. “Mace ran his mouth, desperate to save his favorite son, and Renly caught wind of my supposed talents. He ordered me to heal his lover, even if Loras Tyrell was little more than a corpse at that point. But our new King was desperate, and would’ve succumbed to madness if ser Loras wasn’t healed.”
“Healed, you say?” Harry thought back to Loras Tyrell, more monster than man, body overtaken by the drowned god.
“I have committed unspeakable crimes, and the seven shall judge me for them.” Leyton said carelessly.
“The seven, or maybe the Drowned God perhaps?” Harry asked, making the man pale while Malora let out a frightened noise. He changed the topic, “I heard Greyjoys managed to attack, did they do this to you?”
“It was Euron Greyjoy.” The man scowled. “Bastard used the whole attack as a diversion, sacrificed most of his men in the process. Yet he still reached the base of the Hightower, delved into its deepest depths and all the way to the doorway.”
“The doorway?” Harry asked, seeing the worried look Malora and Leyton shared.
“Aye.” The man coughed blood. “The Hightower was built on top of something… older. Something not built by man.”
“Some of the Maesters believe that a race called the deep ones built the base of the tower.” Malora said at his questioning look. “Creatures from the sea who supposedly worshipped the Drowned God, using material men know not. Inside the base of the tower is a stairway that goes down deep into the earth, ending finally at a doorway.”
“Cool.” The two shot him odd looks, but he didn’t care.
Harry had always been intrigued by magic and history in this new world he had been born into. It was one of the reasons he left Winterfell when he was younger after all, wanting to see more of the world along with the Wall.
“So he’s still down there, I assume?” Harry asked. “Euron Greyjoy?”
Leyton coughed again. “Aye. I ventured down with my household guard, yet he killed all of them. Even my son…”
He probably had similar powers to Loras. Harry realized then that this doorway had probably been studied for generations by House Hightower, which was likely how Leyton could empower Loras Tyrell. Sacrificing portions of oneself to a god for power was how most magic seemed to work in this world, as Harry had seen it with those fully devoted to R’hllor.
“I’m not going to kill you.” He decided then. “However, your House will end with your daughter, not that anyone else would take the Hightower name anyways.”
Typically a Lord with only a daughter for a heir would find a second or third son to take her name. However, Harry knew that would be very difficult to pull off in the coming years. The Reach was in chaos, and it was likely the Lannisters would sooner put a cadet House in charge of Oldtown rather than allowing Malora to live and deliver a male heir.
And even then, Leyton’s crimes were enough to tarnish the Hightower name.
“See that she lives out her days well.” Leyton asked of him, agreeing with his judgement. “My House’s crimes have truly come around to end us.”
“Think of it how you wish, Lord Hightower. If it’s any comfort, Euron Greyjoy will die today.” Harry turned and began to leave, only for hasty footsteps to follow him out.
“Wait!” Malora chased after him. “You can’t seriously be considering this!”
“Relax, my Lady.” He said. “It’s not like my new home can have the likes of Greyjoy residing in its basement.”
“Your home?” She voiced. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly as it sounds.” He said easily. “House Hightower’s Lord committed serious crimes that the Hand sent me here to investigate. It just so happens he is about to be dead, his heirs gone, and House Hightower practically extinct except for you, my Lady. So I will be ruling Oldtown for the time being. Besides, someone really needs to clean up this mess and prevent anyone else from sacking this city.”
The Lannisters, Tullys, and Greyjoys were pillaging the Reach as they spoke, and the only hope Oldtown had was himself taking the city over under the authority of Lord Stark who was Hand of the King. Besides, with Arianne being his bride and Margaery his “prisoner”, he would have enough political power to cement his position.
“Fine.” Malora Hightower grit out after a moment, crossing her arms in a way that emphasized her sizeable bust. I think I now understand how Jorah Mormont fell for her sister.
/////
The fighting at the base of the Hightower had clearly been some of the fiercest. Broken and split doors, bloodstains on the walls, along with the numerous corpses of men-at-arms and Ironmen alike who littered the halls as he passed.
All Harry had to do was follow the carnage, navigating down hallways and stairwells as he went deeper and deeper into the oversized lighthouse. Soon the walls around him began to change, becoming darker in color and no longer being a recognizable material.
“Lumos.”
The oily black walls seemed to eat away at the light from his weirwood and unicorn haired wand - which he wielded in preparation to face a magical opponent. Whatever Euron Greyjoy had become was affiliated with Dark Magic, and he didn’t want to take his chances with wielding a sword against such a being.
Eventually, the dark hallway opened to a massive round chamber, with a staircase spiraling down along its edges deep into a dark abyss below. Harry followed the stairs, having no railing yet being wide enough that several men could walk side by side. Even this part of the tower saw fighting, with corpses and blood decorating every few steps. Yet unlike before, no one had been down here to move them aside, meaning he was the first one down here since Lord Hightower fled.
Minutes went by as he followed the spiraling stairwell, which soon began to feel like hours, all while Harry descended deeper into the earth. It was when the light from his wand caught the bottom that he let out a relieved breath, seeing more of that familiar flat, oily black stone beneath his feet.
A flick of his wrist sent the light from his wand up high, lighting up the entirety of the bottom of the chamber and revealing a huge doorway. Massive was too small a word for it, as it was a gate fit for something no mortal should ever have been planning around. Twin doors of black metal or stone - he could not tell which - rose forty feet high, carved with spiraling patterns that hurt to look at directly.
It all came with an instinctive feeling of wrongness, shapes that hurt for his brain to try and process, covered in an ancient script he had never seen before. He felt the urge to turn around and leave, but shut that thought down quickly with his occulmency, instead taking a step forward.
It was like his decision was a proclamation, and a wet dragging noise followed by a gurgling laugh sounded out. The gargantuan gate opened, not fully, with one door cracking open just enough to view the abyss beyond.
The man that emerged had been transformed into something grotesquely inhuman. Dark blue-black flesh glistened with seawater, portions of it splitting and reforming in slow pulses. His left arm was no longer an arm at all, but a mass of writhing tentacles lined with glistening suckers and barbed hooks.
More appendages coiled from beneath its tattered cloak, dragging wetly across the stone floor. All while spherical blooms pulsed with its heartbeat, barnacles clinging to what remained of the man’s body like armor. His torso shifted subtly with each breath, as though something beneath the skin kept rearranging itself.
Euron Greyjoy looked like something out of a muggle horror film set on the sea, and only the side of his face that had an eyepatch was recognizable.
“Disgusting, isn’t it?” The creature boomed out. “The weakness of flesh?”
“I’d much rather stay as I am than end up like you.”
“I suppose you would...” Half of Euron Greyjoy’s face split into a mad grin. “Harry Potter!”
His posture stiffened, no longer relaxed. “Who are you?”
“I am what I’ve always wanted to become!” The creature reared up. “A GOD!”
A tentacle the width of a tree trunk slammed into the ground where Harry had been standing half a second earlier. Black stone shattered beneath it, fragments sprayed outward as he maneuvered across wet stone, barely avoiding a second strike that came shrieking through the air.
“Protego!” His shield charm flared, intercepting the whipping appendage. Yet the impact still sent him skidding backward through ankle-deep seawater that had somehow leaked into the chamber.
“Bombarda. Confringo.” He blew off a chunk of limbs from Euron’s body, but they only regrew, with the creature laughing all the while.
That was when three tentacles sprung out from his back and came at him, with Harry cutting one of them in half, dodging the next, and shielding the last one. His protego cracked at the force, and he cast an incendiary charm to burn it.
“It is pointless to resist!” The creature shouted madly. “I have traveled the world, ventured to where maps die! A meager sorcerer like you will never triumph against my power and knowledge!”
“Your power?” He asked, taking a moment to rub the blood from the corner of his mouth. “Or that of the drowned god, who will soon kill you?”
“Huh?”
Before Euron could understand, he moved, using his magic to whip the doorway behind him all the way open. The abyss beyond was fully visible then, and it came with a deep roar. Euron screamed as his body transformed, expanding and swelling grotesquely as his head transformed into a being with bulbous six eyes.
He lost anything that resembled humanity, transforming into a monstrous kraken-like creature that growled and gargled. Harry felt the urge to kneel before it, and instinctively knew that this was an emissary of the Drowned God who had temporarily entered the world.
The doorway had been a path to the other side, a realm more influenced by gods, with the slightest crack allowing a mortal to slip through and get a taste of the power beyond. But opening the doorway all the way allowed other beings to slip into their own world, which meant Euron’s care in only taking a smidgen in power was now all for naught.
“I guess you won’t turn around and go back in there if I ask nicely?” Harry asked the creature in front of him.
The avatar of the Drowned God roared at him, clearly not wanting to be caged. It was free to influence the realm of mortals more effectively now after all, and wouldn’t want to give up his newly gained power.
Typically, the best idea would be to run at this moment, and to try and barricade the beast in front of him down here. But Harry had an ace up his sleeve, his own Goddess who would help in times like this.
He felt it before it happened, the burning flame at the top of the Hightower flaring blindingly bright like a second sun. The Lord of Light became known, a presence in the air, as Harry’s arm extended outwards. Flame erupted at his fingertips, making the creature in front of him pause.
“Leave this place, or burn.” That was when he launched his attack, making the Drowned God roar in pain as fire leapt out to consume everything in front of him. Its tentacles were burned away faster than they could regrow, its eyes bleeding and body consumed in flame.
It moved in haste, turning and doing the equivalent of a sprint on its tentacle-like legs before leaping through the dark gateway beyond. His magic slammed the doorway closed behind it, making sure to lock it with an absurd amount of conjured chains.
When all was said and done, and he was left alone in the dark chamber, Harry let out a groan. He looked forward to recovering and being alone with Margaery and Arianne that evening, maybe even sharing a bath with the two. Perhaps Val would like to join? Or maybe Malora?
/////
What became known as the War of Kings came to a dour and bloody end.
Renly Baratheon stabbed himself rather than fight to the death in his camp, doing so only after many of his bannermen left him the night before. The battle that followed would see his most loyal bannermen along with House Tyrell crushed, leading to a subsequent war of succession and rebellion within the Reach between various Lords.
However, the Reach was not left alone by the other Kingdoms, as the Westerlands, Riverlands, Dorne, and Iron Islands began their own campaigns within the Reach to eagerly seize territory for themselves.
Many Maesters debate the reasons for this subsequent conflict, with many blaming the weak leadership of King Tommen Baratheon for allowing it to happen. With Tywin Lannister gravely wounded and unable to adequately lead as he did previously, the position of House Lannister within the court became less secure than before. It fell to his children, namely Queen Mother Cersei Lannister to guide her son and secure the realm, a task ill-fitted to a woman of her temperament.
It came as no surprise that Ned Stark was soon dismissed as Hand when the war ended, his presence not tolerated by the court of King’s Landing that favored House Lannister. For his part, the Stark Lord was only to happy to head North and return to Winterfell.
As for his bastard, Hadrian Snow, would continue his journey south to secure Oldtown. He would bring justice to Leyton Hightower, with the aging Lord confessing to serious crimes of dark sorcery, yet was spared due to already being lethally injured[…]
Excerpt From “The Fall of Kings, the Reach Brought to Ruin”
By Archmaester Madeira
Disclaimer: All Characters are over the Age of 18
A/N:
In regards to the recent GOT/HP story poll, the Pirate Harry option has won!
I’ll admit that I didn’t expect that option to win, but can certainly see the nuance and appeal of it. I’m currently brainstorming ideas for the plot, which so far includes Daenerys, Old Valyria, lots of dragons, and piracy. You can expect to see Harry sailing the world, toppling dynasties, and claiming beautiful maidens!
As for this story and chapter, I never really planned on doing anything with Euron but threw him in last minute. This story still has more chapters to go, and probably a few epilogues, and then the new one will come after