Ten, twenty, twenty-five…
This was no time to count the number of men who were still alive. Harry could barely remember them anyway as his body moved on pure instinct, steadily lowering their numbers one by one.
The burst of magic from the palm of his hand had shot out as quick as an arrow and knocked over man after man. Their semi-circle formation surrounding him and Oberyn had been their undoing, and their heavy mail made it more difficult to get back up than it otherwise would have.
Harry lunged for the first man, burying his blade into his exposed chin. He felt when the tip of his blade struck bone and quickly pulled it back out at the exact same time as he snatched a dagger from the man’s waist. The bandit next to the one he’d just killed had the foresight to bury his chin down to his chest as he scrambled for a weapon, but Harry merely threw open his visor and speared him straight through the eye. The blade scraped along bone, catching at one point and making it difficult for Harry to pull it back out.
No matter. He left the blade there as the man screamed his final scream and moved onto the next.
Bolts shot to the left and right of him; none touched him or Oberyn. Harry didn’t know if it was the effects of his spell or merely the poor aim of his assailants, but that debate didn’t truly matter at the moment. He was alive and hale, and that was enough.
Oberyn moved as quickly as Harry did. He quickly eschewed his blade in favour of a pair of daggers that he took turns burying into the brains of the fallen enemies. Even those who tried to stand back up were caught beneath the fallen forms of their allies, making their motions sloppy as they tried to slide out underneath the corpses atop them. A few brought up their weapons to try to defend themselves, but they had little leverage compared to the overhand strikes that Harry and Oberyn were capable of.
The distant sound of crossbows being armed drew Harry’s attention. He raised his head just as he speared a man through his ear, lazily knocking away the spear that his corpse tried to bring up.
The tall, gaunt man stood amid his soldiers with spittle flying out of his mouth as he raged at them. “Thoot them! Thoot them now before they hide!”
More than a dozen crossbows were aimed at Harry, Oberyn, and the remaining bandits who were only now able to get to their feet. Seeing the danger, Oberyn viciously hacked at the leather straps of a shield tied to a dead man’s arm. He brought it up in front of him and huddled behind it for cover. Harry, instead, stood up.
“Get down!” Oberyn snapped at Harry, truly fearing for Harry’s life.
Even having just seen him perform magic, Oberyn truly didn’t know what Harry was capable of. And neither did Harry. Ever since that night when he was imprisoned on Pyke, he’d only ever practised his magical abilities in private. At first, wandless magic had seemed wild, unwieldy, and unpredictable; while his practice hadn't exactly changed his view that having a wand allowed for greater control and accuracy with magic, he had gotten a better handle on how to perform magic. His repertoire of spells was limited, but he’d also learnt that one didn’t always need to speak a spell’s name to cast a spell, or even know the spell’s name to begin with. It reminded him of years ago when Aunt Petunia cut his hair only to have it regrow by the morning. It had been his will and motivation that had allowed that to happen.
And right now, Harry’s will to stay alive was as strong as it had been the night he’d faced off against Voldemort in the graveyard.
The moment the first crossbow bolt shot out, Harry flicked his hand upward. The ground trembled as a thick slab of stone rose from it, stretching across in front of Harry. Some of the bandits who were just now finding their footing were suddenly hoisted into the air by the stone and then dropped unceremoniously on either side of it. The sound of the crossbow bolts striking the stone was perfectly muffled.
Wide eyed, Oberyn peered out over his shield to find the much larger one protecting both him and Harry. “I have laid eyes upon men in the Free Cities who claim to be able to control flames, turn silver into gold, and even raise the dead. None of them have come close to performing a feat such as this.”
“Gawk later,” Harry retorted. “This will not hold the enemy for long.”
The wall stretched long enough to create two passageways on either side of it, caught between the stables and the Small Hall. Each path was wide enough for three or four men to walk side-by-side, which meant that it wasn’t narrow enough for either him or Oberyn to hold off the enemy. With the gate down at their backs, there was no way that they could try to remain here for long.
They needed a safe refuge. With the outer walls taken, their best bet was to make their way round to the Small Hall or perhaps over to the Throne Room. But that put them through dangerous, open territory.
After only a couple of spells, Harry felt his strength beginning to flag. Casting spells with wands was far easier at preserving his stamina. He could manage another three or four spells at this rate before he’d require a break, but if he tried anything more daring then he could easily expend his remaining energy.
Harry pressed his back to the stone slab and peered around the corner as he stowed his weapons—he feared that he might need his hands available for a quick couple of spells. The few bandits who’d been close to him and Oberyn were being called back by that man atop the walls, but there was something distracting the other bandits atop the walls. They were turned away from Harry and Oberyn, shouting at some unknown figures below.
“The Red Keep is sealed off!” A man screamed in a vaguely Dornish accent. “Return to the city at once or face the King’s wrath!”
Could it be allies? Even if it were simply knights returning to the Red Keep, they could prove to be the turning tide that Harry and Oberyn needed.
“Sonorus,” Harry murmured, waving at his throat. “Help!”
His voice only came out normally. He was shouting, but there was no way that anyone beyond the gates would be able to hear him.
Frustration brimmed inside of his chest. Of all times that his spell would fail.
“Geth them!” The man atop the outer walls shouted to the bandits below.
Harry grimaced as he looked over at Oberyn, and the man seemed to understand perfectly.
“I’ll hold them off as well as I can,” he said as he picked up a spear from a dead man.
Harry nodded at him as Oberyn ran to the other side of the stone slab. He stepped out into open view only to duck back into cover as several crossbow bolts flew past him, crashing into the stone walls beside the gate. Then, he twisted back around swiftly and gave an impressive roar.
“Sonorus,” Harry repeated, waving his hand strongly. “Help!”
His voice croaked and fell flat.
Was this truly his limit? Two spells and then his magic failed him entirely? He’d longed to craft a wand for years now, to return to the familiar way of spellcasting that he’d been taught for four full years, but wandless magic wasn’t something outside of the realm of possibilities. He’d seen Dumbledore perform it and heard of other magical schools who taught solely wandless magic. Even in practice, he’d been able to replicate the same spell five or six times in a row. He wasn’t tapped out of energy.
Harry closed his eyes, remembering hearing Professor McGonagall’s voice as she demanded everyone return to their dormitories in the wake of another attack by the Heir of Slytherin. He could practically hear Dumbledore’s booming voice as he announced each event in the Triwizard Tournament. Even back at the Quidditch World Cup, when he’d been alongside his friends, the announcers’ voices had boomed louder than the noise that the crowd could make.
He couldn’t die here.
He wasn’t going to die here.
Help was on the way, but they’d only make it if he convinced them that it was dire. The walls of the Red Keep were strong but not impregnable. And if these bandits could be distracted with a fight on two fronts, then all the better for Harry and Oberyn.
The first clash of steel against steel rang out from the other side of the stone slab. Harry couldn’t fail again.
“Sono—”
He was in the midst of repeating his motions when a screaming, bloodthirsty bandit came sprinting around the stone slab on the opposite side from Oberyn. His longsword was raised overhead in the way that a novice would carry himself, but he didn’t hesitate when he saw Harry. The man quickly changed his angle and swung down his blade, only for Harry to twist out of the way.
With a forceful lunge, Harry slammed his shoulder into the man’s side, slamming him against the stone slab and making his head ring as his helmet clattered against it. The longsword nearly fell uselessly from the man’s hands, but the tips of his fingers maintained grip. With a last-ditch attempt, he tried to swing it towards Harry, but they were both in such close proximity that the blade was never going to touch Harry.
Furiously, Harry jabbed his mailed fingers into the man’s eyes. He pushed and pushed as the man shrieked until blood began spilling out around his fingers. Only then did he pull his hand back and shove the man away from him.
“Sonorus!” Harry shouted at the top of his lungs, waving his bloody fingers across his throat. “Help!”
His voice boomed like thunder cracking in the sky. It reverberated around the stone walls of the Red Keep so loudly that Harry brought his hands up to cover his ears, but he knew that he couldn’t stop now.
“Bandits have taken over the Red Keep! Help us free our castle!”
Drawing his blade, Harry rounded the corner of the stone slab to see Oberyn bleeding from a wound on his head and arm. His spear was buried in the chest of a man laid flat back on the ground next to another dead man while five others still surrounded him. All of them were clutching at their ears as Harry’s voice continued to ring out painfully around them.
Drawing his longsword, Harry pointed at one of the bandits with his free hand. “Accio bandit!”
The poor man was pulled from his feet, sent flying through the air, only to impale himself through the belly on Harry’s longsword. But that was about as far as he got before Oberyn and the others recovered.
It was a swirling, painful battle as Harry and Oberyn fought with all they had. Harry quickly placed himself on Oberyn’s injured side and did what he could to protect the man. Despite his injury, Oberyn fought with the strength and ferocity of any strong knight. He clattered away strikes, trusting Harry to help protect any openings that he left behind, and then he returned the same protection for Harry.
Had these bandits been anywhere near as well trained as either of them, the fight would’ve been over by now. Every swipe these bandits made was either lazy or so full of desperation that it became easy to block with a swift parry and a follow-up thrust that saw the bandit die.
Harry and Oberyn each suffered their own blows as well. Wild slashes that came in weren’t always parried perfectly, and while their mail absorbed much of the damage, there were always those small cuts that somehow managed to find gaps in their armour or forceful blows that were sure to leave bruises and sprains. Thankfully, Harry didn’t feel any of his bones break, even when he took a hammer to the chest. It could merely be his adrenaline keeping him intact, but he couldn’t second guess his decisions in such a critical moment. With every man he and Oberyn cut down, he could see the resolve of the bandits flagging. Back when they were dealing with them in the Kingswood, many bandits fled the moment that things looked bad for them. They’d trusted in their superior numbers here and, had they used a modicum of intellect to effectively distribute themselves, maybe they would have succeeded. But without the tactics that were required to overwhelm more-skilled foes, they were being beaten back easily.
As Oberyn sliced across a bandit’s torso with the tip of his blade, the man lunged back instinctively, completely forgetting the fact that the mail was keeping him safe. It bought them a few more moments as the tip of Harry’s sword found a weak point in a bandit’s thigh and gouged him open. Blood spilt out freely onto the ground, and in a panic, the man tried to swipe at Harry’s face, only for his reach to fall short as Harry kicked him onto his back.
He would bleed out soon enough—his artery had been cut—but until he died, the man could still prove to be dangerous. Harry kept his distance, warily eyeing the other bandits who were spreading out again. They kept trying to do this, but the dead at their feet made their motions awkward. As soon as one stumbled, it opened up a vulnerability that Harry and Oberyn exploited more than not.
“They’re coming over!” The tall man shouted atop the walls.
All of the crossbow men who’d turned to face the threat at the gates suddenly leaped into action. Bolts rained down upon those who were trying to breach the Red Keep’s gate, but there was no sign of relief even as the first couple of volleys went out.
Harry only briefly paid the outer walls any attention—his main focus was on the men before him—but what he saw was always promising. Everyone up there seemed so focused on what was outside the walls that it gave him an idea.
It was bold, it would be incredible, and it was utterly stupid.
The Summoning Charm was a spell he’d learnt to use with a single object. Although it could reach a far distance, he had no way of knowing how many targets it could affect at once. Of course, his intent played a part in determining specifically what he was affecting with his magic, but he didn’t know how much energy it would take out of him.
Using wandless magic often felt like exercising a muscle he rarely used. Even in the few moments he was able to practise his magic, he was never able to attempt the types of grand feats that he was imagining in his mind right now. Just causing that giant stone slab to rise from the ground was beyond anything that he’d ever done before.
But if this was the time that a grandiose feat should be attempted. Even if he pushed himself too far, it might just be the thing he needed to save himself and those he loved. Margaery was still fighting on the far side of the wall with only Jon Snow and his direwolf at her side. He needed to get to her and make sure that she was safe.
That burning desire in his chest fuelled him as he stretched out his open hand before clenching it into a fist and yanking it back towards himself.
“Accio bandits.”
It felt like a punch to his stomach as the magic took hold. Harry doubled over at the waist, choking and spitting up saliva as screams rang out. He glanced up through watery eyes to witness the beautiful sight of over a dozen bandits being yanked off of the walls and falling to the ground below. His spell hadn’t been as strong as to pull them directly to him and Oberyn as he’d intended—hoping that the two of them could easily cleave through the discombobulated foes—but it worked well enough. Even the tall, gaunt man came flying over with a screech of surprise.
But even with as successful as that spell had been, Harry wasn’t done. He turned around, still reeling from the pained feeling in his gut, and threw aside his blade to free up both of his hands. He stared up at the great stone slab he’d created and jabbed his hands forward.
“Bombarda!” He shouted.
An explosion rocketed him, knocking him onto the ground amid the dead bodies around him as the stone slab shattered. That feeling in his gut turned from an inconvenient pain into something truly terrible.
Rolling over, Harry hurled up the bile in his empty stomach into the dirt. Tears sprang to his eyes as the acrid scent hit his nose. He needed to get up and do more, but his body was revolting.
No! He had to think of himself and Margaery! Their lives were truly just beginning, and they could have a real future together. He’d always wanted a real home. In his dreams, he lived in a cosy cottage with his parents. It was the same type of life that he wanted his children to experience; although, he supposed raising his children in the castle on Dragonstone would be just as fine.
The clanging of steel signalled that Oberyn was still fighting off their attackers, but his screams of pain were joining in the others. Harry needed to help, but his vision was growing blurry.
Harry rolled onto his back and lifted his hands at the messy pile of stone and debris that sat a ways past his feet. Without uttering a single incantation, he lifted the mass into the air. Then, with a single thought and a flick of his wrists, he sent that mass flying back behind him. It was only at the last second that Harry grabbed Oberyn by his ankle and yanked him from his feet. The man’s chin struck the ground painfully, but Harry figured that he’d be forgiven when Oberyn realised what Harry had saved him from.
The massive horde of chipped stone, dust, and dirt came flying violently overhead. The bandits attacking him and Oberyn barely had time to scream before they were knocked off of their feet by the onslaught they faced. The men who’d fallen from the outer walls who were trying to stand up were buffeted by the blow too.
Harry smiled at the sight, watching it all in his blurry vision. Ladders had been raised on the outer wall, and knights in battle-ready armour came spilling out over the top one after the other. They flooded across the walls and began making their way down into the yard where the bandits were. Harry and Oberyn were easily forgotten as the remaining bandits turned their sights onto the new fighters.
The world shifted in and out of focus as Harry forced himself up to his knees. His body heaved, but he had nothing left in his stomach to give up.
“Get up! You’re going to die if you lose focus now,” Oberyn shouted at Harry as he helped him to his feet.
But Harry had just barely managed to get hold of his bearings when a great, lumbering force slammed into his side. He was knocked off of his feet and would’ve taken Oberyn down with him too had the clever man not twisted out of the way at the last moment.
Even in the midst of the chaos, with knights raining down on the bandits, the tall, gaunt leader seemed keen on getting his vengeance against Harry.
The man pinned Harry down with his body and raised an axe overhead. Then, he brought it down right down onto Harry’s shoulder. The force was so great that it drove Harry’s main links into his flesh, and this time his adrenaline didn’t do as good of a job at hiding the pain from him.
Oberyn roared and thrust his weapon towards the man, but another bandit came charging in and intercepted the blow.
“No helpth for you now,” the man grinned.
Harry tried to call upon his magic instinctively, but all it did was make him feel more sick. Still, he fought through the pain and waved his hand, only for the man atop him to batter it away before he could complete the spell.
The man twisted the axe, preparing to slash across Harry’s throat, when his head fell away from his body.
A steaming spray of blood splattered across Harry’s face as the man’s corpse fell atop him, but just a second later someone pulled the body away and reached out a hand to help Harry up.
“This is the second time you’ve saved me from an assailant,” Harry said to Ser Osmund Kettleblack, still partially in shock. Osmund had proved himself at the tourney grounds and now again in an actual battle.
The powerful man hoisted Harry to his feet as knights rushed around them to offer their aid, but the remaining bandits were all cut down now. The yard looked an utter mess with all of the bodies and shrapnel strewn throughout it.
“Ser Davos!” Harry called out, spotting a familiar face in the crowd.
The sailor came over with a hard frown on his face. “I was worried about you. Where is Lord Baratheon?”
“Somewhere,” Harry shook his head. He had to find Margaery and his father too. “Listen, there are likely still more bandits elsewhere in the castle. We need to organise a proper search of it. But first, I need help getting through this gate.” He gestured to the sealed portcullis behind him.
As Ser Davos sent men to deal with the issue, Harry turned to Oberyn. The man was bleeding from half a dozen cuts but had the widest smile on his face. “This will be quite the story to tell once I am back home.”
“It’s not done yet,” Harry reminded him. “Margaery and Jon are still in trouble.”
“Then let us find them,” Oberyn said.
“Wait,” Ser Davos interrupted. “You must know that there was an attack upon the tourney ground. Matters there have become quite dire after—”
“We can discuss what happened another time,” Harry cut him off. Right now, all he could think about was finding his wife-to-be, Jon, Ghost, and his father. “This is more important.”
Ser Davos opened his mouth to argue back, but Harry was already on the move, being helped on by Oberyn and Osmund. The three of them hurried through the open gate and rounded into the bailey, where they saw tens of bodies laying about with twisted necks, caved-in armour, and horrific bludgeoning wounds to their faces. And in the far distance, he saw them. Everyone had their backs to them except for Lord Baelish, who was speaking to the ground as he slowly walked down the steps from the Godswood.
“Margaery!” Harry shouted at the top of his lungs.
If ever there was a moment that he felt true happiness, it was right then. The relief of seeing the love of his life alive and seemingly uninjured made his heart soar. All of the energy he’d expended and the risk of having his magic be exposed had been worth it for just this simple moment.
He took off running, and Magaery was so stunned that she fell to her knees as tears welled up in her eyes. The momentous relief overwhelmed her. Harry fell just in front of her, wrapping his arms around her tightly, ignoring the stinging pain from his injured shoulder.
But as everything finally felt like it was over, Jon spoke up.
“Ghost?” He asked quizzically.
Harry peered over Margaery’s shoulder and saw Ghost baring his teeth at Lord Baelish, who’d paused his walk down the stairs. He was looking a little worried, eyeing the direwolf warily.
“Ghost, it’s fine,” Jon tried to reassure him, but the direwolf could not be swayed. And then, realisation came over Jon’s face. He pointed up at Baelish and shouted over his shoulder at Harry and Oberyn. “He’s the one Ghost’s been tracking!
“Are you sure?” Harry asked as he carefully stood up. Margaery did the same, turning back to face Baelish.
“Ghost’s nose is never wrong,” Jon promised him. “He didn’t act this way with my father or yours, and both of them are on the small council.”
“You’ve finally been caught, after all this time,” Oberyn smirked at Baelish.
“What are the three of you talking about?” Eddard asked plainly.
“He’s the one who’s been behind the bandits and outlaws attacking us all these months!” Harry exclaimed loudly. “We found evidence in the tunnels beneath the Red Keep that pointed to the person who organised these attacks. We couldn’t find a name, but Ghost tracked down their smell. I bet that if we match the writing in the letters and journals we found to Lord Baelish’s, they’d match perfectly.”
“Me?” Baelish laughed lightly. “I can assure you that I’d never attempt something as foolish as organising a rebellion against the crown. I’ve dedicated my life to serving. Question me if you must, but I can assure you that your assumptions about me are unfounded.”
He sounded so genuine that Harry was almost tempted to trust his word. Almost.
“Then will the Hand of the King order his arrest?” Harry prompted Eddard.
Eddard had a stony expression on his face. Instead of turning to Jon, Oberyn or Harry, he looked to Stannis. With just the slightest tilt of his chin in confirmation, Eddard turned back to Lord Baelish.
“In the name of King Robert, I call upon Ser Harry, Ser Oberyn, Ser Osmund, and Jon Snow to seize this man and take him into custody,” Eddard declared.
Baelish’s small smile faltered for a second. “This is a terrible mistake.”
“No, it is not,” Stannis replied quietly.
“Do it,” Baelish said as he turned to run.
Harry moved to give chase when something struck him in the back of his head. He collapsed forward, and the moment his head struck the ground, the world went black.