athassprkr
patreon
(EM Vol. 2: A Wandering Melody) Chapter 63: A River’s Song
🕑 Added 2025-09-02 14:00:28 +0000 UTCChapter 63: A River’s Song
123 AC, Harrenhal
Alys Rivers always knew that the world was a cruel place. It was perhaps her first lesson, born as the bastard daughter of a lordling and a whore. One parent ignored her as his shame, wanting no part in the responsibility of raising a baseborn daughter, while the other wished to use that daughter to rise in the world, to be more than just a whore.
She failed. She overreached and died, like many who tried to rise above their station. One of her regulars, a knight, did not like the fact that she had left the brothel. She had not died well, and Alys learned that nobles were monstrous creatures. It took a few moons alone, without anyone to help her, sent away from her mother’s few friends, that every person was a monster beneath it all, and how would anyone survive in a world of monsters without becoming one?
Alys would have died if it weren't for a Woods Witch finding her, some dwarven albino woman, who hadn’t even spoken her name. She learned from the woman how to see the world, understand the past and the future. She learned how to heal with herbs and remedies. She learned of blood. She learned about life. She learned of Death.
The woman disappeared one day, leaving Alys alone in the world. She didn’t attempt to find her and instead worked as a Woods Witch around Harrenhal, gaining influence over the smallfolk there. Her father, Lyonel Strong, found her, having learned of her presence and recognising her features at once. He invited her to live in the castle, and she accepted.
She didn’t do it out of love or sympathy for him. Alys knew that Lyonel Strong was young when he sired her, a foolish young man who wished to remove the taint that her birth had on his honour, something that he regretted later. Men were simple creatures with simple wants and desires that Alys had learned to twist over the years.
No, she accepted his offer because the curse of Harren the Black had fascinated her. She heard stories and couldn’t help but admire a man who would, while dying to dragon fire, still have the strength to curse an entire fortress.
It took some time to understand that it was a hard as steel, only becoming flexible as it was passed down. She had only learned this by accident when she killed Lyonel and Harwin. They hadn’t been happy with her growth in influence when they returned from King’s Landing after years of absence. She had decided that Harrenhal would be hers and hers alone and had all but acted as its lady when they were away, the castellan being too terrified of her to protest.
There was also the coming pressure, the visions that Harrenhal would be central to a conflict in the future, likely the civil war that no one needed magic to foresee.
She knew that Lyonel and Harwin would come moons before they did and had taken steps accordingly to mitigate all of the coming threats. They were good men despite their faults. Alas, the world was a cruel place.
She strengthened herself with their sacrifice, soaring into new heights, stopped threats to her authority of Harrenhal, and also gained an entire new understanding of the curse that plagued her domain, all from just two lives. She couldn’t regret it, especially since Larys had all but given her leave to do as she wished, while he was busy playing his little game in the Capital.
Alys would admit that Larys grew on her over the years, as the only person connected to her by blood who had a modicum of talent. She nurtured his Skinchanging, hoping to one day use him as a pawn, but despite herself, she saw another lost soul, another child of Lyonel Strong forced to see the world as it was, even as a child.
Alys didn’t regret killing him, but she still mourned him. It was necessary.
Fate was shaken, and Alys’s sight was clouded, but she knew that something was coming, a storm unlike any other. She’d felt it when the Drowned God perished, not defeated, but actively perished. Death itself walked the world, and it would inevitably come to Harrenhal. She needed to protect herself. She needed to ensure her survival, and that meant fortifying Harrenhal, and weaponising Harren the Black’s curse was the best path forward. It only required the current lord’s death, which happened to be Larys.
Just like his brother and father, she made sure that not a single drop was in vain. She owed him that, to the very least, that his death would have meaning when his life had very little.
She couldn’t help but wonder what he would think if he were here, sitting alongside her, as the Rogue Prince was all but kneeling before her, his dragon fallen prey to her curse, and would end as hers, much like the subjects of Harrenhal did.
Larys would have likely found it amusing, especially given that the proud man finally understood how little power he had without his Red Wyrm. She found that for a house of Dragonlord, they often forgot how instrumental the beasts were to secure their reign, and that every Lord Paramount would rebel if the creatures were to disappear. She liked to think it was pride, more than anything.
Of course, that changed as the object of her interest, Harry Potter, sat at her table, somehow having snuck into her fortress without her knowledge, only the crunch as he bit into an apple, revealing his presence, “Don’t mind me… Sorry for the disturbance. You were all monologuing and stuff. Please point your swords at me if it helps you relax!”
Her guards immediately raised their swords towards the unconcerned sorcerer, who took out another apple from his coat and held it up, “Care for an apple?”
The husk of Ser Simon Strong walked towards him, Daemon Targaryen’s Valyrian Steel Sword still impaled through his heart, and he looked ready to attack the thin man with the messy hair. The sorcerer in question looked disappointed for some reason, “I’m guessing that’s a ‘no’ for the apple. Well, that’s your loss. More for me, I guess.”
Then he turned towards Alys’ monstrous protector, and twinged the sword impaled into him playfully, before his face becoming neutral, “Now, that is interesting. A curious application of necromancy, a very cruel and crude one, too. He’s still in there, you know, his soul constantly in agony, wishing for it to stop, wishing to move on, but with the body completely refusing to let go. If I’m not mistaken, he was your first experiment, which you used to build all of this.”
Alys tightened her grip on her throne, trying to ignore the man’s obvious provocation, “You are a brave man, Harry Potter, to come to my halls so casually.”
“Meh, it wasn’t hard. Although I have to say, I’m pretty impressed with this place. The chances of this magic occurring must be minimal, given my quick calculations. A cursed land because of the Weirwood being cut down, while also being so close to the Gods Eye, a veritable nexus of magic, powering the faint curse with the ambient magic it released. I don’t know if Harren Hoare did it on purpose, but he all but sacrificed every soul in his castle and even himself, through sheer spite. It wouldn’t have done if it weren’t for the dragons, whose fire unknowingly gave the spark that activated the ritual, melting stones that had been steeped in misery, which latched onto the curse during the ritual, mixed with Harren the Black’s sheer repulsion at giving away his castle… Well, no wonder this place is so miserable.”
The Lady of Harrenhal had spent years, if not decades, trying to decipher the curse of Harrenhal. There hadn’t been any other occurrence of anything similar recorded anywhere, which was odd given Old Valyria’s penchant to burn entire civilisation into submission.
The only similar stories were during the destruction of Chroyane by the Valyrians and the burning of Hardhome, which a few historians also attributed to the wrath of some Dragonlord as well. She wasn’t planning on visiting either, especially given how hostile these lands were.
For Potter to calmly say it after a few minutes in the fortress showed that she was right to lure him there, that his knowledge was useful. He would make a good servant, perhaps even a consort after she got rid of that wife of his.
His mere presence in Harrenhal was according to her plans, and so, she decided to entertain the harmless mask he put on his face. After all, it was better to be civil, despite the fact that he must have been seething in rage and terror at what she had done to Daemon Targaryen’s daughter, “Harrenhal was always a dear place in my heart. I like to think I contributed something during my time here.”
“It is clever of you to warp a curse, especially such a rigid and chaotic one, into a ward, and including the draining effect too was pretty neat. A tad too amateurish, since you didn’t try to get the energy drained to power the curse or even increase the ward’s radius, but heh, it did work on a dragon, so who am I to judge?”
It was curious that the man only felt the draining but not her magic’s purpose. She supposed it was quite subtle compared to the draining effect, and it did work to her advantage.
Unfortunately, Daemon Targaryen, who started to look pale, growled in anger, “Stop talking and kill the whore.”
Alys prepared to command one of her guards to hit him, only for the sorcerer to speak up first, “Oh, go on, Daemon. It’s not every day that I get to speak to a proper witch from this continent. Sure, her work is amateurish at best, like the equivalent of a dark witch showing off her finger painting, but it’s still good, for a finger painting, of course.”
That stopped the Lady of Harrenhal cold. He was mocking her, wasn’t he? She couldn’t accept that, not while he was in her domain of all things. She channelled the power soaking beneath the fortress, and shadows moved across the room, flames flickering everywhere. She spoke up, her voice booming and with more weight behind it, “You will respect me within this hall.”
She gleefully noted that Daemon Targaryen shivered at her words, yet her fury soared to new heights when she noticed that he simply rolled his eyes, sat back down, and continued eating his apple, “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Now, I suppose it’s time to get into the thick of things. You asked for my attention, and you weren’t exactly subtle. You have it. Now, explain.”
Alys calmed down and spoke up clearly, “I apologise if I might have been crude in my invitation. It was just that the matter is quite time sensitive, and I couldn’t risk that you’d refuse to come. I have had a gift in the sight, able to witness the past and the future, and I have seen a darkness encroach on the entirety of the world, spreading its influence, destroying everything it touches. Death walks the world, and now it is coming for me, for you, for everyone. I wish to turn Harrenhal into a safe haven, a place to weather the coming storm, to hide from death itself. I have noticed that you’re a sorcerer of significant power, and I could use you when the time comes.”
There was also the fact that it seemed like his mere presence occluded everything around him from any form of magical detection. The disappearance of Dragonstone from any form of seeing the future had annoyed many mages, much like it did her. Not being able to predict Dragonlords was extremely dangerous, but now, she wished to use this effect to hide from Death itself.
Yet, for some reason, the man seemed amused, “Just to be sure, let me reiterate. You poisoned and cursed a girl that I have grown to care for, because you wanted me to come here and tell me you need my help against some mystical threat that you compared to Death walking the world. And you did all of this, because of something you divined.”
Alys sneered at the man, “You might consider it absurd or amusing, but I am telling the truth. Not even gods are safe. You must have felt the death of the Drowned God, haven’t you?”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure he’s dead. It’s just that you’re so sure of yourself because of some visions. I guess it’s funny, in a way, how sad this is. You made so many drastic moves for an uncertain future.”
“It is quite certain, I assure you.”
The man snorted, “You really have no fucking clue what you’re doing, do you? The future isn’t certain. It can never be certain. Sure, Fate likes to muddle around, to try to make some sense of it, but the future is mutable and impermanent. Fluid. Like a soup. No, that was a pretty bad comparison. I guess it’s because I’m a bit hungry, but you get the point.”
Alys gritted her teeth. She was done entertaining the fool. After some time chained somewhere, he would be hers anyway. After all, the main effect of her curse wasn’t just to drain people of strength. No, it was for the curse to root itself into their body and mind, twisting them into becoming her servants, much like the rest of Harrenhal. The drained strength was mandatory since it lowered her victims’ defences for the curse, and some of the power remained tied to the castle, ready to be used by its lady.
Still, she was tempted to sew his mouth shut, even after he became her thrall. Or she could just keep him in a dungeon, chained forever, while he hid Harrenhal from everyone’s sight. That felt fitting, in a way.
She turned towards the beast standing ready next to Potter. The man was foolish to ignore such a threat, “Lord Strong! Bring him to me.”
Her beast walked towards the man, who simply took one final bite out of his cursed apple and dodged as what remained of Simon Strong tried to grab him, before putting what remained of the apple in his mouth, right on the gap for the helmet.
Suddenly, the hulking beast froze before falling on his back, unconscious somehow. She quickly surmised that the apple was poisonous in some way and growled, before turning towards the rest of the guards, “Get him!”
The sorcerer rolled his eyes, took the Valyrian Steel sword from Lord Strong’s body and threw it towards her. She thought that he had missed until her eyes widened when Daemon Targaryen grabbed it from its pommel and quickly tried to stab her. One of her guards dove at him, taking the swing of the sword instead of her, before dying, pooling black blood everywhere.
Thankfully, this gave Alys the time to use her magic to make Daemon fly away, which he did, but instead of being crushed, he landed on his feet, likely thanks to Potter in some way. For some reason, he smirked towards his saviour, “I thought that you wouldn’t try to save me.”
“Meh, you can be useful sometimes, and it would be a hassle to explain your death to your daughters. Now, go play with the guards and try not to get yourself killed. I’ll deal with her.”
Alys couldn’t help but chuckle at that. Was Potter so arrogant to think that she would be defenceless in her own domain? She had started gathering Harrenhal’s strength, every drained soul in this castle, to enhance her own power since the moment Lord Strong fell.
“You’ll handle me?” She spat, drawing on every shred of Harrenhal’s wrath.
And then, she screamed, and with it, the entire fortress shook; a cloud of darkness appeared before her, the very manifestation of Harrenhal’s curse, destroying the enemy before her. She thought that she would have emerged victorious, only to be thrown into the wall behind her, the impact causing a sharp pain in her back. She groaned and soared up and saw that the entire hall was illuminated by some kind of glowing dove, of all things.
She used the magic, enhancing her body, powered by the sacrifice of her father and brother, to slowly heal herself. In seconds, her broken back and legs were gone, and she slowly stood up, gathering her domain’s magic once more, only for a voice to stop her dead, “That’s enough of that, I think.”
And just like that, Harrenhal was ripped away from her; the power that she had worked her entire life to gather was gone in just a moment. Harry Potter walked forward completely unharmed, but his face looked far more serious than she ever expected. She couldn’t help but croak, “How?”
“You’re a very cruel woman, Alys Rivers. What you’ve subjected every resident of this fortress to is beyond monstrous. You’re a kinslayer with delusions of grandeur because you have a small gift that you barely even understand. I’ll be honest. Normally, I wouldn’t have cared enough to come here and stop you. Stopping every idiot with a drop of magic, misusing what little power they have, would be extremely annoying. I wouldn’t have done this if you’d just brought me here normally, maybe lured me through some elaborate trap. But you didn’t do that, did you?”
Alys felt like she couldn’t breathe. Each breath felt shorter than the last. She couldn’t feel the power that she had lived with all of her life. She felt blind, as if she had lost a limb, “Mercy!”
“Mercy?” Potter repeated like it was a foreign word, “You have almost killed two young girls just to bring me here, only because I spent time with one of them. You’ve tried to use them to bring me here, to put that little curse of yours on me after draining my magic, which, by the way, I negated before you even noticed I was there.”
Fuck! That was her last hope dashed, that she could prolong things enough that he would be drained and she would be able to escape.
“Kill me,” she rasped, “and your girls will rot from the inside. I made sure of that. They only live because I let them.”
“Here you go again, trying to use the girls against me. Seriously, do you not learn? They’re both healed back in Dragonstone. You know, sometimes, I like to get creative with my punishments. Sometimes, I just like to give someone exactly what they want in a very ironic way, but you’re not even worth it, are you? You're not even worth my rage. I think I’ll just kill you and be done with it.”
Alys tried to think of anything that could stop what was coming. She thought about pleading for mercy, or raging or bargaining, but looked at the man's face, and knew that he wouldn't be swayed. She had been beaten in seconds by someone who she had thought to be a fool for most of their interactions, a simpleton with too much power.
She was wrong.
Then she heard a loud roar shake the castle, and a memory sparked in her mind, a letter she had sent to Otto Hightower, and hope bloomed in her chest once more. She heard the Rogue Prince curse and looked out of a window, “Seven Hells! Vhagar!”
With her suspicions being proven correct, she had something that she could use to bargain with Potter: “Spare me. I can help you escape this.”
“No,” the sorcerer simply retorted, before taking out a knife and stabbing it into her heart without any warning, before moving towards her ears and whispering, “Just so you know, I’m the one who killed the Drowned God.”
She wasn’t sure if the gasp that came from her lips was because of the revelation or the knife in her chest. Alys hadn’t even been surprised that she should have easily healed from such an attack. It didn’t compare to Potter’s revelation.
The man stared at her in the eyes and continued, “In your hubris in your visions, in your attempt to hide from me, you’ve done the exact opposite. At least you’ll serve as a good warning for the rest of the world. Farewell, Alys Rivers and I hope this was all worth it, in the end.”
Alys River’s last thoughts were of Larys, the brother she had failed, and then she felt swallowed by the cold, and everything turned black.
AN: I’m not sure about this chapter. It was pretty hard to write, especially since Alys is a pretty mysterious character as far as I can tell. The idea was to make her a ‘Classic Dark Lady’ who was so afraid of some abstract vision that she literally invited it to her doorstep without even knowing, in an ironic way.
I made the fight with Harry very short, since so far in Westeros, he dealt with gods and Eldritch Monstrosities, and I didn’t think a mediocre witch would really compare, and he wasn’t in the mood to really play around, given that he’s pissed about Rhaena and Baela being hurt to get at him. I also tried to make her magic somewhat vague, since she doesn't really understand what she's doing, outside of her rituals and curses. As for the deal with the Hightowers, it will be explained in the next chapter. I’m not sure I pulled this all off, but I don’t mind rewriting the chapter depending on your feedback. As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.
Comments
TyrantGod
Plz turn both uncle nephew racist dumbasses into 🐇 rabbits. Should teach them a lesson
Garri Sarkisov
Well done. I hope Harry will heal the land/castle before he leaves
