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(EM Vol. 2: A Wandering Melody) Chapter 48: Hall of Curses
🕑 Added 2025-08-07 14:00:07 +0000 UTCChapter 48: Hall of Curses
123 AC, Harrenhal
The first thing Larys Strong felt when he gained consciousness was the blinding pain all over his body. He hadn’t even opened his eyes and yet yearned for the bliss of sleep once more. His chest burned with every breath he took. He tried to move, only to find that even that small effort sent sharp waves of agony rippling through his spine.
It was only when he opened his eyes that the memories came back rushing in. The Shadowbinder attack on the sorcerer, which was repelled so casually, his connection with his rats being severed with barely more than a look and then attempting to flee in the middle of the night before the man took his revenge, only for a stray wave to send him flying. After that, a brief flash of pain and darkness.
This had the sorcerer’s handiwork all over it.
This was his revenge, Larys could almost feel it. Harry Potter had taken away his greatest tool and had punished him for arranging the attack. Larys still remembered the knowing look in his eyes, both during the aftermath of the attack and when he spied on him through one of his rats.
The sorcerer had won this battle, but he would not win the war. He would have his revenge for this, even if he burned the world down while doing it.
It was then that he realised that he was staring at the ceiling of a very familiar room, a room that was neither in Dragonstone nor in King’s Landing. This used to be his father’s chambers, his chambers now, as he was the Lord of Harrenhal, and it was in the cursed fortress granted to House Strong.
Larys was in Harrenhal, and he didn’t know how it was possible. With his injuries, the crew would have turned around to the nearest port, in this case, it was back to Dragonstone and taken him to a Maester. They wouldn’t have risked the journey, especially since Larys didn’t tell them where they were going; he just wanted a trip to Duskendale.
He tried to sit up, only for the same agony he felt moments before to surge again. Every breath and movement felt painful, but it was only when he gritted his teeth and tried to move his legs that he realised that he couldn’t feel them at all.
His eyes widened in panic, only for a familiar voice to speak up, “You should try to move; it will only cause you more pain.”
That voice.
Alys Rivers, his baseborn sister, and the woman who had taught him to control his gift, was in the same room. He didn’t know whether to relax or tense up at her presence. She was one of the few people in the world who understood him, likely the only one even, but she was unpredictable, terrifying, and often cruel.
Despite that, Larys slowly turned his neck, groaning at every pulse of agony, before his eyes met her familiar figure. He hadn’t seen her in years, and yet she looked exactly the same, with long black hair and green eyes. She was, without a doubt, beautiful, but they often said that dangerous things appeared in beautiful packages, and to this day, she was his first suspect in the murder of his father and Harwin.
His voice was raspy when he spoke up, “Hello, Alys.”
“At least you haven’t lost your manners in that cesspool that they call a Capital,” his sister casually commented, “After all, it took me no small amount of trouble to get you away from Dragonstone, and even more to let you gain consciousness once more. That useless Maester was letting you waste away in a bed on that cursed isle.”
Larys couldn’t help but wonder who she had killed to achieve this. She never could heal without a proper sacrifice, and as if she were reading his mind, Alys chuckled, “Don’t worry, I only sacrificed a few old rats you left in my care, which is why you’re not fully healed. I’m genuinely surprised that they lived for so long. I’m guessing it was a consequence of your gift.”
He couldn’t help but widen his eyes at the memories of the rats that Alys had slain. They were the first animals he had ever Warged into, the ones that he practised on for years. He couldn’t help but feel slightly attached to them. He stifled whatever sentimentality he felt for the rodents. Unlike him, they were disposable.
However, he also knew that his sister had done this by design. She had no issues sacrificing people; after all, she had killed their father and their brother. He couldn’t help but wonder why she had chosen to keep him alive or even take him back to Harrenhal.
He wished to voice all of this, but instead, he simply said, “Thank you, sister.”
Alys’s smug grin softened slightly, but she spoke up, “As touching as this sentiment is, I found you crippled and half-dead. You owe me answers, Larys. What happened?”
“Harry Potter,” Larys growled out.
His sister hummed, “Potter… Some knightly house in the Reach, isn’t it?”
“House Potter is in the Reach, but he is not a member of them. He’s… He’s a sorcerer, or a demon summoned from the seven hells. He has most of the royal family bowing to his every move for healing the King of his ailment.”
“The rumours are true, then?” his sister asked, “The King is healed?”
Larys nodded, only to regret it as he felt the pain flare up once more. However, he couldn’t help but be surprised by the fact that his sister did not know for sure about this. Her visions made her exceedingly insightful. She had even predicted when his father would be summoned to King’s Landing to act as the Master of Laws.
Her, not knowing that the King was healed, was odd, to say the least, but he kept it to himself. Instead, he answered her, “Yes, he is. He gave the Princess some odd potion, and in minutes, the King looked hale and free of any ailments. In a matter of days, the entire Court was upended, and the current Hand feared his influence on the royal family, and he asked for my aid.”
“A Shadowbinder,” his sister muttered, “That was foolish, brother.”
“Not a Shadowbinder, seven of them. He killed them in seconds. He didn’t even seem tired or bothered.”
Finally, his sister was taken aback by something. Her hand stilled, and her eyes widened, “Truly?”
“I saw the corpses myself. They were drained dry, barely more than skin and bone, and he did that through their own shadows. He knew I was involved. I tried to flee, and it ended with this. A sorcerer’s vengeance.”
His sister hummed, a flicker of a vindictive smile appearing on her face for barely a moment, one that he hoped he imagined, “You didn’t mention the loss of your gift, Larys. I thought I told you better than that.”
Despite the excruciating pain, Larys couldn’t help but shiver at her claim. How did she know? Was it another of her visions that had terrified him as a child? His gift was the only reason Alys wasn’t dismissive of him, the only reason she held a glimmer of affection or respect towards him, respect that she did not share with the rest of his family, given that she had likely killed his father and brother. “How did you know?”
Alys seemed amused at his panic and answered with a chuckle, “Recent events have allowed me, shall we say, to improve my study of the arcane arts. A Warg’s magic radiates with every possible animal, ready to do it at a moment’s notice. I noticed it in a traveller from Raventree Hall, Robb Rivers, I believe he is a bastard of the Blackwood line. He made a lovely plaything. As for you, do not worry, little one. Your gift is not gone; magic still flows in your veins. I can feel it thrumming beneath your skin. It is only your ability to wield it that you have lost, and what is lost can also be found once more.”
Hope bloomed in Larys’ mind, even if he was exceedingly cautious, “You can heal me?”
“As I have told you many times, much can be done with the arcane arts if one is prepared to pay the price for it. For now, tell me more about this sorcerer. He can heal and stay on Dragonstone, but you did not mention much. What are his aims? What is he capable of?”
“I don’t know,” he rasped, feeling slightly hesitant at the admission of his ignorance, “He claims to be a traveller, a man who came to Dragonstone on a whim, a jovial man who was uncaring of the delicacies of the Court or the coming conflict between the Targaryens, but when I stood before him… I was reminded of you, sister.”
Alys’ eyes widened and her features expressed the very rare form of shock, which was immediately cast away as she did every weakness, “Oh? How so?”
“I could feel it, the power beneath his skin, the way he looked at me, knowing what I had done. The way he… saw me, even in the mind of a rat… I did not think it was possible. It is why I fled Dragonstone in the first place, to ask for your advice on how to handle the situation.”
The witch seemed interested in every word he spoke. “Anything else?”
“He has a wife. I did not see her, but others have. They say that she has golden hair and blue eyes. There are rumours that she is a witch as well, but I am unsure,” Larys hesitated for a moment before continuing at his sister’s severe look. “I noticed that Rhaena Targaryen, one of the Rogue Prince’s daughters, seemed attached to the man, and I believe that his affection is reciprocated. That is all I know.”
Alys seemed thoughtful for a few moments, staring out from the window on the other side of the bed, before speaking up, “Thank you, Larys. Your insight was… valuable. This Harry Potter will be very useful indeed.”
She didn’t plan on killing the sorcerer, did she? He could see it in her eyes, the one that showed that she had a scheme ready that would benefit her, mixed with something else, an emotion that he had never seen before. Relief, perhaps?
“What are your plans for him?” he couldn’t help but ask.
His sister’s expression did not return to her normal smile. Instead, it was neutral: “Something is coming to Harrenhal. I do not know what it is, and my visions are irritatingly not clear on the matter, but I can almost feel it, Death. And with each moment, I can also feel magic grow in these lands. It is slow, but still noticeable. I will admit that I enjoyed it, but the feeling would not stop, like the calm before a storm. I tried to peer past the ominous feeling, understand its source, but I could not, and with every moment that passes, the storm draws closer.”
Larys couldn’t help but comment mockingly, “I don’t suppose that the curse of Harrenhall is taking its toll on you, sister.”
Alys pressed against his chest, making him groan in pain, “I am the Lady of Harrenhal, Larys. You may call yourself its lord, but this fortress is mine, its curse included. We agreed on this matter, I believe.”
He gasped and nodded, despite the discomfort it caused him, “Of course, sister.”
She grinned at his submission and continued, “And perhaps once I would have agreed with you, if not for the fact that a god perished.”
It took Larys a few moments to truly grasp what she had said. A god perished. He was not a religious man, and he knew that his actions would send him to the Seven Hells, pious or not, but the idea of a god dying was ludicrous. The horrors and injustices he had seen in his life showed him that gods, if they existed, did not care for them. But his sister seemed serious about their existence, and also the idea that one of them had perished.
A memory pierced his mind, past the haze of his revenge at the sorcerer and his pain, “Pyke. You’re talking about Pyke.”
“Yes. The disturbance originated from the west. But it does not matter which god perished, only that one did. Someone or something, capable of slaying gods, is coming to Harrenhal, something that I cannot foresee, not as I am.”
“You plan to ask the sorcerer for aid,” Larys realised quickly, “The man did this to me, who made me a cripple.”
The woman’s smile sharpened, “You were always a cripple, Larys. Isn’t that why Lyonel never loved you? Why would that change now? And who said that I will be asking that man anything?”
Whatever rage he felt at the insult completely disappeared as he felt the vindication that the sorcerer would have to face Alys, and that it wouldn’t be a friendly encounter to say the least. He couldn’t help but feel vindicated, even if his sister was not doing it in his favour.
He met her smile with one of his own, “Promise me that he will suffer, sister.”
“That is something I can promise you, Larys.”
The Lord of Harrenhal’s reply was cut short as he felt his head spinning, but he couldn’t help but sigh in relief as he felt some of the pain lessen. He vaguely heard his sister giving him a sad smile, “The Dreamwine is finally working.”
It made sense that he would be given Dreamwine for the pain, but it felt stronger than he had before. He tried to say something, only for his sister to speak up instead, “Ser Simon.”
He could see someone, despite his blurry vision, walk forward towards them. It was a very highly armoured knight who was even larger than Harwin ever was. He picked up Larys with unnatural strength, allowing Larys to take a closer look at him. He wore a helmet, but Larys could see the unnaturally pale skin on the man’s face and the black eyes with veins surrounding it. The monster looked familiar, but he couldn’t place it for the life of him, “Alys… What have you done?”
“Simon Strong, the man you had assigned as castellan, if I am correct. He was irritating, so I made him less so. His behaviour improved much after his son lost a head. He was much more pliable after that, isn’t that so, Ser Simon?”
The thing that used to be his Great Uncle growled in reply. She chuckled, “Everyone must contribute against the coming calamity.”
Larys’ world turned hazy, and when he blinked his eyes, he found himself in a familiar room at the top of the largest tower of Harrenhall. He was on the ground, alone. The monstrous knight was gone, and instead, his sister remained with a knife made of Dragonglass in her hands.
He immediately knew what was coming. He had seen it dozens of times, but it was done to animals, even if he knew that this was not the extent of his sister’s actions. He gave her a pleading look, “Please, sister.”
She gave him a sad look, “I did not mean for you to suffer when I placed that curse on you. I take no delight in your pain, Larys. I never have.”
“Why?” He rasped his eyes widening in shock at that revelation, at the betrayal.
“I needed you here. It was the only way, my greatest chance at surviving what is to come.”
Larys looked at her, only to see her eyes glittering with something… Tears. Alys was crying. He had never thought her to be capable of shedding tears, even for anyone.
She continued, “I suppose your injuries make this an easier decision. I’ll admit to being conflicted, in truth. I think this is why this was necessary, why I was urged to cast that curse. The fates are cruel indeed, even when they are merciful. Even now, my hesitation, my pain, will only heighten the ritual.”
“Alys,” He couldn’t help but say, trying to voice the betrayal he felt in that single word.
“I will not forget you, Larys, and I will keep my promise. I will miss you. Farewell, and good luck in the next life.”
In a moment, the Dragonglass dagger found itself in Larys’ chest, and the world turned red.
He tried to scream, but no sound came out. Only the gurgle of blood, thick and hot, spilling from his mouth. His eyes locked onto hers, those same green eyes that had once taught him to wield his gift, that were now taking everything away.
Alys held him until the life left his eyes, and everything started to darken. He could hear the winds howling louder than before, and then for a moment, he thought he heard the very curses of Harrenhal howl.
Larys Strong’s last thoughts were of the Citadel and the life he never had.
AN: Phew, that was pretty hard to write, and I’m really not sure about this one. I had always planned on Alys killing Larys, but a part of me wanted to delay it a bit, to make it more of a betrayal, but I decided to get through it now. I’m also hesitant about Alys’ portrayal. There isn’t much known about her from Canon, and if there is, I might have missed it, but I wanted to tie some of her actions in the story to obscure visions of the Potters, instead of just making her antagonistic for no reason. I kept most of her motivations vague for a reason, since I’m planning on revealing them later. All in all, I’m not sure this chapter came out like I wanted it to, but I don’t mind rewriting this depending on your feedback. As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.
Comments
Marius Petrauskas
nice
Garri Sarkisov
Wow sheer arrogance indeed. Well she will reap what she sowed here
