The Wizard of Fury Chapter 18

Harry was a fool and utterly alone.

For all his time spent in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts, he ought to have learnt at least a single healing spell that could be of use right now. But he hadn’t.

If Madam Pomfrey were here, Stannis would be up and walking around in no time at all. Instead, he was relegated to his bed, barely well enough to utilise the special chamber pot that’d been provided for him so that he could remain still in bed.

And all Harry could do was sit at his bedside and wait.

Stannis slept for most of the day and night after the attack as his wounds slowly healed. Grand Maester Pycelle checked in on him multiple times in that period, and Harry was always there to oversee whatever he did to his father. He was certain that Pycelle had to be tiring of Harry’s incessant questioning of exactly what he was doing to Stannis, but he couldn’t care less. The man was a possible threat to House Baratheon, and Harry wouldn’t allow him to go unwatched.

Guilt ate Harry away from the inside over the fact that his father had gotten injured while Harry was away. Had he been there when the cutthroats had slipped into their chambers, Harry would have drawn his sword and made the fight an even match.

Although Ser Barristan had ordered an inquest into how those cutthroats had managed to slip into the Red Keep, Harry too ordered his own. He’d intended to keep it a secret, but it was less than six hours after he’d charged Ser Davos with the task when his investigation was casually mentioned aloud by Varys, the Master of Whisperers, when he came by, ostensibly to check in on Stannis’ health. Naturally, everyone knew about Harry’s ordered investigation by the following morning.

It seemed that no secret could last long in King’s Landing. He wondered if that was why his father had been targeted. Had his suspicions over Jon Arryn’s death reached the ears of the mastermind behind the former Hand’s death?

A stirring in the room shook Harry from his musings. On the lone bed, Stannis awoke and tried to sit up, only to let out a startled grunt and drop back down onto the bed.

“Father,” Harry said gravely as he hurried to his bedside. “Stay down. You must rest.”

Through a scratchy voice, Stannis made his will known. “Water.”

Harry fetched the pitcher and filled up a glass. He held it up to his father’s lips and allowed him to drink slowly. When he started to choke the water back up, Harry pulled away.

In all his years, he’d never seen his father in such a poorly state. Even when a fever ran rampant throughout Dragonstone two years past and his father had come down with it, he’d gone about his day as normal. There was no time for him to rest when duty called.

“Have you learnt who tried to kill me?” Stannis asked.

“Worry about that later,” Harry said gently. “You need to conserve your strength.”

“There will be no strength of mine left if the culprit behind this plot strikes at me again,” Stannis argued back. Though his voice was weak, his tone conveyed strength. “Who did it?”

“I do not know,” Harry said regretfully. “The Crown has ordered an inquest, and I’ve asked Ser Davos to look into the matter privately as well.”

“Good,” Stannis nodded approvingly. “He will be able to integrate himself in with the smallfolk. He may chance upon the contact who organised this attack.”

“I’ve ordered no fewer than four knights to remain inside our chambers at all times,” Harry informed Stannis. “With twice as many in the corridors nearby and a regular patrol outside in the yard. It’s caused some minor conflicts with the Lannister soldiers out there, but I felt it necessary.”

Stannis chuckled, actually chuckled. It was a rare thing for him to make a sound like that. “It seems as though I have no need to be worried about my safety then. You have things well enough in hand.”

A beacon of pride lit within Harry’s chest. “I can’t let anything happen to you.”

“Then continue to manage our household as you have been,” Stannis said before letting out a sigh. “I presume that Grand Maester Pycelle was the one to oversee my wounds?”

“He is,” Harry confirmed. “I’ve kept watch to ensure that he did nothing untoward to hinder your healing. If you’d like me to call in a healer from elsewhere though…”

“No, no,” Stannis coughed loudly, clutching his chest where the bandages covered him. “He is fine enough, but you cannot maintain your supervision over him. Assign one of our knights to do it. Ser Erren Florent can handle it.”

“Then what am I to do?” Harry asked.

“Rule,” Stannis said.

Harry blinked in surprise. “Surely you can’t mean—”

“I can and I do,” Stannis interjected. “Robert ordered me to rule in his stead while he is away from the capitol. As I am in no fit state to sit upon the iron throne, I am delegating the task to you.”

“But father, wouldn’t the others on the small council be a better fit?” Harry asked as a bubble of panic rose up in his chest. He’d sat upon his father’s council meetings for some years now, and Maester Cressen helped to teach Harry how to be a capable ruler, but that was only for ruling Dragonstone, not the Seven Bloody Kingdoms. “Your own brother, Renly—”

“Renly is not even fit to rule so much as a granary,” Stannis rebuked Harry. “Were there a worthy Hand of the King in place, they may have laid claim to the position, but there is none. Pycelle is a bumbling old fool and not to be trusted, Varys once served the Mad King Aerys willingly, and Baelish is little more than a petty moneylender who allowed Robert to bankrupt the realm. You are inexperienced, yes, but I’d trust the realm in your hands before any of theirs.”

From any other man, those last words would’ve seemed biting, but Harry knew that his father meant them with all due sincerity. He could’ve named any other lord or esteemed member of the court to maintain the throne, but he’d chosen Harry instead.

In the end, Harry had to do his duty.

“I will not disappoint you,” Harry said as he bowed his head low.

“Go then,” Stannis said. “Leave me to rest, and ensure that the realm does not fall into chaos. Robert would never let me live it down.”

Harry rose and hurried to his room, barking out at Ser Erren to take watch over Stannis as he passed by. He had an austere outfit of charcoal black that his father had commissioned for him a few short months ago. Harry donned it, annoyed that he did not have the chance to bathe. His father wouldn’t wish for him to waste a single unnecessary moment delaying his task of sitting upon the throne.

There was an anxiousness that settled deep into Harry’s bones as he left his chambers. It wasn’t the prospect of sitting upon the Iron Throne himself, though that was a daunting idea. What left him unsettled was the fear over what might happen to his father in his absence.

When he was Harry Potter, he’d grown up an orphan, never knowing a parent’s love. As Harry Baratheon, he’d been able to experience all of those things that he’d spent countless waking nights wishing for. And now that he had it, the thought of it being ripped away from him gnawed at his nerves.

Stannis had already been attacked once; how long until it happened again? The intent had been to kill him, and with the task unfulfilled, it was only a matter of time until the mastermind behind the plot tried again.

This could be the final time that Harry saw his father. Any day could be his last. King’s Landing was a truly dangerous place. Harry understood that now far better than he’d ever could’ve imagined.

The thought plagued Harry’s mind the entire walk to the Red Keep’s great hall.

Hundreds of courtiers stood around the cavernous hall, and the Iron Throne loomed over all of them. When the Lannister soldiers opened the tall oak-and-bronze doors to the hall, a hush fell upon the room. It was eerie as Harry walked down the central aisle that divided the groups of courtiers, who were lined up in neat rows. The whispers only started once Harry passed the first group. He knew that they were wondering what he could be here for, what Stannis’ state of health was, and who was behind the attack.

At the base of the monstrous Iron Throne, several chairs had been laid out. Lord Varys, Lord Baelish, and Lord Renly were all seated there, listening to a handful of smallfolk who’d come to petition the king for some matter or another. Renly was busy occupying the smallfolk while Varys and Baelish eyed Harry curiously. Eventually, the smallfolk fell silent when Harry drew near.

“Uncle,” Harry nodded at Renly. “Lord Varys. Lord Baelish.”

“Nephew,” Renly said as he stood. He came over and embraced Harry. “We were all horrified to hear what cruel fate befell your father. Rest assured that Ser Barristan has the matter well in hand. He’s organised a score of men to begin questioning any and all who could be involved in this horrific attack.”

“I’ll give the man my thanks the next time I see him,” Harry replied. “But I have a more important task at the moment. My father is awake, and he has ordered me to sit upon the throne in his stead while he recovers.”

Varys let out a surprised titter. “Did he? Lord Stannis is quite the interesting man indeed.”

“Pardon me, my lord,” Baelish said as he flashed Harry a small smile. “But would it not be wiser for you to remain by his side? I do not wish to upset you, but Grand Maester Pycelle claimed that his injuries were quite severe.”

“They are,” Harry confirmed. “But my father has given me a task, and I will follow it as dutifully as he would.”

“Why not sit amongst us, Harry?” Renly suggested. “We have been advising the King for years now, and I know how daunting a task of ruling over seven kingdoms can seem to one as inexperienced as yourself. Allow us to serve the realm together, side-by-side.”

Varys leaned forward in his seat, looking quite intrigued as to what Harry’s response would be. Baelish seemed far more composed, but Harry could see a calculating look in the man’s eye that revealed far more than he likely wanted to let on.

“I will take the place my father has assigned to me,” Harry replied, gesturing to the throne.

“Please, Harry—” Renly tried to continue, but Harry stopped him.

“The king ordered my father to sit upon the throne and rule in his stead while he is away in the North,” Harry reminded Renly as well as Varys and Baelish. “And now my father has ordered me to sit upon the throne. Remind me, uncle, has the king returned from his trip?”

“He has not,” Renly replied as he deflated.

“And has the attack on my father stripped from him the order he was given to sit the throne?”

“It has not?”

“Is anyone here willing to question if he is of fit state of mind to order me to sit the throne myself?”

No one spoke up.

“Then I will sit the throne and carry out my duty,” Harry replied.

As he climbed the steps made of half-melted swords, Harry wondered if he was making a mistake in doing this. He’d confronted more than half of the small council and asserted his just authority over them. While his confidence had yielded their compliance, he feared what this could mean going forward. It would be all-too-easy for him to make enemies in a city that was as dangerous as this. Before long, cutthroats could be coming after him rather than his father.

The blades that made up the throne were sharp and deadly. One small slip up this misshapen throne could see him tumbling down upon dozens of blades. Thankfully, Harry walked smoothly up to the seat waiting for him.

A small cushion had been placed atop the bent steel that formed a seat. Jagged blades rose up all around it, preventing Harry from being able to lean back or rest his head. There were armrests formed out of rounded blades that he could use, but he couldn’t get complacent lest he risk getting a cut by letting his body relax too much.

Harry turned to survey the crowd before him. They seemed so small, like the people in the stands had when he’d played Quidditch back at Hogwarts. He sat down upon the throne carefully, minding his every limb.

It took a couple of seconds before he realised that the smallfolk below were waiting on him to command them to continue their appeal. Harry mentally chided himself for forgetting his place.

“Speak,” he commanded them. “What can the Crown do for you all?”

“It’s about the taxation on fish from Blackwater Bay, my… prince?” A man said awkwardly.

They didn’t know who he was. That was another surprise. On Dragonstone, virtually every woman, man, and child knew Harry as Stannis’ son and heir. To the smallfolk here, he was just another highborn.

“He’s a lord,” Varys corrected the smallfolk gently. “He’s the nephew of our King Robert.”

“Apologies, m’lord,” the man quickly corrected, cringing as though he feared Harry would throw him in the dungeons for making a small mistake.

“Never mind that,” Harry waved him off. “What is it about the taxation that concerns you?”

The man wrung his hands nervously. “It’s been a long summer, the longest one I can ever remember. Winter has to be coming soon, but we’ve yet to see the taxes on fish come down. We need to start stockpiling our coin to help prepare provisions for the coming winter.”

“I was unaware that the Maesters had come to the consensus that winter was coming anytime soon,” Harry said. He glanced down at the three men below him, hoping to gain some sense of cooperation with them. “My lords? Have you heard any news on this matter?”

“None,” Renly shook his head. “If winter was coming soon, we’d have received reports about it. The Maesters have still yet to declare that autumn has begun.”

“Lord Baelish.” Harry prompted the man. “How soon before a winter does the Crown lessen the taxes on fish?”

“It’s never been exact as it is up to the Maesters in the Citadel to decide when winter has officially begun, but our records indicate that it is usually three months before winter is declared that taxation is reduced throughout the land,” Baelish answered as he glanced down at a thick tome sitting on his lap.

Harry turned his head back to the smallfolk. “Your request to see taxation reduced is denied. It shall be reduced when winter is actually nearing, not when you fear it is. Next?”

The smallfolk left with their heads downturned. It stung to see them so disheartened, but Harry knew that the Crown couldn’t afford to appease everyone with kind gestures like this.

Next came a hedge knight looking for employment. Without any land to his name or a lord to support him, he was forced to travel the seven kingdoms in search of a household that would take him in.

While Harry considered doing exactly that in order to gain a potential ally within the Red Keep, he remembered his father’s furious tirade over the state of the Crown’s debts. When he asked Baelish if King Robert had set aside an amount of gold for the procurement and maintenance of knights, the man’s eyes had laughed. Through a sly smile, Baelish had replied that the king hired any who he liked and refused those who he didn’t.

In the end, Harry sent the man away, wishing him well on his quest to find a place for himself.

An hour passed, and Harry steadily found his body wishing to relax atop the throne. He’d had little sleep the night before, and his body was feeling quite exhausted. It was only the fear of being jabbed by one of those sharp blades that kept his back rigid and his mind aware of the placement of his limbs.

Harry found that he turned away more petitioners than those whose claims he accepted. It became clear that most were here looking for a benevolent king who could solve all of their problems, but that wasn’t the way that the world worked. If a ruler gave their subjects everything that they wanted then they would be left with nothing and, in time, collapse under the weight of all of the debts that would come along from their reckless behaviour. Only those who had a just petition were worth considering.

And it was one such petition that truly stoked Harry’s interest.

Another group of smallfolk came forward in the throne room, but they were different from the others he’d seen so far today. Two of them were covered with bandages and another was being pulled along in a cart. Once they got close, Harry realised that the man in the cart had both of his legs cut off below the knee. The fact that he was still alive today was either a miracle or the sign of a truly talented healer.

The man who stepped forth was dressed in dirty, muddy clothes and had peppered-grey hair on his cheeks. His shoes looked poor and his back was slightly hunched, but there was a resolute look in his eyes that made it clear he was no normal petitioner.

“M’lord,” the man said, dipping his head low in a rough bow. “We come to you today to ask for the king’s justice against the outlaws that are plaguing the crownlands.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “This is the first I’m hearing about outlaws in the crownlands. My lords, have you anything to say on the matter?”

“There are always outlaws wherever there is coin to be found,” Baelish said wisely. “We have knights and soldiers hunting them down regularly.”

“These ones are different,” the man protested. “They’re organised. They attack entire villages at night and rob any travelling on the main roads. It’s only begun within the past week, but they’re crueler than any other outlaw I’ve met. They take pride in causing harm.”

“I’ve been hearing more whispers about outlaw activity as of late,” Vaerys commented. “Some who have been travelling to the capitol for our king’s grand tourney have told the City Watch that they’d been robbed on the way to the city.”

“It’s getting worse,” the man insisted. “The first night they struck our village, they only came for coin. We prepared a defence the following night, and when they came, they started cutting us down. We’re farmers, not soldiers. These men seemed trained to fight. They took more than gold that time, and I fear what they’ve done since we’ve been gone.”

“A rogue knight could be leading them,” Renly pointed out. “Or someone schooled in the arts of war.”

“Regardless, they must be stopped,” Harry finally said. “The king has invited the entire realm to this tourney, and we must ensure their safety as they travel to King’s Landing.”

His eyes scanned the crowd of faces in the hall below as he shifted atop the throne. His body was already beginning to feel the strain of sitting on something that was clearly not designed for comfort, but he’d endured worse. If he could endure training with the blade, spear, hammer, and axe from morning until the sun had set, then he could handle this. He left the troubles of his body behind and focused his mind on the task at hand.

Out of the courtiers who were here, Harry knew perhaps thirty by name. There were too many people here who spent little time in the Red Keep, and that left Harry with limited options for what he intended to propose. He singled out a few men by sight and took a deep breath before declaring his proclamation. He simply hoped that his father would approve of his decision here.

“Ser Tallad, Ser Phillip, Ser Gladden, Ser Balman, and Ser Justin, step forward.”

The five men walked from their place to stand in the central aisle in between the courtiers. Out of them all, Harry was only truly familiar with Ser Justin, as his family had visited Dragonstone some years ago.

“Each of you will assemble twenty men and ensure that the roads into King’s Landing remain safe from any outlaws,” Harry declared. “Furthermore, extend invitations to any and all visiting houses to offer any of their own knights or guards to join you in your mission.”

The sense of chivalry that was so common throughout Westeros would ensure that their numbers would increase. Young knights looking to prove themselves would join up as a way to prove themselves, and those hoping for a knighthood may do so as well.

“Yes, my lord,” Ser Gladden said as the first to bow his head.

“Gather your men now as I expect you all to leave come dawn. We cannot stand to wait a moment longer while outlaws threaten the safety of our people,” Harry commanded them.

The five knights quickly left the hall, ready to fulfil the task.

Turning back to the smallfolk who’d come in with the petition, Harry offered them a genuinely sorrowful look. “While we cannot return all that you’ve lost, the Crown will see you returned with a waggon of supplies to help you rebuild.”

He sent a look to Baelish, who quickly jotted down a note into one of his many books.

“Thank you, m’lord,” the smallfolk said as they bowed their heads low.

“Next!”