The Winter Wizard - Chapter 16 - Action in the Riverlands (Patreon)

Harry woke up just as the first rays of morning sunlight filtered through the canvas of his tent. Although he had woken early and gotten himself ready to join the hunt, he found himself moving slowly and wincing, remnants of the training sessions with several of the Stark men the previous afternoon after they had made camp near the inn. Despite earlier having accepted the invitation, when Lord Stark stopped by to ask if he was ready, Harry admitted he’d rather sit this one out, citing the aching muscles. Lord Stark only nodded, a brief flicker of concern crossing his face, before clapping Harry on the shoulder.

"Take the day to rest, then. But if you wouldn’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you kept an eye on the girls today,” Ned said. "They’re restless, Arya especially has been restless since we came out of the Neck, I think she enjoyed that experience more than I would have thought, and even though this area is relatively safe, the surrounding area still holds enough hazards without adding her spiritedness to the mix.”

Harry nodded, smiling. “Of course, my lord.”

Harry was surprised at the number of people that had left with Lord Stark and the king, the camp being left with only about half the guards, almost all of the servants, and those like Harry who’d decided not to join. He wandered to the nearest cookfire, where the smell of fresh bread and sausages drifted through the morning air. Grabbing a small loaf and several links of the sausage, he made his way up a gentle hill that overlooked the camp and settled down to eat while the sun rose fully over the treetops.

Once he finished, Harry strolled toward the inn where Sansa and Arya were staying, his mind at ease from the quiet morning. As he approached, he caught the tail end of what sounded like an argument. Arya was storming away from the inn’s front door, her face red with anger, Nymeria trotting loyally at her side. Sansa remained by the door, arms crossed and scowling in frustration.

Harry sighed, recognizing that familiar tension between the two sisters. He approached Sansa first, whose annoyance was still etched plainly on her face.

“Morning, Sansa,” Harry greeted, shaking his head slightly. “Looks like a bit of a rough start to the day?”

Sansa turned, startled, and then her face flushed as if embarrassed to have been seen mid-quarrel. “Good morning, Harry,” she replied stiffly, smoothing her skirts. “Yes, well, Arya doesn’t seem to understand how to behave properly or appreciate the invitation from the Queen to visit the royal family in the wheelhouse. She’s acting wild again, running off with her wolf in search of adventure or some such nonsense.”

“Well … she’s spirited, that’s for sure,” Harry said, smiling a little. “But I think that’s just Arya’s way. Have you two been at it long?”

“Not long. After Lady and I broke our fast Septa Mordane let me know about the Queen’s invitation for both Arya and myself.” Sansa glanced toward the road where Arya had vanished. “I don’t see why Arya bothers coming along if she’s going to act like that and not even attempt to get on the Queen’s good side.”

Harry understood Sansa’s frustration, but he couldn’t help feeling a little more sympathy for Arya. He remembered all too well what it was like to be expected to conform to rules that you didn’t agree with.

“Maybe she just needs a bit of time to herself,” he said gently. “Arya’s different, but that’s not a bad thing. She just has her own way of doing things. Besides, I’ll keep an eye on her, if that helps.”

Sansa sighed but nodded, seeming to soften a little. “I suppose she means well,” she admitted reluctantly. “I just wish she wouldn’t make things so difficult.”

Harry gave her an understanding look, then shifted the subject to lighter matters, asking how her morning meal had been and how she was finding the journey south, especially once they had exited the Neck and entered the rolling lands of the Riverlands. Sansa seemed happy to leave thoughts of Arya behind, and as they talked, she gradually relaxed, the frustration fading from her face.

After parting ways with Sansa, Harry decided to track down Arya and Nymeria. It didn’t take long; he found them at the edge of a small stream a short distance from the camp. Arya was crouched beside Nymeria, her hands busy collecting small stones from the riverbank. She looked up as Harry approached, her expression defensive.

“Did Sansa send you?” she asked, her tone wary.

“No, I came on my own,” Harry replied, sitting down beside her. “Your father asked me to look out for you both while he was off with the king. I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

Arya looked at him, some of the tension easing from her face. “I’m fine,” she muttered. “Sansa’s just being … Sansa.”

Harry chuckled, picking up a smooth stone and skipping it across the surface of the stream. “I know it’s not easy, but she’s just being herself too. You two just have different ways of seeing the world, that’s all.”

Arya watched the stone skip, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I suppose. But I don’t see why I have to be like her. Everyone keeps telling me what a lady should be, but it doesn’t feel right.”

“You don’t have to be anyone but yourself, Arya,” Harry said softly. “Your father loves you for who you are, and I’m fairly certain the rest of you family does as well. You’re brave, curious, and adventurous—all things that matter more than any title.”

For a moment, Arya stared at him, seeming uncertain, but then her eyes softened. She looked down at Nymeria, stroking the wolf’s thick fur. “I wish I could be more like Nymeria,” she said simply. “No one tells her what to do and she wouldn’t care what people think even if they did.”

Harry nodded, understanding the comfort Arya found in Nymeria’s companionship. “That’s true, but Nymeria’s a part of you too. Strong, fierce, and loyal.”

They sat in companionable silence, watching the stream ripple over the rocks. But eventually, as Harry sat with Arya by the stream, their quiet morning was interrupted by the sound of light footsteps approaching. A moment later, Mycah, the butcher's boy, emerged from the trees, his face brightening upon seeing Arya. The brightness quickly faded, however, when he noticed Harry sitting beside her. Mycah’s eyes widened, and he fumbled with a few sticks in his hands, hastily shoving them behind his back as if hiding a great secret.

Harry chuckled, unable to resist the grin spreading across his face. “Planning on going to war with those sticks, Mycah?” he teased.

Arya, glancing between them, rolled her eyes, her lips curving into a smile. “We’re just practicing, Harry. Obviously, no one else is going to teach us how to use a sword, so Mycah and I have to figure it out ourselves.”

Harry shook his head, amused but impressed by her determination. “All right, just promise me you two will be careful. I certainly don’t want to have to explain any cuts or bruises to your father.”

Arya rolled her eyes but nodded. “We’ll be fine, Harry. We’ve been practicing all the way down from Winterfell—at least when I’m not with you.”

Mycah glanced between them nervously, but Arya shot him a reassuring look, her grin returning. “Come on, Mycah,” she said, grabbing her stick and laughing as they ran off down the trail. Harry watched them sprint away, laughing and joking as they disappeared over a hill.

With a sigh and a shrug, Harry turned and made his way back to camp. When he arrived, the atmosphere was buzzing with the news of new arrivals approaching. And within the hour, three riders entered the camp on powerful horses, drawing the curious eyes of several people nearby. Harry observed them with interest, taking in their contrasting appearances.

The first man rode with a stiff, almost unnerving stillness, his face severe and utterly silent. He wore a simple, weathered cloak over stiff looking leather armor, but his large sword at his side gleamed ominously, catching Harry’s attention. Beside him was an older knight, his posture upright and dignified, with a white cloak flowing over his armor. Harry could feel the weight of the man’s experience just by looking at him. And finally, a younger man with a strong jaw and a confident grin trotted beside them, his dark hair gleaming in the sun as he exchanged laughs with some onlookers.

Curious and with little else to do, Harry followed them as they made their way through the camp, eventually stopping outside a large wheelhouse decorated with golden lions—Queen Cersei’s quarters. He found a place nearby to observe, careful to stay out of the way but within earshot of the conversation. The three men dismounted and after Queen Cersei exited the wheelhouse, greeted her with respectful bows. Shortly afterwards, Sansa arrived, clearly interested in meeting the newcomers as well.

Harry couldn’t help but smile as he watched Sansa, who after a brief hiccup with meeting Ser Ilyn Payne, greeted the men with all the decorum she’d been taught. But when the youngest of the three men—the charming fellow with the dark hair—made a jest about her Northern roots, Sansa responded with a quick-witted retort that drew laughs from the onlookers. Even Harry chuckled, watching the young man’s eyes widen with surprise at her response before joining in, laughing as loud as anyone.

In the midst of the exchange, Joffrey appeared, sliding an arm protectively around Sansa and giving a haughty smile to the men. Harry watched with interest, observing how the prince put on his charming façade, lightly stroking Sansa’s hair and complimenting her. After the meeting, the pair soon left for a ride, disappearing together down the road towards the neighboring fields.

Harry returned to the Stark camp, settling among the tents where most of the Stark men had set up. The day passed quietly, with a few light conversations among those he ran into and some rest in the shade. As the sun began to sink, casting long shadows across the camp, Jory Cassel approached him.

“Lord Stark and the king’s party will probably be returning soon,” Jory said, stretching as he glanced toward the horizon.

Harry nodded, rising to his feet. But a moment later, he felt a pang of worry—neither Arya nor Sansa had returned. His mind immediately went back to their morning conversation and how Arya had run off with Mycah. He wondered if she was still with him or had returned already.

Wandering through the camp, Harry spotted Lady, Sansa’s direwolf, tethered near one of the tents. She seemed restless, pacing and glancing toward the fields beyond the camp. He approached her calmly, noting her sharp, intelligent eyes studying him with an intensity that was almost human.

“Hey, girl,” Harry murmured, reaching out to scratch behind her ears. “Looking for Sansa too, aren’t you? How about we go find her together?”

Lady tilted her head as though she understood, then let out a soft huff. Taking that as a yes, Harry carefully untied her rope and headed to his horse. He mounted quickly, and as soon as he was settled, Lady sprinted forward, her powerful body moving with surprising grace and speed as she dashed past the tents in the camp. Harry nudged his horse into a gallop, trying to keep up as Lady led the way, weaving around tents and startling a few men as she tore through the camp.

They crossed the open fields, the wind whipping past Harry’s face as he leaned low over his horse’s neck, barely managing to keep pace with Lady. After nearly half an hour of riding, Lady slowed, leading him to a bend in the road. Harry felt a sense of relief feeling they must be close. And his momentary happiness at seeing Sansa, sitting stiffly on her horse, Lady bounding toward her, was brief.

Harry’s smile faded as he caught sight of her face—she looked pale and panicked, and even after a moment of surprise Lady springing up to greet her didn’t seem to make her happy. She seemed briefly startled by the direwolf’s enthusiasm, and Harry saw only the briefest glimpse of relief momentarily replace the look of fear on her face.

A sudden shout shattered the moment. “Stop it!” Arya’s voice cut through the air, filled with desperation and fury.

Harry’s gaze shot to the side, and he felt his heart drop. There, a little way off, Arya was standing with her sword-stick raised in defiance. And in front of her, Prince Joffrey stood with his sword drawn, pressing its edge against Mycah’s face, completely unaware that Arya was standing behind him with a raised stick. Mycah’s face was twisted in terror, and the butcher’s boy was frozen, powerless under the threat of Joffrey’s blade.

Harry’s initial shock turned to alarm as he saw Arya tense, preparing to leap at Joffrey to protect her friend. His stomach clenched at the sight, and without wasting another second, he urged his horse forward, calling out Arya’s name in a voice that echoed across the field.

Harry watched in shock, his original disbelief turning to alarm, as Arya raised a stick, her expression fierce, clearly intent on striking Prince Joffrey. What in Merlin’s name is she thinking? he wondered, alarmed. He called out to her, “Stop this now!” Harry commanded, his voice steady despite the fear building in his chest. But she was too far, too caught up in the moment, to hear him. Harry clenched his wand tightly, knowing he had to act—and fast.

With a swift flick, he aimed at Arya’s hand and murmured, “Expelliarmus!” The stick flew backward out of Arya’s grip just as she was winding up to swing it. Arya, oblivious to the spell’s origin, looked around in surprise, her surprise gaze darting from her hands to the stick lying in the grass several paces behind her.

Before anyone could react … or Arya decided she wanted to attack the prince with her bare hands, Harry pointed his wand toward a nearby tree and cast a Severing Charm. With a satisfying crack, the thick trunk seemed to snap and the entire tree fell to the ground with a heavy thud. The sound drew everyone’s attention, especially Joffrey’s. He spun toward the noise, his focus on the butcher’s boy momentarily forgotten.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Harry nudged his horse forward, quickly riding to Arya, Mycah, and Joffrey’s side. Dismounting, he looked squarely at the prince, who stared at him in shock.

“Who are you?” Joffrey demanded, his eyes narrowing.

Just as Harry opened his mouth to respond, Sansa rode up, visibly shaken but managing a timid response. “He’s … he’s Harry Potter, Prince Joffrey. He’s been a guest of our family, and Father assigned him to watch over us on the journey.”

Joffrey scoffed, his lips curling in disdain as he looked Harry up and down. “So, Ser Harry Potter? Or are you just another commoner?”

Harry shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s just Harry, your grace. Knighthood isn’t as common in the North, and even if it were, I doubt I’d be worthy of it.” He kept his voice calm, hoping to defuse Joffrey’s temper.

Joffrey sneered, clearly unimpressed. He pointed accusingly at Mycah, who looked on in fear. “Well, ‘just Harry,’ it seems you’re embarrassingly failing your duty. This butcher’s boy was beating Lord Stark’s younger daughter with a stick when I found them. I had to intervene as a good prince should.”

Arya opened her mouth to protest, but Harry silenced her with a quick, firm shake of his head. He looked back at Joffrey and nodded. “Thank you for looking out for Lady Arya, your grace. I’ll make sure the boy is properly handled and Lady Arya is returned to safety.”

Joffrey’s expression softened into a smug smile, satisfied by the deference. He swung himself onto his horse, gesturing to Sansa. “I’m glad to see you’re unharmed, Lady Sansa,” he said, casting her a sickly sweet smile. He held out a hand to help her as they prepared to ride away, his expression hardening as he looked over his shoulder, clearly expecting Harry to make good on his promise.

When Joffrey had left the clearing, Harry turned back to Arya and Mycah. However as he looked towards Arya and Mycah, Arya who was seething, her face flushed with anger, and Mycah who looked utterly miserable, he missed the look Sansa gave him as she rode out of the clearing.

“Harry, it wasn’t Mycah’s fault! I was the one who—”

Mycah cut in, his voice trembling. “I’m so sorry, m’lord … I’d never want to hurt her, I swear …”

Harry raised his hands, quieting them both. “Enough. No one’s getting in trouble—not if you’re smart about this.” He looked pointedly at Arya, who scowled, crossing her arms. Turning to Mycah, he added, “I’ll make sure you’re safe, Mycah. You have my word.”

The relief on Mycah’s face was palpable, and he visibly relaxed, nodding gratefully before taking a couple steps away from them and sitting down.

Once they were alone, Harry stepped closer to Arya, his expression serious. “Arya, we need to talk.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but Harry held up a hand. “Enough. What were you thinking? You were about to attack the prince. The king’s son. With a stick.”

Arya stared defiantly, crossing her arms. “He’s a monster, Harry! He was going to hurt Mycah—”

“Maybe he was,” Harry interrupted. “But did you really think hitting him with a stick would have helped the situation? That it’d make him back off and consider his actions? You need to be smart about this, Arya. One wrong move, and I believe hitting the prince in the head with a stick would qualify, and things could’ve gone terribly.”

“Nymeria would’ve saved me if he tried anything,” she muttered, pointing toward the tree line without looking.

Harry followed her gaze and spotted Nymeria’s watchful eyes glinting from the shadows. He let out a hollow laugh. “You honestly think that would have helped? Maybe in a few years, she’d be a match for him—but right now? If she tried to defend you, Joffrey could’ve hurt her, maybe even killed her. And if she managed to catch him by surprise when she attacked, then what? Imagine the king’s reaction if his son were injured—or worse, killed by a direwolf.”

Arya’s expression shifted, a flicker of hesitation replacing her defiance.

Harry took a deep breath, steadying his tone. “And let’s say Nymeria managed to protect you and hurt him. Even if you got away and the King chose not to seek punishment for you, it wouldn’t end there. Queen Cersei wouldn’t let it go. There would be consequences—not just for you, Arya, but for all of Winterfell. Sansa, your family, the North. You have to think beyond just yourself.”

Arya’s face softened, her anger giving way to a troubled frown. “I didn’t think … I just wanted to protect Mycah. Joffrey’s awful. He’s … he’s cruel.”

Harry nodded, his expression understanding but firm. “I know, Arya. I agree with your brothers. And for what it’s worse, I worry for your sister that he won’t grow into a better man. But protecting the people you care about—sometimes means being patient. It means thinking things through. You’re clever and strong, but you’re also too important to let your emotions lead you into a disaster.”

Arya looked down, her face a mix of frustration and guilt. “So … what should I do?”

“Learn patience. Choose your battles wisely. And if you ever feel cornered, talk to your brothers, or your father. You are lucky enough that you don’t have to be a lady if that’s not who you are, Arya. But you can’t just fight everything that frustrates you. You have to know when to fight—and how.”

Arya nodded slowly, absorbing his words, her gaze distant as she considered the weight of what could have happened.

“I won’t tell anyone about this,” Harry added. “But promise me you’ll think before acting like that again. You’re too valuable to throw yourself into danger without a plan.”

After a moment, Arya lifted her head, her jaw set. “I promise,” she said quietly, determination in her eyes.

Harry managed a small smile, relieved. He knew that Arya’s fierce spirit wasn’t something that could, or should, be easily tamed. But he could only hope she would carry this lesson forward—to act not only with the strength of her heart, but the wisdom of her mind.

“Good,” he said softly. “Let’s head back to camp, and I’ll have a word with Mycah about steering clear of Joffrey for the rest of the journey.”

She hesitated. “And what about Sansa? She’s always swooning over him, talking about how he’s going to be such a great king …”

Harry gave a small, shake of his head. “Let Sansa figure things out for herself. People don’t always see others clearly right away—especially people they care about. She has to learn, just like you and I do. But she’s smart, she’ll eventually see what you see, she’s smarter than you give her credit for.”

Arya rolled her eyes but nodded, a trace of a smirk creeping onto her face. “I suppose you’re right. Besides, she wouldn’t listen to me anyway.”

Harry chuckled. “Let’s get you and Mycah back to camp before someone decides they should come looking for you.”

When they reached Mycah, who had been sitting on the ground looking at them with uncertainly, Harry placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Mycah, you’re alright. But do yourself a favor and keep away from the prince. I have a feeling he wont remember this deciding you are beneath him and this isn’t worth his attention, but no need to put yourself at risk, alright?”

Mycah swallowed, nodding vigorously. “Yes, sir … I mean, Harry. I didn’t mean to cause any trouble …”

Harry offered him a reassuring smile. “I know. And no one’s in trouble. Just stay close to the Stark party from now on, alright?”

With a relieved sigh, Mycah nodded, his posture visibly relaxing. Arya threw him a sympathetic glance, muttering, “Sorry, Mycah. I’ll make sure Joffrey doesn’t bother you again.”

The butcher’s boy gave her a grateful look, but Harry quickly redirected them. “Come on, let’s get back. No more sneaking off for secret sword fights, alright?”

Arya and Mycah exchanged a grin, though Arya looked half-ready to argue. But before she could, Harry gave her a warning glance that quelled any remaining mischief … at least for now.

As they approached the edge of camp, Harry noticed Sansa had already returned and was riding along the edge of the camp with Joffrey. When Sansa spotted them, her expression flickered with curiosity, though her eyes lingered briefly on Harry with a mixture of suspicion and relief.

Joffrey, riding beside her, gave them a scowl as he caught sight of Arya and Mycah, though he didn’t say anything. Instead, he turned his attention back to Sansa, whispering something that made her laugh nervously.

Once they were safely back within the Stark party’s camp, Harry exhaled a sigh of relief. “Alright, you two. Go find something less dangerous to do,” he said, giving Arya a pointed look. She rolled her eyes but nodded, a glimmer of respect in her gaze.

However, what he didn’t notice was at that moment there was a pair of unblinking blue eyes on him from several tents away. Eyes that did not look away.

Kind Regards,

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Story Note 1 – Wanted to add a little bit of substance to the trip south, so there will be several adventures/experiences to help flesh out the world and help set up ideas for upcoming arcs in the story. And of course, there is the possibility that some of these characters might make a return at some point …

Story Note 2 – Part of what I found that I really enjoy is taking an event from canon and giving it my own spin on it (for instance really enjoyed writing new versions of the tasks in my Second Chance fanfic) but I hope that this chapter was an enjoyable departure from the original events.

Story Note 3 – As promised magic will be an important part of Harry’s story and in some moments he will need to use it despite risks of being seen … hope he’s alright!

Story Note 4 – Looks like Harry has drawn some attention! Unlike in some cases where there will be a multi chapter wait to find out what’s going on. This will almost immediately be resolved. Any guesses who ( … or what) was staring at him?

A large thanks to those of you out there who enjoy my stories, I promise to keep updating the stories as long as you all are enjoying them, and a special thanks to those of you who have taken the time to leave feedback or have reached out to me directly.

Disclaimer – It has come to my attention recently that I unfortunately do not own any part of the Game of Thrones nor Harry Potter universes That includes but is not limited to the characters, locations, … Who knew.