The Crow Lord - When fate was rewritten. (Patreon)

Ser Duncan the Tall, Tourney Arena – Ashford.

His body… hurt like never before.

Everything around him was completely silent, he was wounded, cornered.

And utterly furious.

This whole… circus, because there was no other word to describe it, had come at a very high cost.
Good men had died, knights who had risen against the crown to defend him.

They were dead.

And all because of the despicable creature standing before him.

-ROAAAAAGH- Duncan roared, filled with fury, lifting Aerion’s body once more and slamming him against the ground.

The prince let out a cry of agony upon impact, writhing on the floor.

Duncan, enraged, lifted his gaze toward the stands and removed the uncomfortable helm, revealing his battered face.

Everyone watched in stunned silence, there was no more laughter, no more bets on how quickly Duncan would die.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” he shouted furiously, his body was in pieces, but his will, his mind… was completely clear.
And furious.

“ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED? ARE THE DEATHS OF GOOD MEN NOT ENOUGH TO YOUR BLOOD THIRST?” he roared, utterly consumed by rage, his body trembling.

All of this… was too much for him.

No one in the stands responded, the powerful Lords and Ladies completely silent, like small mice.

Lady Lily and Lady Gwyn looked at him with evident concern, exchanging glances between Duncan and another point in the arena behind him, both clearly terrified by what they were seeing.

As he turned to look, the massive knight understood why.

Lord Harrys was fighting, fierce and fast, an evident predator, with a mastery that could only be obtained through countless hours of training.

Fighting Prince Maekar, who seemed like a caged dragon, swinging his mace with lethal intent, his gaze shifting between Lord Harrys and the fallen Prince Aerion.

The two warriors fought with mastery and ferocity, a deadly dance of steel that, at any moment, could turn into tragedy.

And by the movements both were making, victory could belong to either of them, Prince Maekar had experience on his side, while Lord Harrys, young and agile, with the advantage of the spear’s reach, kept him at bay, delivering swift and savage thrusts.

One single mistake, and one of them could be wounded or worse.

And the looks on the Ladies and the princess said it all, the three women held their breath watching the deadly dance, which had become the main event.

Not every day you could witness such skilled warriors clashing against each other.

The massive knight looked around, all the death, the smell of blood and filth filled his nose.

All of this… could have been avoided, all of this had been a whim.

And that thought filled him with unmatched fury.

Duncan slowly turned toward Aerion, who was trying, unsuccessfully, to stand, and without any mercy, Duncan grabbed him by the chest, ripped his helm off and began to punch him.

Again and again, making sure not to use the gauntlet Lord Harrys had given him.

He wanted… he wanted him to suffer, to feel pain and agony.

Death was… too much mercy for such a despicable being.

The moment his fist struck the prince, everything around them disappeared, there was only Aerion and him.

"AAARRRGGGHHHHH" Duncan roared, his eyes wild, striking his face over and over again.

And with every impact, the face became more and more disfigured.

Nothing else existed, only vengeance, against cruelty, against the impotence of knowing that a despicable being could get away with everything just because of a damned title.

Duncan had reached the point of no return, and he knew it, he was going to kill him, he would murder this bastard and…

"SER DUNCAN!!" a voice shouted, feminine, familiar.

Maternal.

The massive man halted his blow, the prince, completely disfigured, was nearly unconscious, but that didn’t matter.

Duncan’s attention shifted to Lady Lily, who had stood up, looking at him directly, not with relief, nor support, nor with the kind smile he had grown used to.

But with… disappointment and concern.

And that look cut through the fury clouding his judgment with precision, allowing reason to return to his eyes.

Duncan saw what losing control had caused, Prince Aerion, on the verge of death.

A couple more blows… and this would not have been a victory, but a…

But a murder.

Duncan looked at his trembling hands, shaking his head rapidly, realizing what he had been about to do, what his fury had been pushing him toward.

And he felt… horrified, like never before.

For the first time since the chaos began, the weight of his own strength terrified him more than any enemy ever could.

However, his thoughts were interrupted by a scream of pain.

"AHHHHHG SHIT!!"

Turning around, Duncan watched in horror as Prince Maekar's defense had been defeated, Lord Harrys’ spear had found a weak point in the prince’s solid stance, piercing through his thigh, causing his body to falter and forcing him to take a couple of steps back.

Lord Harrys did not yield, he continued delivering precise thrusts, forcing the prince to lose his balance more and more.

“SURRENDER!!” roared Lord Potter, as he saw Prince Maekar fall backward, completely defenseless on the ground.

But Maekar’s gaze was not on Harrys, but directly on his son, his eyes fixed on Aerion, who was on the verge of unconsciousness.

This whole circus… had to end, right now.

Duncan frowned and, with his last strength, lifted Aerion’s body along with his armor, with alarming ease, making use of his privileged strength.

He held the prince by the chestplate and raised him into the air, in full view of the entire tournament.

The disfigured face was barely conscious, so Duncan had to act quickly.

“SURRENDER!! END THIS FUCKING MADNESS!!!” Duncan ordered, the fury and desperation in his gaze more than evident.

And Aerion, for the first time in his life, made a prudent decision, with words barely audible, a whisper that cut through the morning haze, the prince spoke.

“I… surrender…” he said, before falling unconscious.

An instant later, the trumpet that symbolized the end of the trial echoed throughout the arena.

He was safe, he had survived, he was…

Duncan’s legs gave out instantly, causing him to fall to his knees, just as Raymun, battered and wounded but alive, ran toward him.

“DUNCAN! We did it! You did it!” said the young Fossoway, grimacing in pain, but his happiness and satisfaction were more than evident.

Duncan nodded, his gaze focused on Lord Harrys, who, upon hearing the trumpet, lowered his spear, while Prince Maekar sighed in relief and regained his breath, lying on the muddy ground.

“HAHAHAHA that’s what I’m talking about, damn it!” shouted the unmistakable voice of Lyonel, bruised and limping, but more alive than ever as he laughed loudly and reached Duncan, helping him to his feet.

“Good job, big man, you and I are going to do many things together, you should come to Storm’s End with me, but we’ll talk about that later,” said Lyonel with a booming laugh.

“Look at that, a Targaryen prince on the ground, by a merchant lord no less, I’m sure the king will be pleased,” said Lord Baratheon with amusement, watching as Lord Harrys helped Prince Maekar to his feet, both speaking between themselves, there was respect, but also… something else.

Resentment. And caution.

Nothing out of the ordinary, to be honest.

“How many… how many died?” Duncan asked cautiously.

“Beesbury and Hardyng are dead, Ser Rhysling is wounded, but alive, he and I kept Ser Donnel busy,” said Raymun, making Duncan nod heavily.

Raymun and Lyonel were fine, as well as Lord Harrys, but and…

“Where is Prince Baelor?” the young knight asked, causing the other two men to look at each other in surprise.

At least… until Lord Harrys spoke.

“Oh shit,” he muttered, removing his helmet as he ran toward—

No…

No, no, NO, NO NO!

Toward a kneeling Prince Baelor, in the mud, without his helmet…

And with the back of his skull shattered.

“Fuck…” Lyonel whispered, stunned.

Duncan couldn’t say anything, he was completely frozen, in the stands, the Lords and Ladies were beginning to realize what had happened.

Prince Valarr stood, horrified and trembling, accompanied by his wife, Lady Gwyn had her hand over her mouth and Princess Daella stared, frozen, toward where her uncle stood.

But the most devastating reaction… was Lily’s.

The redhead stood, staring in absolute horror at the prince, one of her hands pressed against her chest.

“BAELOR!!” the beautiful and elegant Lady screamed, and without any regard for her dress, she ran into the mud, directly toward the prince.

In her hand she carried… a twig?

Duncan didn’t understand what he was seeing.

“Let’s go, we must… we must be present,” said the massive man, and although it was clear Lyonel did not agree, he simply nodded, understanding the delicacy of the situation.

None of the survivors of the tournament imagined what fate had in store for them.

The end of one era, and the beginning of another.

And though none of them could yet name it, something fundamental had just shifted in the balance of power before their very eyes.

Lily Potter, Tourney Arena – Ashford.

Her legs moved on their own, her heart pounded violently, threatening to burst out of her chest.

No, not again, she told herself over and over.

Without even hesitating, she ran through mud and blood toward where Harrys stood with her beloved Baelor, behind her, Prince Valarr ran with all his strength, both of them not caring about the state of their ruined clothes.

As she arrived, Lily saw how Harrys, who had removed his gauntlets, pressed against the back of the skull, his eyes filled with concern and resignation.

“Don’t fall asleep, old man, don’t you dare close your fucking eyes and don’t go into the light!” Harrys shouted in desperation, trying to stop the prince from bleeding out.

Baelor smiled, his face… calm, somehow disconnected.

“You are… you are a good boy, Harrys, a good boy, take care of your mother and… and I entrust you with my son, he will need help,” said Baelor, in what sounded unmistakably like a farewell.

“BAELOR!” Lily screamed, kneeling and taking his face, her desperate, pleading eyes shifting constantly between the prince and her son, who was doing everything he could.

Though his face said everything, and the subtle shake of his head was more than enough.

“FATHER!!” Prince Valarr cried, sobbing uncontrollably, looking helplessly at his beloved father.

Baelor, for his part, simply smiled weakly.

“My son, you and your brother… are my greatest pride, I love you, my sons,” he said, as his eyes began to close.

Little by little, more people arrived, including Prince Maekar, who looked at his brother’s state completely devastated and in shock.

“Baelor…” he whispered, as his legs gave out and he fell to his knees, utterly broken.

But Lily was not listening, her mind, traitorous, dragging her back into her past.

Everyone… everyone she had ever loved, except for Harrys, was dead.

Her beloved James, sacrificing himself for her and their beloved son, Daemon, whom she had come to love like a brother, betrayed and his name stained by gray rats, the little Aegon and Aemon, so full of life.

And little Alyssane, her greatest regret, seeing her terrified little eyes and being unable to do anything while that disgusting Rivers bastard executed her.

No… she would not allow it to happen again, today would become the day she had feared for so long.

Harrys, her beloved son, was already a man, he could defend himself, but Lily would no longer allow someone she loved to die.

Never again.

She took the face of the dying Baelor with tenderness and said through tears.

“Everything… everything will be fine my love, I promise you,” she said with determination, as she inhaled deeply and pulled out her wand, her hand trembling.

“What… what are you doing?” Harrys asked, his brow furrowed, looking at her with doubt… and realization.

There was disapproval in his gaze, and though it hurt, Lily didn’t care, she simply placed the piece of wood, to the disbelief of those around them, and with complete calm, began to murmur that spell Severus had created so many years ago.

“Vulnera Sanentur…” Lily began to whisper, directly over the prince’s skull, fully concentrated, as from the tip of her wand, a golden light emerged and with it, the greatest secret of the Potters was laid bare.

In exchange… for the life of Baelor Targaryen.

“Oh shit!” Lyonel said, stunned, watching the act with caution and wonder, a reaction shared by everyone around.

“It’s working… IT’S WORKING!!” Valarr said with immense relief, watching as the bleeding from the head stopped and color returned to the prince’s face.

“Harrys, fix his skull, please,” Lily said, completely focused, nothing mattered except saving Baelor’s life.

Her son did not respond, and it was more than clear that he was furious, but Harrys obeyed, he used his wand, taking it out of his tunic and pointing at the prince’s skull, he whispered.

“Brachio Emendum!”

A series of uncomfortable cracks followed, as the shattered skull of Prince Baelor reformed as if it were clay, restoring its original shape.

“Come on Baelor, react, don’t close your eyes, it’s important that you stay awake!” Lily said, fully focused, but it seemed useless.

Harrys, still focused on repairing the skull, spoke harshly.

“Valarr, talk to your father, yell at him or whatever, but don’t let him fall asleep, he cannot close his eyes,” Harrys ordered, his rough voice snapping everyone into action.

Valarr and Maekar knelt beside Lily and began shouting at Baelor.

“FATHER! Remember you still have to take Matarys and me fishing to your special place, you haven’t shown us yet, you must stay awake!”

“Baelor, for fuck’s sake, open your damn eyes, because if you die, I swear I will torment you for all eternity!” said Maekar, clearly worried, looking at Lily with hope.

“Almost there…” Lily whispered, sighing in relief as she felt her magic repairing all the hemorrhaging and damage from the blow, while Harrys finished restoring the skull.

And the dragon prince gasped, more alive than ever.

“Shit! Gods, what hit me, my… my head…” he said, holding his face, evidently in pain, he will need to recover, but he will live and thrive.

“Easy my love, everything… everything will be fine,” Lily said, though she herself was not so sure, even less so under the accusing gaze of her beloved son.

Harrys looked at her with a cold expression, it was more than clear they would have an uncomfortable and painful conversation.

Lily looked at Maekar and Valarr and said.

“Take him to my tent, he has lost a lot of blood and I need to give him something to recover,” she ordered with certainty.

Both princes looked at her as if Lily were a Goddess, and without question, they lifted Baelor and carefully carried him toward the Potter tent.

Lily was about to follow them when her son’s cold voice stopped her, sharp as a dagger in the dark.

“You have explanations to give. And many,” the voice was low and filled with fury.

Lily looked at her son, with a look that had never before been directed at her, fury and betrayal filled his gaze.

The redhead simply sighed and followed the princes, escorted by the remaining Kings guard, while silence reigned throughout the entire tournament, the rumors had already begun to spread.

House Potter had magic.

Powerful magic capable of pulling a man from the jaws of the stranger, such news would soon spread throughout the entire realm, for better or worse.

In a single afternoon, a respected and wealthy, but ultimately harmless foreign house, had just become the most dangerous and desired house in all of Westeros.

The problems, as well as the opportunities, had only just begun.

And from this moment forward, there would be no turning back for any of them.