Chapter Text
The view from the hill closest to his tent had been the same for the better part of the last few years. Ships attacking each other and dragons proceeding to light ships on fire, or at least the ships that didn’t bear the seahorse flag. Harry hummed idly as he ate breakfast, sitting at the edge of the sea cliff a bit from his tent.
He’d landed in this world three years ago and had stayed on this island since, minding his own business for the most part. It was a small enough island, the only other inhabitants being the occasional birds or wild pig or survivors of pirate attacks washing up.
He was the only person on the island now, as the sun rose on the horizon, casting the skies into a pretty orange and deep red. He could just barely hear shouting, cries and screams coming from the bigger island about a mile away, narrowing his eyes at the sight of men crawling over the land.
It wasn’t cold at all on the island and he hadn’t had to take out a coat yet. He glanced down at the water below him, eying it for a few minutes, taking another bite of grilled meat. The fire behind him crackled lively, almost playfully, making him smile faintly.
The loud thud behind him made him freeze, the quiet but curious squeal even more so.
That wasn’t one of the wild boars that he had seen running about the island. The thwap of something leathery hitting the ground definitely wasn’t a boar.
He was about to turn around to look at what was probably a dragon when the fire behind went out. Harry jolted and quickly turned to look, his eyes widening at the sight behind him. At the creature that was very definitely a dragon behind him. It was sitting squarely on his fire, smothering it. Embers sparked outward, hitting the dragon’s thick hide and seemingly melting into it. He could practically hear the dying crackling of the fire, imagining the dying screams of it and rolling his eyes.
The dragon was blood red and had a rather long neck and its dark red eyes were looking right at him.
“Hey! That’s my fire you’re sitting on!”
The dragon rumbled low in its throat at his exclamation, snaking its head right up to him.
Harry sighed, shook his head, and turned back around to look out at the view, goosebumps rolling up his arms as he heard the dragon move. “Aren’t you supposed to be over there?”
He pointed to where the camp of soldiers was, at the island about a mile away. If he squinted he could just barely make out the banners that flew over the camp. A seahorse, a three-headed dragon.
The dragon rumbled again, louder this time and snaked its head over to lay beside him. Harry sighed and peered down at the scaly beast, at its long neck that was longer than he thought possible.
He pictured the basilisk in his mind and spoke again. “ You can stay. Just don’t eat me.”
The dragon seemed to startle, its wing-claws digging deeper into the dirt beneath it. It blinked and peered up at him curiously, making a kind of curious strangled noise before its gaze fell on the skewer of meat on Harry’s plate.
The dragon swallowed and seemed to purr, the rumbling noise getting louder as it looked up at him.
Harry snorted, feeling a kind of amusement that he hadn’t felt in a while. “ You’re like a puppy.”
The dragon huffed and nudged its head right into his leg, making him yelp. The horns on the dragon’s head were bony and painful and. “Alright! Here!”
He picked up one piece of meat and threw it right at the dragon’s mouth, watching as the beast caught it perfectly. The satisfied look in its eyes made Harry laugh, amusement rippling through his body.
“That’s not even big enough for you, you asshole,” Harry muttered, taking another bite of his piece. “And here I am calling a dragon an asshole. Great.”
Smoke left the dragon’s mouth as it opened its mouth wide, jaws gaping. Heat radiated from the dragon’s body, hot enough to make Harry sweat on the spot. The beast was hotter than Harry’s fire had been, reminding him somewhat of the dragon he and his friends had ridden on to escape Gringotts.
“You always go up to strangers and beg for food?”
The dragon rumbled again before freezing, its whole body lighting up like it had just gotten electrified. It raised its head and roared, flame escaping its mouth and Harry skittered out of its way, his eyes widening as he caught how much the dragon was practically vibrating.
The dragon shook from head to tail before diving off the cliff’s edge. The burst of movement and shock pushed Harry onto his back, the force of it making his heart thud in his chest.
“Do I want to know what that was about?”
On further thought, Harry shook his head, and sat back up, staring down at the dragon as it nearly dove into the water, catching itself at the right moment. It flew off towards the bigger island to the north and Harry watched it go, glancing down at the now empty plate of food. “I…am going back to bed.”
What felt like an hour later had him waking up to the thud of something landing not too far away from his tent. Harry slowly sat up and swung his legs off the bed, glancing down at his sleep pants and shrugging. He was shirtless, just in a pair of sleep pants and that was fine. He walked out of the tent and stopped right out front, staring at the familiar blood red dragon.
The dragon that now had a rider on its back. A human man that was more limp and possibly dead. The guy was covered in blood, blood that was either his or opponent’s. The man was clothed in metal armor that had a few punctures in it, as well as dirt and blood. The silver hair didn’t come as a surprise; he’d seen the two dragon riders from a distance a few times and they’d both had silver hair.
The dragon snarled at him, lowering its head to look him in the eye.
“What? What do you expect me to do?” Harry retorted, pointing at the man on the dragon’s back. “He might be dead!”
The man wasn’t dead but. “I don’t even know him!”
The dragon growled and smoke trailed out of the beast’s jaws, the threat of fire very imminent.
“Fine. Sit. Let me come get him.”
The dragon blinked and collapsed to the dirt, laying its head on a limb. Harry scowled at it before tucking his wand behind an ear and padding over to walk up onto the dragon’s back. The man’s silver hair was filthy, covered in blood, ash, smoke and dirt, and his face was… The man looked like he had gone ten rounds with a vampire and lost.
But the man’s pulse was still there, as Harry put two fingers against the man’s neck to feel it. Slow, a little uneven but there. Harry laid a hand on the man’s armor, assumed it would be heavy, and slipped his fingers underneath it. Unbuckled it and shoved it off to the ground. The thud it made when it hit the ground echoed in Harry’s ears.
The man hadn’t even woken up yet, deeply unconscious, slumped against the dragon’s back. Apparently trusting it to take him…somewhere safe? Or back to their camp. And this was most assuredly not the man’s camp. Harry rolled his eyes, amusement filtering through him, and slipped an arm around the man’s shoulders and one underneath his legs and lifted.
The man groaned and kicked out, the muscles in his left leg visibly shaking. Harry glanced down at it as he jumped down to the ground, letting his magic ease the fall a little bit. He walked over to his tent and summoned one of the tables in the tent, waiting until it appeared to lay the man on top of it.
He wasn’t going to take the man into his tent but this would work.
The dragon continued to stare at him as Harry summoned his kit as well, its reptilian gaze a little ominous. He slipped fingers under the man’s clothes, finding a hole in the man’s left leg, beneath the knee. Blood sluggishly poured out of a wound underneath the clothes as he watched.
He pulled his wand out and used it to cut through fabric, banishing any that stuck to the man’s sweaty, dirty skin. Harry glanced up at the man’s face and brushed the hair out of his face, wrinkling his nose at the amount of blood on the man’s skin. He gave the man’s upper torso a thorough check, finding one hole but nothing else.
Arrows. It looked like injuries from arrows. The holes were small enough to be from arrowheads and not from swords or knives or the like. Harry carefully lifted the man up, curling his fingers around the man’s right shoulder and glancing at his back quickly to find another hole there. They weren’t fatal injuries, maybe enough to knock the man off his feet for a few days, for a week if Harry hadn’t been pressed into healing him.
“Fine. He’ll live,” Harry offered wryly, glancing at the dragon, who huffed, and then began to heal. “Nothing hit his heart and that’s not his blood.”
A few cleaning charms left the man’s pale skin visible and made the silver hair stand out even more. A few braids had been put into the man’s hair and they were mostly undone, hair flying in all directions.
He touched his wand to the man’s skin, near the holes left by arrows, and began to mutter healing charms.
Daemon groaned as he woke up, stretching his arms up above his head and hearing his back crack. He was on something stable, something solid and broad, something that felt a lot like a table. He was in the shade and he could feel Caraxes somewhere nearby, the dragon’s low rumbling making him almost relax. A soft breeze flowed across his bare skin, making him shiver. The light wind felt good as it cooled him off. The damned Stepstones weren’t cold at all.
The sudden hand on his chest made him flinch, made him jolt upright and fully wake up.
“Stay down. You’re still injured.”
The words had a lining of something to them, something like steel, and Daemon glared at the man beside him.
The man stared back at him, raising a pointed eyebrow. “I might have healed those wounds of yours but you’re exhausted and dehydrated.”
The accent was unfamiliar and the man’s vibrant green eyes were sharp. The man’s black hair was shorter than Daemon’s but mayhaps just as messy as his felt like. The man’s clothes were also unfamiliar, a short tunic that only fell to the waist and pants that were not any material he was familiar with.
Daemon studied the man, his eyes landing on the scar on the man’s forehead before meeting the man’s gaze again, glaring at him. “Who the fuck are you?”
“I’m the man who patched you up,” the man replied easily, peering at him curiously, if a little warily. “And you?”
“Prince Daemon Targaryen. How dare you kidnap me and--”
“Whoa. I didn’t kidnap you. Your dragon brought you here.”
Daemon blinked and then blinked again, turning to look at Caraxes, who was sitting nearby. The dragon’s eyes closed slowly before reopening, rumbling almost in what sounded like amusement.
The man finally took his hand off of him and stepped back. “I would recommend taking things slow for a while. Healings usually take a lot out of the injured person.”
“You never gave me your name.”
“You can call me Harry.”
“It’s your Highness.”
Harry scowled at him. “I’m not from Westeros.”
Daemon glared at him, his heart thudding in his chest. “I am a Prince.”
Harry crossed his arms and looked at him, his eyes sparking in what could have been mischief. “I’ll call you that if you’ve earned it. What’s your dragon’s name?”
“Caraxes. He’s a fearsome beast,” Daemon answered, swinging his legs off the table he was on and standing up only to sway a little. The man’s words echoed in his mind, if you’ve earned it . He scowled and then shook it off, shaking a little. Grey spots danced at the corners of his vision and he dug his fingers into the solid metal of the table, making pain shoot up his fingers.
“Caraxes. Hmm. He’s also an asshole,” Harry commented idly. “But alas.”
Daemon gasped and leaned his full weight against the table again, hearing quiet steps coming towards him before fingers curled into his hip.
“Slow. Your body’s still probably in shock,” Harry explained quietly.
“Don’t call my dragon an--” Daemon trailed off on a moan as those quick fingers trailed a line of heat up his side.
Harry huffed and grabbed his hand to guide him over to a chair. Daemon didn’t have the strength to argue or to dig his heels into the dirt and refuse to be steered by another person, falling into the chair with a loud sigh.
“That feel better?”
Daemon refused to admit it did feel better to be off his feet, sweat dripping down his back and forehead at the short length he had walked. “Where are we?”
The man removed his fingers from Daemon’s hand and stepped back, leaning his hip against the very table that Daemon had laid on. “We’re on an island.”
Daemon arched an eyebrow. “Seven hells, I know we’re on an island. Which one?”
“Don’t know. I never stopped to ask the wild boars.”
Daemon hissed at the man’s amused grin before he glanced down at his bare chest, his eyes widening when he couldn’t see any evidence of bandage or injury. Instead there was pink, pale, new skin right where one arrow had impaled him.
Caraxes rumbled suspiciously, amusedly, in his throat and Daemon turned to glare at his traitorous dragon.
Harry snorted and shook his head. “You’ve been asleep for a day. Let me grab some food and water. You must be hungry.”
“What the hell did you do to me?” Daemon asked, raising his voice as the man walked back into the tent opposite them. As his vision cleared up, he took in the sight of the absolutely normal tent in front of him. It was small and inferior to the ones he had stayed in during the fighting in the Stepstones.
No banners. No sign of anything royal.
Caraxes was curled up right next to it, all flopped down like he had no intention of leaving now. Daemon’s armor and his sword, Dark Sister, were bundled up neatly right next to Caraxes, clean and shiny. Daemon frowned and then sighed, leaning back into the chair as Harry strode back out a minute later.
The man carried a tray right over to him, dragging a small side table with him. It held a steaming plate of meat and stew, a glass of water, and a small vial.
“I’m not drinking that,” Daemon said, glaring at the vial. “I’m not--”
“You don’t even know what it is,” Harry retorted, interrupting him.
“Milk of the poppy, right? So you can poison me or knock me out and kill me while I’m asleep.”
Harry blinked as he propped the tray down on the table, glancing at him incredulously. “If I was intending on killing you, I’d have already done it. Caraxes also probably wouldn’t have brought you here to me to heal, if I understand this world’s dragons and their bond to their riders.”
Daemon stared at Harry, arching an eyebrow at the man’s words. The man did look like he was roughly the same age as him and he did not look like he was crazy.
“Just eat your stew and drink the water,” Harry said, jerking a thumb at the tray. “The liquid in the vial is just to catch any hint of infection I missed. It won’t put you to sleep.”
“Why do you care? I have maesters back at my camp,” Daemon argued wearily, reaching out to take a bite of the stew and groaning at the taste of it. It was better than anything he had ever tasted before. “And how did you make it seem like…”
“Like you’ve never been injured?” Harry finished, walking back over to sit on his chair and meeting his gaze. “That’s none of your business.”
“I could order you to tell me.”
“You’re not my prince,” Harry replied, grinning a little, a hint of mischief in his gaze. “Besides… I’ve always been better at giving orders, not following them.”
Daemon stared at the man across from him as he took a sip of the water. Harry winked at him, something akin to heat gathering in those green eyes, before standing up, his gaze flicking to Caraxes briefly.
“I am the King’s brother.”
“Still not going to tell you. I don’t even know the king.”
Daemon hissed under his breath, taking another bite of stew. There were no big chunks of meat or vegetables in it, just small bits of food that was easy to swallow. The stew itself was not rich in flavor, better than even the feasts in King’s Landing.
“Finish that and leave,” Harry remarked, frowning in thought before sighing. “I don’t want you staying.”
Daemon grinned, smirking. “Why ever not? I thought you had the best manners.”
“My manners as you say are just because you were injured,” Harry commented, running a hand through his hair.
“I would get up and show you exactly what I am capable of,” Daemon retorted, leering at the man. “You are nothing--”
“Are you trying to flirt with me?” Harry exclaimed, tilting his head, his gaze right on Daemon.
Daemon sputtered, spewing out the bite of meat he had just taken. “What in the seven hells are you talking of?”
Harry laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “No. Nope. Forget it. You people are always so…”
He threw up his hands and walked out to the cliff edge to the west. Daemon tracked him until he couldn’t see the man anymore and then coughed, taking a sip of water to clean his mouth.
Harry felt the moment when Daemon tried to get into his tent, felt the instant his magic reacted and pushed the man back. He heard the loud yelp from Prince Daemon Targaryen and snorted, hearing Caraxes roar. He felt no urge to go and check on the man, knowing he hadn’t put any lethal wards around his tent.
The waves beneath him grew choppy for several minutes, hitting the cliff edge hard. He lay down onto his back and watched as the blood red dragon ran right to the edge, taking off from it with a running leap into the air.
He could see Daemon on Caraxes’ back, his armor back on his body.
Harry watched them until they vanished within the clouds in the sky, denying the little curl of wistfulness slicing its way through his body.