To anyone watching from the docks, the ship Harry chose looked almost laughably small.
It certainly wasn't one of Narnia's massive war galleys — those floating fortresses that dominated harbors and terrified rival fleets. This vessel seemed modest, practical, almost forgettable. Exactly the impression Harry wanted outsiders to have.
Inside, however, it was another world entirely.
The moment Sirius stepped below deck for the first time, he stopped dead in his tracks.
"By the gods…" he whispered.
The interior stretched far beyond what the ship's exterior dimensions should allow. Wide corridors, multiple chambers, storage bays, living quarters, even training space — all seamlessly expanded by powerful spatial enchantments. An entire battalion could travel comfortably without anyone outside ever realizing it.
Harry smiled faintly at Sirius's expression.
"Never judge magical craftsmanship by appearances," he said. "Discretion keeps people alive."
Sirius nodded, still looking around with unconcealed excitement.
"This is incredible. You could move an army anywhere without anyone noticing."
"That," Harry replied calmly, "is precisely the point."
Despite the marvel surrounding him, Sirius's thoughts soon drifted elsewhere — toward the North.
"I hope Uncle Eddard and Robb come to King's Landing for the ceremony," he said suddenly.
Harry glanced sideways. "You're thinking about the gift."
Sirius grinned.
"I promised him. A proper direwolf cub."
The pup was safely housed in a specially prepared kennel chamber aboard the ship. One of Helga's newest litter — strong, silver-furred, alert-eyed even at such a young age. Helga, Godric, and the rest of the direwolves had produced several healthy pups recently, all already under careful training by Gryffindor Castle's beastmasters.
"I picked the youngest," Sirius continued enthusiastically. "So he grows alongside Robb. Bonds stronger that way."
Harry approved. Direwolves weren't mere pets. They were companions, guardians, symbols. Raising one from youth mattered.
"If Rickard Stark attends the ceremony," Harry said thoughtfully, "Eddard will likely stay behind. Which means Robb will come with his grandfather."
Sirius looked pleased at that.
"I hope so."
The voyage south wasn't direct.
Harry had planned a brief stop first — Skagos.
Several passengers aboard the ship were bound there anyway. Priests heading north to establish temples, settlers seeking work, craftsmen attracted by reports of booming industry. Skagos, once feared as a savage land, had changed dramatically under Ragnar's leadership.
As the ship cut through cold northern waters, Sirius spent hours alternating between exploring the enchanted interior, visiting the direwolf cub, and standing on deck watching the endless sea.
"You ever get tired of traveling?" Sirius asked one evening.
Harry considered the question.
"No," he answered eventually. "Because every place teaches something. Stagnation is what exhausts me."
That seemed to make sense to Sirius.
When Skagos finally appeared on the horizon, even Sirius grew quiet.
What once had been described in fearful whispers now showed signs of transformation. Coastal watchtowers. Organized docks. Smoke from smithies rising in disciplined columns. Roads visible even from the sea.
As soon as their ship entered harbor, activity surged.
Messengers ran ahead. Guards assembled. Harbor masters rushed forward. Word traveled fast — the king had arrived.
Ragnar himself came to receive them.
He approached without theatrical display but with unmistakable authority, his presence commanding immediate respect. Years of leadership had hardened him, refined him.
"My king," Ragnar greeted, bowing slightly.
Harry clasped his forearm instead of accepting a full bow.
"No ceremony, Ragnar. Show me what you've built."
Ragnar smiled faintly. "Then you'll be pleased."
Sirius, meanwhile, was staring everywhere at once.
The settlement was thriving. Mines operating efficiently. Smithies forging tools and weapons. Markets lively with trade. And further west, as Ragnar explained during their tour, a new city was rising — carefully planned, aesthetically designed, not merely functional.
"We want it beautiful," Ragnar said. "Not just strong. People stay longer where beauty exists."
Harry nodded approvingly.
"That's wisdom many rulers never learn."
They visited the mining districts next. Rich iron and steel deposits had turned Skagos into an industrial powerhouse. Settlers arriving now were almost guaranteed employment — miners, smelters, builders, merchants.
"Crime?" Harry asked.
"Minimal," Ragnar replied. "Work keeps men honest. And the law is firm."
Sirius absorbed everything eagerly, occasionally asking questions about fortifications, trade routes, or shipbuilding. Ragnar answered each patiently.
Still, Sirius's mind was clearly elsewhere.
King's Landing.
Adventure. Reunion. The ceremony.
Harry noticed.
"You're itching to move on," he said quietly later.
Sirius laughed sheepishly. "A bit."
Harry clapped his shoulder.
"We won't delay long."
That night, they were hosted in the governor's hall — comfortable but not overly lavish. Ragnar preferred practical elegance over ostentation.
Conversations flowed easily. Reports exchanged. Future plans discussed.
By morning, Harry had seen enough.
Skagos was stable. Prosperous. Loyal.
Harry had just finished giving a few final instructions to Ragnar about mining logistics and settlement expansion when the faint silver shimmer caught his attention. Normally, such calls came from his skinchanger spies — brief updates about political movements, trade shifts, or suspicious military activity across Westeros and Essos.
So at first, Harry didn't think much of it.
But the moment the mirror cleared, he paused.
Brandon Stark stared back at him.
That alone was unusual. Brandon rarely used the enchanted mirror except for matters of real urgency — or occasionally to speak with Barbara and Richard when distance weighed heavily on him. This was neither of those situations.
And something about Brandon's face immediately told Harry this was serious.
"Brandon?" Harry asked calmly. "What happened?"
Brandon didn't answer immediately. His expression remained carefully blank, almost unreadable, though Harry knew him well enough to sense the tension underneath.
Then Brandon spoke.
"Did you attack the Targaryen ships?"
Harry blinked.
"What?"
"Answer me plainly, Harry," Brandon said, voice steady but sharp. "Did you or did you not send Narnian ships against the Westerosi fleet coming toward Andalos?"
For a second, Harry genuinely thought Brandon was joking.
But there was no humor in his eyes.
"I haven't even seen a Targaryen ship," Harry replied slowly. "We're still at Skagos. We haven't reached the Narrow Sea yet."
To emphasize his point, he turned the mirror slightly, showing the bustling harbor behind him — the rugged coastline, Ragnar's developing settlement, ships still anchored peacefully.
"See for yourself," Harry added. "If I'd launched an attack, I certainly wouldn't still be here inspecting mining contracts."
Brandon studied the image carefully.
Behind Harry, Sirius stepped into view, curiosity written across his face.
"Uncle Brandon?" Sirius called. "What's going on?"
Brandon's expression softened slightly at seeing the boy, then hardened again as he looked back at Harry.
"I believe you," he said at last. "But something happened. Something big."
Harry folded his arms.
"Tell me."
Brandon exhaled slowly.
"Yesterday there was a storm. Not an ordinary one — violent, sudden, and powerful enough to tear apart a fleet. Today, wreckage started washing ashore along Andalos. Ships. Bodies. Survivors clinging to whatever they could find."
Harry's brow furrowed.
"What fleet?"
"The Targaryen fleet," Brandon said quietly. "The one Rhaegar sent."
Silence hung between them for a moment.
"How bad?" Harry asked.
Brandon's jaw tightened.
"Devastating. Almost ninety percent of their forces drowned. Ships shattered. Supplies gone. Whatever invasion they planned…" he shook his head, "…it's finished before it began."
Sirius let out a low whistle.
"That's… intense."
"It would be a relief," Brandon continued, "if not for what came next."
Harry waited.
"Survivors claim they saw a Narnian warship sailing through the storm untouched. Massive. Unharmed. Like the storm wasn't even touching it."
Harry frowned deeply.
"And now they're blaming Narnia."
"Yes," Brandon confirmed. "They think you conjured the storm. That you attacked them indirectly."
Harry shook his head immediately.
"I can control weather to an extent, but not like that. Not a full sea storm capable of destroying an entire fleet. That's beyond even my strongest magic."
Sirius nodded in agreement.
"He's telling the truth, Uncle Brandon. If Father had done something like that, he wouldn't deny it."
Brandon studied Harry for another long moment, then nodded slowly.
"I know."
Harry leaned closer to the mirror.
"What about Astrid?"
Brandon's expression darkened.
"She survived. Barely. Found clinging to a plank. Exhausted, half-frozen, nearly drowned. Most of her supporters didn't make it."
"Where is she now?"
"At the healer's house. Recovering. Same place we're treating the other survivors."
Harry absorbed that quietly.
A storm powerful enough to destroy an invasion fleet… yet leave Narnian ships untouched?
That didn't make sense.
Unless—
He stopped the thought. Speculation without evidence was dangerous.
"Do you believe it was natural?" Brandon asked.
Harry hesitated.
"Possibly. Sea storms can be unpredictable. But…" he sighed softly, "…I can't ignore the timing either."
Brandon nodded.
"Neither can I."
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Brandon added quietly:
"Whatever caused it, Harry… it may have saved Andalos. A full-scale war right now would have been… messy."
Harry allowed himself a small, relieved breath.
"Yes. It would."
The colony was still stabilizing. Fighting Westeros prematurely would stretch Narnia's resources and risk unnecessary casualties.
This unexpected disaster — whatever its origin — had bought them time.
Valuable time.
"Well," Brandon said finally, his tone easing slightly, "if you truly had nothing to do with it, then I'll handle the rumors here. But you should prepare. Westeros might not accept coincidence."
"They rarely do," Harry agreed.
Sirius leaned closer to the mirror.
"Tell Aunt Barbara and Richard I'll bring gifts next time!"
That earned the first genuine smile from Brandon.
"I will."
The mirror's glow faded moments later, leaving Harry standing silently on the Skagos dock.
The sea breeze felt colder now.
Sirius broke the silence first.
"So… storm of the century destroys an invasion fleet, people blame us, and nobody knows why?"
Harry nodded slowly.
"Exactly."
"You think it was the gods?"
Harry looked toward the southern horizon.
"Maybe. Maybe nature. Maybe something else entirely."
A pause.
"But whatever it was," he added quietly, "it spared us a war we didn't need."
Despite its modest outward appearance, the small ship Harry had chosen for the journey south cut through the waters with remarkable speed.
To any casual observer it looked like nothing more than a humble trading vessel — certainly not something carrying the King of Narnia and his heir. That anonymity was precisely why Harry had selected it. There were no banners, no carved figureheads announcing allegiance, no Narnian insignia painted proudly on its hull.
Discretion, this time, mattered more than grandeur.
The voyage itself settled into a steady rhythm.
Days blended into one another — training, meals, conversation, rest — the quiet discipline of travel replacing the constant responsibilities of court. Sirius, in particular, seemed to thrive in the environment. Freed from castle protocol and formal obligations, he threw himself into preparation with fierce enthusiasm.
Each morning began with martial training on the expanded lower deck.
Harry watched often, sometimes sparring, sometimes simply observing while Sirius practiced sword drills, dagger work, and hand-to-hand techniques. His movements had grown sharper recently — less impulsive, more controlled. War, politics, and responsibility had begun shaping him.
But it wasn't just physical training.
Sirius's newest fascination was skin-changing.
One of Harry's most experienced skinchangers — a quiet, weathered man named Halvar — had been assigned specifically to guide him. The ability had only recently begun manifesting in Sirius, and Harry knew it needed careful cultivation. Mishandled skin-changing could fracture a mind if boundaries weren't respected.
Halvar was patient.
"Do not force the bond," he told Sirius one afternoon as they sat cross-legged near the rail. "You invite it. You listen. Animals feel intention before thought."
Sirius nodded, eyes closed, trying to sense the gull circling overhead.
"I almost had it yesterday," he murmured.
"You didn't almost have it," Halvar corrected gently. "You almost understood it. That's different."
Harry listened quietly from a distance, satisfied. Sirius was progressing — slowly, but safely.
The rest of the voyage passed without incident. They didn't stop at any ports. Food stores were plentiful thanks to enchantments, water remained fresh, and morale stayed high. It was a peaceful stretch of time Harry hadn't realized he needed.
Until King's Landing appeared on the horizon.
Grey stone walls. Towering battlements. The sprawling chaos of the capital slowly growing clearer as they approached the coastline.
They chose to land discreetly near the Mud Gate rather than the main harbor. Less attention. Fewer questions.
But the moment Harry stepped ashore, something caught his attention.
A Narnian war galley.
Docked openly in the harbor.
Harry frowned immediately.
"I didn't authorize any Narnian ship here," he muttered.
Sirius followed his gaze.
"Maybe trade?"
"Maybe," Harry said — though his tone suggested he doubted it.
Curiosity quickly overrode caution. Leaving Sirius with Halvar, Harry moved quietly through the harbor crowds, cloak pulled low, magic subtly masking his presence. Few recognized him, and those who did seemed unsure enough not to approach.
He reached the galley without incident.
And what he found inside surprised him.
Priests.
Dozens of them.
Robed in the colors of Narnia's northern faiths — followers of Odin, Frigga, Thor, and the other gods whose influence had grown steadily in recent years. Alongside them were musicians: drummers, horn players, singers preparing ceremonial chants.
Harry blinked once.
Then it clicked.
"Elia's ceremony," he whispered.
Of course. Queen Elia had invited priests and performers for the foundation laying of Frigga's temple. The letters must have gone out weeks earlier.
He almost laughed at himself for forgetting.
But then his gaze shifted further inside the ship.
And he froze.
Five small figures stood near the center hold.
Children of the Forest.
Newcomers to Narnia — recently allied, still largely secluded, rarely participating in any Narnian affairs. They usually preferred their groves and hidden sanctuaries to crowded human settlements.
Yet here they were.
Each carried a young weirwood sapling.
Five living trees.
Harry approached slowly, respectful.
Their luminous eyes turned toward him instantly.
"You came," one said softly.
"You knew I would?" Harry asked.
"We hoped."
Another child tilted their head.
"The queen honors the old gods. That matters."
Harry exhaled slowly as understanding settled into place.
The storm.
The destroyed fleet.
The untouched Narnian ship.
He studied them carefully.
"You caused it," he said quietly.
One of them nodded without hesitation.
"They came to wage war. We ended the journey."
Simple. Matter-of-fact.
To them, summoning a storm powerful enough to annihilate a fleet was apparently no greater feat than lighting a torch.
History already recorded the Children of the Forest reshaping landscapes — breaking land bridges, flooding marshes, altering geography itself to stop invading forces. Compared to those acts, conjuring a storm truly was a minor effort.
Still…
"You could have told me," Harry said gently.
"We are telling you now."
Fair enough.
Harry looked at the saplings.
"For the temple?"
"Yes."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"Elia will be pleased."
There was something strangely poetic about it — Westeros fearing the loss of Andalos to foreign gods, while the literal ancient guardians of the old world arrived carrying sacred trees.
History loved irony.
Harry stepped back, studying the busy ship once more — priests rehearsing chants, musicians tuning instruments, Children of the Forest guarding their saplings with quiet reverence.
Unexpected allies.
Unexpected consequences.
But overall?
Favorable outcomes.
The potential war with Westeros had been delayed, perhaps entirely avoided for now. Brandon's settlement in Andalos remained secure. And Elia's ceremony would gain enormous symbolic weight with this arrival.
As he returned toward the dock, Sirius jogged up beside him.
"So?" the boy asked eagerly. "Friends or problems?"
Harry chuckled softly.
"A bit of both," he admitted.
Then, after a thoughtful pause:
"But mostly… friends."
And for the first time since hearing about the destroyed fleet, Harry felt completely at ease.
The game was still unfolding.
But this move had favored Narnia.
Author's Note:
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