The Winter Wizard - Chapter 28 - Kael'thar the Shadow of Asshai

Harry and Jon rode steadily through the rugged and unfamiliar land stretching between Meereen and Lhazareen. The sky above was an unbroken sheet of brilliant blue, cloudless and bright. The sun blazed down without mercy, baking the dry earth and making their horses’ flanks shimmer with sweat. The terrain was vast, open, and mostly lifeless, save for wiry shrubs and patches of brittle grass clinging to rocky soil.

Their mounts moved at a steady trot, hooves clacking against the stony ground. Neither of them had spoken much for the first part of the ride, each of them caught up in their own thoughts, watching the horizon shimmer with heat. But eventually, the monotony of the journey loosened their tongues.

Jon broke the silence first. “I miss the snow,” he said, squinting at the horizon. “Never thought I’d say that.”

Harry chuckled dryly. “I miss rain. At least it made you feel like the sky gave a damn.”

Jon smiled at that, then nudged his horse a bit closer. “You said something on the ship … about growing up with people who …”

Harry glanced over at him as the other boy trailed off, unsure whether he wanted to continue that thread. But Jon’s tone wasn’t prodding or pitying. It just was.

“They were my aunt and uncle,” Harry said after a long pause. “Treated me like I was something they had to keep locked away. Cupboard under the stairs, clothes that didn’t fit, no real meals. Just … did enough to barely keep me alive.”

Jon didn’t answer immediately. His jaw tightened slightly, but his eyes stayed steady on the trail ahead.

“For what it’s worth I know what that’s like. Lady Stark …” He trailed off, then shook his head. “She never wanted me at Winterfell and she made no effort to hide her displeasure. Couldn’t even look at me without a storm behind her eyes.”

Harry gave a slow nod. “Yeah,” he murmured simply.

They rode in silence again, but it was a more comfortable one. The sort born of understanding, not distance. The air shimmered with heat, and their conversation faded beneath the hum of insects and the clink of gear against saddle.

By midday, their canteens were half-empty, and they hadn’t seen a soul since they had left Meereen two days before.

“Should’ve reached a chain of hills by now,” Jon muttered, pulling up beside a narrow river that cut through a dusty bank.

Harry dismounted, stretching his sore legs. The horses gratefully lapped at the stream, tails swishing lazily.

“We’re lost,” Jon added, voice flat.

Harry pulled the map from his satchel and spread it on a flat rock. He flipped it around once, then again. “Something isn’t right with this,” he said, brows furrowed. “This—” He jabbed at a small blue line on the parchment. “This river has to be where we are. But none of the other landmarks match up. We’re supposed to see a ridge to the west and the hills off to the east. There’s nothing here. No ridge, no hills, no road. Just sun and dust.”

Jon crouched beside him, squinting at the paper. “This map is garbage,” he muttered. “Either we were sold a fake, or someone drew it drunk and upside down, while they had their eyes closed.”

Harry exhaled sharply, frustration creeping into his voice. “Well, whatever the case, we’re in the middle of nowhere without a clear idea as to where we are actually going.”

Jon stood and brushed off his trousers. “Best bet’s to head back to Meereen. Get a map that wasn’t drawn by a blind goat.”

Harry nodded slowly, folding the parchment. “Maybe. But look.” He pointed at a tall hill in the distance, the one feature that dominated the otherwise flat skyline. “Why don’t we ride up that, should give us a pretty good view of the surrounding area. If we still can’t see anything useful from the top, we turn back. But maybe we’ll spot Lharazeen.”

Jon glanced at the hill in the distance and then back to Harry. “We’ll lose half the day.”

“Got anything better to do with the time?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jon gave a small shrug. “I guess not. Either way we’ll just be roasting under this bloody sun.”

Harry let out a laugh. “Not exactly the rousing support I was hoping for, but I guess I’ll take it.”

Jon chuckled. “Let’s go, then. Might as well cover as much distance as we can and get up it before the sun sets.”

With that, they mounted up again and steered their horses toward the hill. The ground slowly began to slope up as they approached, loose rocks scattering beneath the hooves. Sparse trees twisted in the dry wind, casting little shade.

By the time they reached the base of the hill, Harry’s shirt clung to his back, and sweat dripped down his brow. “Brilliant idea, Potter,” he muttered to himself.

“Say something?” Jon asked, glancing back with a smirk.

“Nothing,” Harry replied, squinting toward the summit. “Except this hill better be hiding what we are looking for on the other side.”

The climb grew steeper, the sun harsher. Harry and Jon leaned forward in their saddles, low over their horses' necks, to help the horses keep balance on the incline, as the terrain turned even more barren, scattered only with jagged stones and bleached tufts of stubborn grass. No birds sang here, and even the insects had fallen silent. The great hill loomed above them, and as they neared the summit, the wind picked up—dry and hot, sweeping across the face of the hill and blowing up dust clouds and making the entire experience even less enjoyable.

When they finally crested the rise, they expected a clear view of the surrounding terrain, perhaps something to help guide them. Instead, they both reined in sharply at the same moment.

There was a man.

Sitting alone.

He was cloaked in black robes that pooled around him like shadows, motionless despite the breeze. His back was to them, but even at a distance, there was something unsettling about his stillness—something that didn’t belong in the natural rhythm of this sunburned land.

Harry glanced sideways at Jon, who looked just as wary. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

“Well,” Jon finally muttered, “not what I expected.”

“No,” Harry agreed. “Not at all.”

Ghost, who had been following at a quiet lope behind them, let out a low, almost imperceptible growl. His white fur bristled, and his ears flattened. The direwolf came to a halt a few paces behind Jon’s horse, his amber eyes fixed on the figure ahead, as if warning them not to go any closer.

Harry frowned. “That’s … not a good sign.”

“No, it isn’t,” Jon said tightly, hand already drifting near the hilt of his sword. But still, he urged his horse forward. “But we’ve come this far. Maybe they know the area.”

With a nod, Harry followed, his wand already loose in his sleeve.

They approached slowly, horses picking carefully through the loose rock. The man didn’t turn or shift. He simply sat, as if he had known they would come, as if he had been waiting.

When they were within a dozen yards, the figure rose. His movements were fluid, yet oddly stiff, as if he’d been sitting for hours—days, maybe. His hood remained over his head, casting his face in shadow, but what little they could see of his skin was grayish, almost ashen.

“You’ve come a long way, travelers,” the man said, voice like dry parchment sliding against stone.

Jon halted his horse and let his hand fall fully to the pommel of sword. “Who are you?”

The man tilted his head slightly. “Names are a delicate thing. But you may call me Kael'thar. I am known as the Shadow of Asshai.”

Harry’s brow furrowed. The name meant little to him, but the tone made the air grow colder, despite the burning sun.

“You’re a shadowbinder?” Jon asked warily.

“I am,” Kael'thar said with something approaching pride—or was it amusement? “And you are Jon Snow of Winterfell, the son of a wolf. And you, Harry Potter, who crossed from one world to another.”

Both men stiffened.

Harry’s wand snapped fully into his hand, though he didn’t raise it yet. “How do you know that?”

Kael'thar gave a dry laugh. “Oh, you think you’re the only ones with secrets here? I carry my share, which I plan to keep that way. But it should be sufficient to say that I merely know how to look where others do not.”

“Convenient,” Jon muttered. “And I suppose you also know we’re lost?”

Kael'thar nodded. “I am aware. However, I am also aware of what it is you are looking for and where to find it … or rather her.”

“And you’re just going to help us?” Harry asked, narrowing his eyes. “Out of the kindness of your heart?”

Kael'thar chuckled again, but this time it was a colder sound.

“Nothing comes without a price,” he said simply. “Even kindness. I can give you what you need—direction, safety, knowledge of what lies ahead—but in return, I will ask something.”

Jon scowled. “That sounds like the kind of bargain people regret.”

Kael'thar turned slightly toward him. “Perhaps. But it is the only bargain you are being offered today.”

Ghost growled again, louder this time, a deep rumble in his chest that made Harry's spine prickle. The direwolf’s eyes hadn’t left Kael'thar once.

Harry exchanged a long look with Jon.

“What’s the alternative?” Jon asked under his breath. “Wander around until our water runs out?”

Harry sighed. “I don’t like it.”

“I don’t either,” Jon said. “But I also don’t think this man’s here by accident.”

“No,” Harry agreed. “Neither do I.”

He turned back to Kael'thar. “If we agree, what guarantee do we have that you won’t ask for something we can’t give?”

Kael'thar stepped forward slowly, the edge of his cloak brushing the ground like a shadow stretching ahead of him. “I am no demon, wizard. I will not take what you will not give.”

Harry shook his head, his expression tightening. “What do you want?”

The man in the black robes smiled—a smile that was almost feral, a flash of teeth in the shade of his cowl. “Only a few drops of your blood.”

Immediately, Harry felt a cold knot form in his stomach. Blood magic. Hermione’s voice echoed in his mind, crisp with alarm, from their days at Hogwarts: “Never trust anyone asking for your blood, Harry. Blood magic is ancient, powerful—and dangerous. It binds, it breaks, it curses. It never comes without a price.”

Beside him, Jon looked between him and the man. Ghost was still several paces behind, his ears flattened and a low growl rumbling in his throat, never taking his eyes off the man.

Jon stepped forward, voice clipped and suspicious. “What do you want with the blood of a Stark?”

The shadowbinder tilted his head, his smile not fading. “There is power in the blood of the First Men, yes. The Starks are not without significance. But you, boy … you are more than just a Stark. You had two parents, did you not?”

Both Harry and Jon froze.

The wind seemed to die, and the empty plateau suddenly felt heavier. Oppressive.

Jon’s voice was hoarse, uncertain. “Do you … do you know who my mother’s family is?”

The man’s hood dipped in a slow, deliberate nod. “I know who they are. Just as more importantly I know your father’s lineage. But …” he raised a long, pale finger, “some knowledge is dangerous. If I were to tell you all that I know, very bad things would happen as neither would you believe me nor would you be prepared to deal with it. Do not fret—I imagine you shall find out sooner rather than later.”

Jon’s hand dropped to the hilt of his sword. “Tell me.”

The sky seemed to darken—not with cloud, but with shadow. The sun still glowed above, but its light dimmed unnaturally. The plateau turned cold, bitterly so. Shadows twisted and lengthened around them like tendrils reaching out from the edge of the world.

The shadowbinder’s voice remained quiet, yet it cut through the silence like a knife. “Do not threaten me. That would be … unwise.”

Harry stepped forward quickly, placing a hand on Jon’s arm to hold him back. “Easy,” he murmured, before looking up at the man. “What do you want with the blood, then? What’s it for?”

The man looked at Harry, his smile once more in place. “My reasons are my own. But suffice it to say—there is great power in your blood, both of you. It is no ordinary blood that flows through your veins.”

Harry glanced at Jon, then back to the man. “I don’t think we should do this,” he said carefully, his voice low but firm.

The man simply shrugged, as if it didn’t matter to him. “That is indeed an option,” he said mildly. “Although … I wouldn’t advise it.”

Harry raised a skeptical eyebrow. “That sounded a lot like a threat.”

Another small smile, softer this time. “No, no. Merely … advice. Because if you refuse my help, you shall both be dead before tomorrow’s sun sets.”

Both Harry and Jon looked at him sharply, the air still unnaturally cold around them.

“If you attempting to return to Meereen,” the man continued calmly, “you will be overtaken by a khalasar of Dothraki riders. Brave fighters, fierce and swift. You will try to fight, and it will be a battle worthy of song—one that will echo through the camps of the horselords for years. But …”

He turned to Jon. “Despite your skill with a blade, you will fall. Too many opponents, too fast, using a fighting style you are unfamiliar with. You will fight nobly until the last breath, but you will fall.”

Then to Harry. “And you—once you reveal your magic to defend yourself—they will see you not as a demon to flee from, but as a challenge to conquer. A glory to be earned. They will throw themselves at you until one of them finally gets lucky. You will fall, and they will rejoice over your corpse.”

He paused then, eyes shifting toward Ghost. The direwolf had stopped growling, but his posture was still stiff with mistrust.

“You, however,” the man said softly, “shall live. But you will be left to wander the Dothraki Sea alone. A ghost among the ghosts.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Harry stared at the man, eyes narrowed. “Why don’t you just let us die, then? Collect our blood afterward.”

The man gave a short, humorless laugh. “Because, boy … just because I would benefit from your cooperation does not mean I wish the world to suffer. And suffer it shall, if you die.”

He stepped forward slowly, the shadows seeming to move with him like a cloak.

“There are paths you must take. Things that you must do. If you fall now, events already in motion will twist into something monstrous. Armies will burn. Cities will fall. A darkness will rise in the North, and who knows if it will be stopped.”

Harry’s gaze didn’t waver. “If you’re so concerned, why not help us freely?”

“Ah, but I am helping freely,” the man replied smoothly. “A few drops of blood, freely given, in exchange for life, knowledge, and direction to the one you seek.”

He paused, then added in a quieter voice, “And if it helps you decide, I promise—I shall not use your blood in a way that will bring harm to you or those you care about. That is not my intention.”

Jon looked over at Harry, uncertainty clouding his face. “He might be lying.”

“He probably is,” Harry muttered. “But he’s also probably telling the truth about what’s coming. He knew about Meereen. He knew about Daenerys.”

Harry sighed. “If this is blood magic, it might let him bind us, or spy on us, or worse. But if he’s telling the truth ...”

Jon stared at his hand before looking to the man. “A couple drops?”

The man inclined his head. “That’s all.”

“And in return you give us the direction to Daenerys,” Harry said, “and nothing else. No other games. No curses. No tricks.”

“That I promise and I have never made a promise that I do not intend to keep,” the man said with that same smile.

Harry opened his mouth, questions and protests rushing to the tip of his tongue, but the man raised one gloved hand and shook his head.

“That,” he said, voice low and final, “is all I will tell you.”

Harry looked at Jon before leading him a few paces away from the cloaked man.

He then crossed his arms, jaw tight. “This is insane,” he whispered. “Everything Hermione, my friend, ever told me about blood magic was warnings. Dangerous, dark, unpredictable. It's not something you play around with.”

Jon glanced over his shoulder before turning back to Harry. “I don’t like it either. But he knows things—about me, about you. And as much as I’d like to think we’ll find Daenerys on our own, we’ve been riding for days, and we’re no closer now than when we left Meereen.”

“That doesn’t mean we hand over our blood to some hooded cryptic weirdo who plays at riddles and vague prophecies,” Harry retorted, voice low but urgent. “He could use it for anything. Control. Curses. Summoning … gods know what.”

“Maybe,” Jon admitted, voice grim. “But maybe he’s telling the truth. If there’s even a chance that we’re walking into an ambush tomorrow—”

Harry looked away, frowning. He hated this. But Jon was right—if there was one thing he’d learned in all his years, it was that sometimes you had to take risks to survive. And if there was a sliver of truth in the man’s warning …

Jon watched him, silent. Then softly says, “You seemed pretty adamant that we needed to find Daenerys. If she really is as important as you think she is … then we can’t die out here in the grass.”

Harry exhaled through his nose, frustrated. “Fine. But if this goes sideways, I’m blaming you.”

Jon gives a faint smile, the barest shadow of one. “Fair enough.”

They turned back to the man, who was watching them with a smile on his face, as if he had known what their answer would be all along. From the folds of his black robe, he produces a small glass vial—no larger than a child’s finger—stoppered with what looks like bone and bound with silver thread.

Harry looked at it with deep suspicion, but he drew his wand from his belt and murmured a minor cutting charm over his palm. A small red line opens, and he clenched his fist tightly, letting three drops fall into the vial.

Jon followed suit, drawing his dagger with a swift motion and slicing a shallow line across his hand. Three crimson drops join Harry’s in the glass.

The man immediately stoppered the vial and tucked it away inside his robes with a precise and careful movement.

“There,” Harry said, voice tight. “We’ve given you what you want. Now it’s your turn. How do we find Daenerys Targaryen?”

The man smiles. It is not a kind smile.

The man nodded toward the far side of the hill, where a jagged ridge of rocks jutted from the earth like ancient bones. “Go to the outcropping,” he says. “Wait there until an hour after sunset and you will know where to go.”

Then, without another word, he turned and headed for a patch of in the center of the plateau.

Harry looked towards the outcropping of rocks before his gaze shot back to the man, brow furrowed. “That’s it?” he called after him. “What kind of help is that?”

The man didn’t answer, instead He reached the shadows beneath the trees, and as the last rays of sunlight streaked across the plateau, his form seems to ripple—his dark robes blending into the shadows until, in the blink of an eye, he was gone. Vanished.

“What the hel l…” Harry muttered.

He and Jon exchanged a look. Without speaking, they rushed over to where the man disappeared. They searched the clump of trees, brushing aside tall grass, and inspecting the area for any trace of footprints or movement—but there was nothing. Not a broken twig. Not a disturbed leaf. It was as if he had never been there at all.

After a while, Harry sighed and straightened. “He’s gone.”

Jon nods. “Aye.”

With no better alternative, they returned to the other end of the plateau, walking to the rocky outcropping. They soon found a flat space with a wide view of the valley below, where they settled down, side by side, backs against stone, legs stretched out toward the cliff’s edge. Ghost laid beside Jon, silent and watchful.

The sun dipped behind the horizon and the sky shifted from brilliant gold to rose, then faded slowly to violet and deep indigo.

And yet they waited.

A hush settled over the land. Even the wind seems to quiet, as if the world itself were holding its breath.

And yet they waited.

Minutes pass. Then an hour. A full moon rose, silver and luminous, casting pale light over the grasslands below.

And yet they waited.

Harry fiddled with a small stone, rolling it between his fingers, his mind turning over thoughts of blood and magic and cryptic warnings. The image of the man vanishing into shadow played over in his mind again and again. It wasn’t a trick. He truly had disappeared. Not Apparated, not teleported. Just … faded.

“Do you believe him?” Jon asked at last, breaking the silence.

Harry didn’t look at him, eyes fixed on the valley. “About what.”

“About the Dothraki. About us dying tomorrow.”

Harry exhaled slowly as he looked towards the other boy. “I believe he knows more than he says.”

Harry laughed before shaking his head. “Great. That’s exactly the kind of vague, infuriating answer Hermione used to give me when I asked if I was going to pass a test.”

Jon almost smiles, but it fades quickly as they once again fell into silence.

Eventually, at about the time Harry started doubting anything was going to happen—that they’d been tricked, or the stranger was simply mad—a fire exploded into existence in the valley below.

It was distant, far enough away that the fire seemed no larger than a pin head held at arm’s length, but it blazed with a brilliance that made the surrounding land glow orange against the still-dark sky. The fire flickered high, unnatural and wild.

Harry and Jon looked at each other at the same time.

“Well,” Jon said, voice low, “that must be what we’re looking for.”

Harry nodded, his heart already beginning to pound. “Let’s go.”

They scrambled down from the rocky outcropping, racing for their horses tied to the same trees the shadowbender had used to disappear earlier.

They mounted up, and with a sharp nudge of their heels, the horses leapt forward, galloping down the hill and into the open valley. The wind howled past their faces, cool and sharp, whipping through hair and cloak alike. The moon guided them, silver above and bright enough to paint the world in its soft glow.

The fire grew steadily larger as they rode. What was once a flicker became a column of flame, rising high into the sky like a beacon. Smoke billowed up in twisting plumes, catching the moonlight and reflecting strange hues—reds and purples and golds, like oil in water.

They rode hard, side by side, the thunder of hooves blending with the rush of wind and the pounding in their chests. Time blurred—minutes or maybe an hour—as the distance between them and the fire steadily shrunk. Slowly, small details began to emerge from the night.

They could make out the shapes of people—silhouettes standing or kneeling in reverence or fear. A circle around the flame. Still too far to see faces, but something about the gathering was reverent… or desperate.

As the sky began to lighten, the first hint of dawn bleeding into the east, a sharp, high-pitched sound split the air.

Not a human scream.

Both riders pulled up slightly, startled.

Jon turned to Harry, his face tense. “That wasn’t human.”

Harry didn’t answer right away. His throat felt dry. A chill passed through him despite the gallop’s heat. He knew that sound.

The first time he’d heard it had been in Hagrid’s hut—years ago, in another life—when the half-giant had pulled a steaming egg from the fire and introduced Harry to Norbert. The sound that followed had been strange, almost pitiful. But undeniably otherworldly.

Harry swallowed. “I’ve heard it before,” he said softly.

Jon glanced at him.

Harry nodded ahead. “Dragon.”

Kind Regards,

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If you like this content do not hesitate to smash that like button and subscribe. Haha but seriously if you do enjoy the story - do favorite it, other than messaging me or leaving a comment it’s the only way I know if you are enjoying the stories and chapters.

Story Note 1 – I do really enjoy writing stories in fantasy worlds as the presence of prophesies and visions is such a fun way to provide hints and tease at what may be coming!

Story Note 2 – I am not sure if/when the new final GoT books are released they will contain any information about the lands in the east but I always thought they would make a really interesting topic. So they will certainly have some impact on the story, starting with this character who I’d imagine might pop up again … And of course Harry had certainly been interested in visiting Valyria. Any suspicions on what the shadowbender was up to? Also do let me know how that description was received! I obviously enjoy writing original characters as they are blank slates but do want them to be enticing to read about!

Story Note 3 – Well looks like they are about to run into Daenerys. I don’t know about you but I’m a little excited!

Story Note 4 – Just in case anyone was concerned about the direction this story is taking this story is obviously a Harry/Danyerys story not a throuple with Jon. Jon will end up in a relationship that will certainly have important implications for the story but it shall not be related to Harry/Danyerys. The red priestess was merely talking about them as family, Harry will be the one ending up being … her … friend.

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.