The Shadow of Winterfell Chapter 13

Hadrian Snow

The crowds cheered as the Hand’s Tourney melee finally began, as hundreds of Lords and other influential figures from all over Westeros watched the contestants fill the tourney grounds. Knights and Lords from all over the Seven Kingdoms filled the arena, with the space being a smidge larger than a Quidditch Pitch from his previous life.

Surrounding it were large wooden stands made to fit thousands of spectators, with an especially large grandstand built for the King and Queen to watch from.

“What shall we do now, Snow?” One of the Northern participants asked from his side.

Within the arena itself, Harry found himself grouped in with the other participating Northmen, as each participant in the melee was grouped with whatever Kingdom they hailed from. Sadly, there weren’t many Northern participants, as tourneys weren’t a thing in the North. As well as this, there were no actual Northern Lords in King’s Landing who wished to participate, as instead the closest being descendants and sons trying to make a name for themselves.

That left Harry as their de-facto leader, despite his status as a bastard and not a Lord, as his closeness to Lord Stark permitted him authority over the group.

“We’ll do our best to avoid battle for now, remaining at the outskirts.” Harry finally answered, having long decided on their strategy.

A few grumbled in irritation, but sense won out as no one protested. They had the fewest knights of any Kingdom present, with the Reach contingent being the largest by far. Next to them came the Stormlands, alongside the Knights of the Vale who were all eagerly eyeing waiting for the competition to begin.

The Knights of Dorne completely ignored all the other Kingdoms, instead forming an arrow formation pointed directly at the Lannister contingent. Leading then all was Oberyn Martell, the man’s eyes locked directly onto where the Mountain was located among the horde of men from the Westerlands.

Harry’s plan was simple, being to have their small group of Northerners ride along the outskirts of the arena and avoid confrontation with any potential enemies for as long as possible. There were only five competitors fighting for the North after all, being himself, Torrhen Karstark, Eddard Karstark, Daryn Hornwood, and Benfred Tallhart, and they could hardly commit to a major engagement like the other Kingdoms present.

Of course, right as the melee officially kicked off and they began riding along the outskirts, with Harry positioning them as far away as from the Mountain as possible, a group of knights noticed them and headed their way.

“Crownlander knights! They’re heading right towards us!” Benfred Tallhart called out.

He had hoped they could avoid battle for a bit longer, yet it seemed that wasn’t the case. Indeed, a group of men from the group of Crownlander contingent managed to break away from the rest of the battle in order to intercept them.

His fellow Northmen readied their weapons for battle, right as the group charged straight at them.

“Crush the Northern scum!” One of the Crownlanders roared, being a lowly Lord by the look of things. He was towards the front of the charging group, pointing his sword their way to motivate his allies forward.

Harry let himself smirk, finding his first target for the melee. A small kick, and his horse charged forward, straight at the incoming Crownlanders. Or to be more specific, Harry aimed straight for the Lord who was leading them.

The same Lord who yelled earlier barely managed turn his head in time to see that Harry was upon him. But it was too late then, as Harry swung his sword, reeling it back before bringing it forward. He hit the man with the blade’s flag edge, aiming at his midsection in order to try and throw the idiot Lord off his horse and onto the ground.

As expected, the man went flying, soaring off his steed before he crashed against two of his knightly allies before landing violently the ground. The Crownlander charge stopped dead in its tracks at that, as horses neighed and bucked violently, all while the nearby men looked at him in awe.

“What strength!”

“Lord Byrch! Are you alright, my Lord?”

“H-How did he even…”

The Crownlanders were split between either checking on their fellow Lord or taking defensive stances against him then. But it wasn’t Harry that they needed to worry about, as the group of Northmen behind him finally made their move.

Torrhen and Eddard Karstark were the first to charge forward, barreling into the frozen Crownlander knights as they roared with laughter. Meanwhile Daryn Hornwood and Benfred Tallhart moved to the back of the group of Crownlanders, cutting them off from escaping and beating down those who fought back into surrendering.

That was easy. Harry let his greatsword rest on his shoulder as the group of defeated Crownlander knights either left the arena in disgrace, or had to be hauled off by their squires. He then surveyed the rest of the arena, seeing the melee was still going strong. Let the games begin.

/////

Arianne Martell

She unconsciously licked her lips while her plump thighs rubbed together, all while her gaze was directed down onto the raging melee below.

Hadrian Snow, her newest fascination, was trouncing the other competitors in such a way that it made her core so very warm. From the look of it, the Stark bastard seemed to be fighting children, as simple blows from his weapon sent men flying, and even crushed their armor on several occasions.

She could feel her pussy gushing with each swing of his sword, all the while she imagined the muscles he had under his armor to achieve such strength. A strong, virile, powerful man from the North wasn’t a fantasy she often dreamt of, but she could certainly see the appeal now.

“Intriguing, isn’t he?”

A voice came from behind her, and Arianne turned her head to see Margaery Tyrell standing close to her in the stands. The Tyrell maiden also had her eyes locked onto Hadrian Snow, and as hard as she tried not to show it, Arianne could tell she was also captivated by his might.

“That’s for sure.” Arianne replied with a smirk. “Although I never thought someone from the Reach would compliment a bastard.”

“Perhaps.” Margaery conceded the point. “Though I suppose some people can’t help but stand out, no matter their birth.”

“Mm.” Arianne hummed, eyes never leaving Hadrian Snow. “There’s something… primal about him, isn’t there? Like a wolf that’s lived its life out in the wild.”

Indeed, the Stark bastard was even more primal than Arianne originally thought. He certainly seemed to have a rugged handsomeness to him, with a strong and silent type of personality that went with his broody charm. And yet that had only been what he wanted her to see, as when let loose he seemed to become a wild animal.

I wonder what he’s like in bed… She could only imagine what it would be like to lay with such a brutish beast of a man, one who could pick her up with ease and pound her erotic form to his heart’s content. Arianne imagined he would be relentless, not at all gentle as he took what he wanted and left her lost for breath.

Margaery tilted her head, the very image of innocence. “And yet he often carries himself with such discipline. Perhaps the wolf trained himself? Not every man needs to be tamed, after all.”

Arianne laughed softly. “Tamed? No, I’d never wish to break something so wild. Instead I’d ride him till I fell off… If he’d let me.”

Margaery’s smile didn’t waver, the girl not at all disgusted by her debauch remarks. “You sound quite taken. Dornish heat does burn quickly, I suppose. Although, I do wonder how you would fare in the cold up North?”

Arianne’s lips curved. “We don’t freeze the way some flowers do in winter.”

/////

Oberyn Martell

The Lannister knight managed to get through their formation, only to get beaten down by his spear before the surrounding men took care of him.

The knight wasn’t the only one however, as one rider wearing the colors of House Marbrand followed not long after, pushing through three of his trusted knights before heading straight for Oberyn.

He licked his lips in anticipation, allowing the man to get close as he brought up his sword before slashing it down. That was when Oberyn struck, ducking and moving past the blade as he butted it aside with his spear as he moving in. He equipped his dagger, and stabbed it upwards, aiming right under the man’s plate and directly into his intestines.

“Gah! L-Live steel?!” The Marbrand Lord jerked in horror, looking down at where his dagger was impaled is stomach. “Y-You can’t…”

Oberyn let a bloodthirsty grin overtake his features. “Who’s going to know?”

The man gave one last weak cry before the knife slid out, with Oberyn letting him fall to the arena floor to bleed out. He then turned to survey the chaos that was the melee between the Dornish participants and those loyal to House Lannister, seeing that it had becoming more violent than was appropriate for most tourneys.

It was rare for those loyal to House Martell and Lannister to ever end up in a tourney since Robert’s Rebellion, and in the few cases it did happen… accidents seemed to follow.

And Oberyn planned for many of those so-called accidents to take place during the Hand’s tourney. And he had a specific man in mind that he wanted to ‘accidentally’ kill during the melee. In fact, he had traveled all the way to King’s Landing just to kill one such man, and yet he had fled at the mere sight of him.

The Mountain fought their group initially, as their charge blindsided the Lannister participants before becoming bogged down in the usual wrestle of steel. The murderer of his sister had defeated two of his knights before retreating to hide behind the group of Lannisters, and Oberyn was left with no choice to to cut through every Lannister knight to get to him.

It made his goal that much more difficult, and raised the question of whether he would even be able to face the Mountain in combat at all. The very thought of not being able to get to Gregor Clegane made him fume in rage, as his mind seemed to loose all rationality the longer the melee went on.

“Kill every Lannister knight and Lord you come across!” Oberyn yelled out to his men as they fought. “If Gregor Clegane wants to hide behind his men, then we’ll kill them all!”

/////

Eddard Stark

“This is bad, Robert. We need to stop the tourney now before this gets out of hand.”

It was only a few minutes ago that the screaming started. And it wasn’t the cheers of the crowds nor the battle cries of the tourney’s participants, but rather the screaming of men about to lose their lives. Ned had heard the same screaming many times in war after all, and could tell something terrible was occurring on the melee grounds.

It was hard to pick out from their position what was happening in the chaotic mess of a melee, but a couple gold cloaks had reported that several Lannister Lords and knights were already dead. As for the culprit, it was blatantly obvious that the Martell bannermen were to blame.

“Bah! A few men dead in a tourney isn’t unheard of.” Robert dismissed his concerns.

The Queen certainly seemed to share his concerns at the very least. But that was more due to the men in question being from the Westerlands. “Those are Lannister men who have died, husband.”

Robert didn’t even glance her way, instead waving a dismissive hand which made Cersei Lannister scoff.

“My Lord!” A courier came running then, sweating profusely as he knelt before himself and the king. “Terrible news! The Red Keep has been attacked! And Lord Baelish is missing from the Black cells!”

“What?!” Ned demanded, standing up in shock. “Assemble the city watch! No… instead I’ll fetch my guard and find him-”

“I think you have bigger problems, Ned.” Robert suddenly said, pointing out towards the melee.

He followed Robert’s line of sight, only to see the Mountain charging towards his nephew.

/////

Hadrian Snow

The Mountain had arrived.

“Bastard!” The giant of a man roared at him as he approached, looking worse for wear.

“So you finally decided to show your face, huh?” Harry let out a chuckle, knowing he made the giant man go on a rabid chase in his pursuit of him.

Harry knew from the beginning that Gregor Clegane would come after him during the melee, having taken Baelish’s offer to claim his head. And so Harry had tried to temporarily avoid him, having his men position themselves far away from the Lannister competitors in order to waste time.

It meant that the Mountain had to fight through a horde of enemies, all while avoiding Oberyn Martell, in order to reach him.

“Wasn’t he fighting with Dorne? Is Oberyn Martell defeated already?” One of the Northmen who was still standing asked from nearby.

A glance across the arena showed the Dornish were still going strong from the looks of things. If anything, the remaining Lannister knights were practically running for their lives to get away from them. It meant that the Mountain ignored the rest of his opponents and went straight for Harry.

“I’m going to take your head, bastard!” The Mountain spat at Harry. “I’m going to win this fucking tourney, and at the end of the day I’ll be pissing in your fuckin skull!”

“You’re more chatty than I thought. It’s obvious which one of us is the real deal.” Harry taunted, readying his sword as the giant man reddened in rage.

The brute gave a roar in response, raising his greatsword high in one hand as if it was a toy. He gripped the reigns of his horse in preparation to charge, but that was when the last thing he expected occurred.

Oberyn Martell appeared, charging out of the chaotic mess of the nearby melee with his spear held high. He was covered in blood, his armor loose while his face was red with fury. “MURDERER!”

All sense seemed to escape the Red Viper, filled with only bloodlust in that moment. He charged directly at the Mountain without thinking, without finesse, and was rewarded by a harsh flat blow from the man’s greatsword which sent him flying off his steed.

Harry’s eyes widened for but a moment, before he too launched forward and charged directly at Gregor Clegane. He could hear the crowd yelling with noise in the background, but tuned them out as he focused only on the giant man.

The Mountain noticed him, and reared back his greatsword before bringing it down on him as he charged, and Harry then swung his own sword to intercept the blow.

CLANG

The two blades met, and Harry’s own sword reverberated in his grip. A harsh metal rattling noise filled the air, as his very bones shook from the strength of the collision. He had stopped the Mountain’s blow head-on, a feat most thought to be impossible.

The Mountain gaped at the sight, looking like a fish out of water in that moment, before his face darkened with rage. He let out a monstrous roar, pulling his blade back before slamming it down on Harry over and over.

Despite the enchantments to his blade and armor, along with his own incredible strength, Harry still felt himself tire with each blow. Sparks erupted from where their blades crashed, and so great was the force that Harry’s horse was pushed backward under the intensity of each blow.

And yet the sight of him standing tall after each terrible strike only made Gregor Clegane that much angrier. The man fumed and raged the further their battle of strength went on, to the point Harry could see each individual vein popping out of the man’s skull.

Eventually, the Mountain grasped his greatsword with both hands before swinging it like a baseball bat, and Harry barely managed to get his blade up in time to intercept it. Yet he wasn’t able to block the blow fully, and it sent both him and his horse spiraling backwards.

His body was sore at that point, his muscles strained, all while the part of his body which took the blow throbbed in pain. Harry tried not to let it show, but he still winced in pain when he raised his sword to face the Mountain, something the giant man clearly noticed.

“Listen here, Bastard!” The Mountain boomed, pointing at him with his sword with a manic look on his face. “I AM THE STRONGEST MAN IN WESTEROS!”

Harry’s eyes narrowed, as he cautiously moved his horse around to circle his opponent. The smart thing to do at this point would be to surrender and leave the melee grounds, but Harry refused to do that for several reasons. The first of which was his own ego, the desire to prove himself was overwhelming in that very moment, especially if that meant cutting down someone as infamous as Gregor Clegane.

The other reason he refused to quit was that he doubted the Mountain would simply let him leave. Clegane looked as if he belonged in a mental asylum in that moment, probably next to the other bloodthirsty psychopaths like Bellatrix Lestrange. The man was out for Harry’s blood, that much was obvious, and he doubted that simple tourney rules would stop him from cutting Harry down as he tried to exit the arena.

The only chance I have is to fight. Like so many other situations he found himself in, in both this life and his previous one, Harry would be forced to fight in order to survive. And so with a sigh, he charged forwards atop his horse, charging directly at the Mountain.

The man also charged forward, holding his blade high as if to swing it down and bisect Harry in two. He knew that if he could dodge the blow, then he could get inside the Mountain’s guard, and from there he would just have to get through the man’s thick armor to kill him.

He raised his sword as if making to meet his blow head-on once again, all while planning to evade it. Their horses soon neared each other, and both warriors winding their swords back in preparation to attack, but that was when Gregor Clegane did the last thing Harry expected.

He swung his sword down far too early, missing Harry by several feet, but that was when he realized the Mountain wasn’t aiming for him. Instead the man aimed for Harry’s horse, his blade swinging down and cutting his horse’s head clean off with his impressive strength. He went for my horse!

Harry already knew what was about to happen, in that in the next few moments he would be sprawled on the ground as his dead horse fell on top of him. But the Mountain then subverted his explanations once again, and swung his sword upwards right as Harry was falling.

The blade slammed into his helmet, the force amplified by Harry being propelled into it, and Harry’s vision then turned to black.

/////

He awoke in a sunless realm.

Harry’s eyes opened slowly, and he saw that he was laying down on some sort of dark, rocky landscape. It felt like he was on the dark side of the moon, with everything in his surroundings being the color of midnight.

He grabbed his head then, with his skull still faintly ringing from the harsh blow. Am I dead?

“Lord Peverell.”

A voice boomed those words, coming from everywhere around him. He spun in a circle, looking all around for anyone nearby, before light appeared on the horizon.

It was in that sunless realm, that the sun rose at last. A woman with red hair could be seen then, her body so bright that Harry almost had to look away. She came closer to him, her eyes a burning gold that spoke of divinity, wearing a red dress that almost seemed to be made of flame.

She floated across the landscape with a storm of fire following at her heels, until arriving to land in front of him. Up close, she appeared like a beautiful woman, and Harry would be embarrassed to admit she looked similar to his mother from his previous life.

“I am R’hllor. The Lord of Light.” She spoke, looking at him. “And you are the Master of Death.”

Harry blinked, his mind pausing for but a moment before memories of his past life flooded in. He remembered everything about the Deathly Hallows, being the Wand, the Stone, and his old Cloak, as well as the tale about Death creating them all. Everything seemed to fit into place from there, with him becoming the Master of Death explaining how he was able to reincarnate into this new life.

“What do you want with me?” He finally asked.

“You are not the prince that was promised, but you are still one of great importance.” She spoke. “I would send you back, and see you work to tirelessly to defeat the darkness that strikes at this world. In exchange, you will spread my name far and wide, praising the Lord of Light for each of your great accomplishments.”

“No.” Harry declined immediately, not even hesitating with his response. He hated prophecies, especially since his previous life ended over one, and didn’t want deal with anything remotely similar again.

Even if it meant being revived and coming back to see the people important to him, Harry simply didn’t want to deal with whatever nonsense that R’hllor was selling. Gods, divinity, and prophecies, were all things he wanted to avoid with a ten-foot wand.

“Oh?” The beautiful redhead raised a brow. “You are a bold one. To deny the chance to return upon your death? Is your life so unimportant to you?”

“Of course it isn’t.” He replied. “Yet I would never debase myself as to sell my soul in order to have another go at things.”

He had witnessed the lengths Voldemort had gone to in order to extend his life, along with a atrocities he committed along the way. Harry had seen him drink unicorn blood in his first year, and had to spend the last couple years of his life hunting down the Dark Lord’s horcruxes. All of it caused Harry to be extremely cautious about anything remotely smiling. And maybe a bit paranoid too.

“Interesting.” The woman looked at him intently. “So many others are tempted by the promises of immortality, but not you. I can see that you battled darkness before, and that you fought the one who fled from death in your previous world. Has he marked you so much that you reject my offer even now?”

“I’m not him.” Harry said adamantly, trying not to feel rattled by the woman’s knowledge of his past life. “I’m not Voldemort. I don’t want to make pacts with gods. I won’t give up pieces of myself for power.”

“You crave no throne. You reject prophecy. You would burn for others, yet never for yourself.” She smiled in a way that looked both terrifying and beautiful. “You only embrace death, and it has led you to where you are now. Do I not satisfy you, Harry Potter?”

Harry froze. “What?”

“You need not say yes.” Her warm hand brushed against his cheek. “You need only burn.”

Before he could speak, a cyclone of fire erupted then, engulfing him completely and whisking him away from the place between life and death.

////

His eyes opened. He could hear the distant cheers of the crowd, the yells of contestants battling it out in the melee.

That was when his body throbbed and shook with power, his wounds and bruises healing with whatever power the Lord of Light granted him. His hand unconsciously wrapped around his sword, gripping it so hard the metal nearly warped from his newfound strength.

I’m back.

Disclaimer: All Characters are over the Age of 18.

A/N: The Hand’s Tourney will continue next chapter!