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The Winter Wizard - Chapter 27 - Meereen's Prophesy
🕑 Added 2025-04-02 21:56:25 +0000 UTCThe wooden planks of the dock groaned as the ship moored itself against the ancient timbers of the cities dock, its crew already leaping to secure lines and drop gangplanks. Harry and Jon stood on deck, sweat beading on their brows as the Meereenese sun beat down with an oppressive heat that clung to them like a think blanket. Especially after days at sea, the air here was stifling.
Harry wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "God, it’s hotter than the Seven Hells."
Jon grunted in agreement, tugging at the dark wool of his cloak. "Feels like we sailed straight into a dragon’s maw."
As the ship’s ropes were made fast, the two travelers gathered their belongings—packs full with provisions, water skins sloshing, and weapons carefully secured. The captain, a sullen Essosi man with skin browned by sun and salt, leaned on the rail as they came back onto the deck. "You’ll find the road to Vaes Dothrak through the gate at the far end of the city, but you’re bloody fools for thinking about taking it. If the Dothraki don’t gut you, the Red Waste will surely get you. But—" he shrugged, a lazy smile creeping across his lips, "—your funeral."
Jon’s expression hardened as he followed Ghost down the gangplank, but he inclined his head in a curt nod. "Our thanks for the transit."
Harry merely grunted, more focused on the city unfolding before them. Meereen was unlike anything he’d seen in Pentos or Volantis. The looming pyramids dominated the skyline, ancient monuments capped with bronze harpies glaring down from their heights. The streets were a maze of narrow alleys and broad streets, teeming with people whose skin ranged from pale olive to deep brown, garbed in loose silks and linens designed for the oppressive heat. Vendors hawked spiced meats, colorful fruits, and bowls of aromatic stew. The scent was a dizzying blend of cumin, cardamom, and sweat.
But it was the slaves that held Harry’s gaze. Even in Volantis, where slaves were branded and used openly, it had not been so ... blatant. Everywhere he looked, men, women, and children in iron collars worked in the heat of the day, hauling stones, scrubbing filth from the streets, or bearing palanquins for the wealthy. And the one thing they all had in common was that they looked at passerbys with wide, fearful eyes, their bodies thin and bruised. In the distance, cages lined the market, filled with defeated-looking souls bound for sale.
Harry’s stomach twisted, and he fought the urge to vomit. Anger smoldered in his chest. He could almost feel his wand’s weight. It would be so easy to lash out—free them all, rain fire upon their masters—but the city was huge and the logical part of him realized that even if he and Jon fought with every ounce of skill and magic, they would still end up losing.
Instead, he drew his wand and muttered an incantation as they passed a women hardly older than them as they passed. A faint shimmer of magic shot towards her, mending her bruises and cuts. She looked up, eyes wide, but Harry kept walking. He lost track of how many spells he ended up casting, but he did the same whenever he could—a whispered spell for a limping man, a flick of his wand for a child’s scared back—but even he could acknowledge in the end it wouldn’t make much of a difference.
Jon scowled, jaw tight as they moved deeper into the city. "This place is an abomination."
Harry nodded grimly. "I can’t argue with that."
In order to not lose all hope, Harry forced himself to keep his head down as they made their way through Meereen’s streets, trying to ignore the pleading eyes of slaves and the harsh laughter of their masters. The smell was worse as they made their way further into the city, a foul mix of rot, spice, and unwashed bodies that threatened to choke him with every breath. It made the stench of King's Landing seem like fresh air by comparison.
They passed a narrow side street where a man with a whip snarled in a guttural tongue, lashing a young boy who cowered, covering his head with trembling arms. It was the crack of the whip, the whimpering of the boy, and the sight of blood trickling from the fresh cuts that finally broke Harry. Before Harry could think better of it, he raised his wand and muttered a low, furious incantation under his breath.
The slaver’s leg snapped backward with a sickening crunch, and he collapsed, screaming, clutching his shattered knee. The boy scrambled away as the slaver howled, his voice a pathetic wail. Harry couldn’t help but smirk at the man’s suffering, a dark satisfaction growing in his chest. He knew it wasn’t going to change everything but it was something.
They rounded a corner, and the man’s wails faded into the general din of the city. Harry was still grinning when Jon rounded on him and pushed him against the nearest wall, eyes narrowed.
“Was that you?” Jon demanded.
Harry nodded, the smile still on his face. “It was.”
Jon scowled. “You can’t do that. What if someone saw? What if it draws attention?”
“I don’t care,” Harry snapped back. The fury still burned hot, and he was in no mood to be scolded.
Jon’s expression softened, and he ran a hand through his hair. “I understand. I’ve never been more disgusted with men before. The poorest in Westeros have better lives than some of these slaves.”
Harry’s anger ebbed slightly, and he nodded. “It’s wrong.”
“But do you think we could fight the entire city guard if we catch their attention?” Jon asked, his tone heavy with warning. “I guess I don’t fully know what you’re capable of, but I doubt even you could win a fight against the whole city.”
Harry let out a huff. It was the same bitter conclusion he’d come to earlier but hearing it from someone else didn’t make him feel any better. “I know. I don’t want to draw attention to us, but after seeing what he was doing to that boy … I couldn’t help myself. It was either that or jump on him with my dagger and put it through his eye. This seemed like the better option.”
Jon cracked a grim smile. “I suppose so. Although I think we should focus on getting out of the city before either of us do something … or I get sick.”
They continued on, entering the depths of Meereen. The city’s foulness only intensified. Flies buzzed in clouds around open cesspits, and every corner held a new display of cruelty.
Harry forced himself to try and not use magic, biting back the urge each time a whip cracked or a slave cried out. But twice more, he saw Jon look back at him as someone who had been striking a slave suddenly crumpled, clutching at a leg or arm in agony. And both times Harry shrugged at Jon’s raised brow, unashamed. There was only so much he could ignore.
The sun climbed higher, baking the stone streets and making the air shimmer with heat. The far walls of Meereen loomed closer but still seemed distant, and despite the fact that the presence of Ghost made others try to give them a wide birth, their progress was slow—slowed by crowds and the endless congestion of bodies.
By the time the sun reached the highest point in the sky, Harry’s stomach growled angrily, and Jon looked between him and his direwolf with his first smile since landing at the docks of the city.
“I suppose we do need food,” Jon grunted.
They found a stall run by a wiry, dark-skinned man who squinted suspiciously at them. The man spoke a few broken words of Westerosi, but the exchange quickly devolved into awkward gestures and charades. Eventually, they managed to get their message across and were handed charred meat and vegetables on a stick for them and an entire slab of charred meat for Ghost.
They made their way to a nearby fountain—dirty but still flowing—and perched on its edge to eat. Harry bit into his food, surprised by the burst of spice. It was far from the bland fare of Westeros or even King’s Landing, and he chewed thoughtfully, enjoying it.
Jon coughed after his first bite, wincing. “Seven Hells, that’s hot.”
Harry grinned, swallowing another mouthful. “Not used to a bit of flavor? Don’t tell me you miss Winterfell’s food.”
Jon scowled, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “Aye, I do. Never thought I’d be craving a bowl of plain stew.”
Harry laughed, a genuine sound amidst the misery. “And here I thought Northerners were tough.”
“Those with any sense don’t eat fire,” Jon shot back. Still, he forced himself to finish the meal, eyes watering with every bite. Harry had to admit he admired the stubbornness.
“It’s a good thing we need to eat, and I don’t know enough words to try and get something else,” Jon muttered once his food was gone. “Or there is no way I would have ever eaten that.”
Harry chuckled.
After they finished their meal, they stood and took off towards the far gate and were making pretty good progress until they exited the giant square, they had been in.
They stopped short, eyes widening at the sight of the crowd in front of them. The narrow street in front of them was almost completely full, with people standing shoulder to shoulder, craning their necks toward the far wall. As Harry tried to get a glance past all the people he eventually saw what everyone was looking at, a figure in scarlet robes.
She stood atop a dais, flanked by tall iron braziers crackling with fire that despite the heat of the day were lit. The woman’s robes clung to her like liquid flame, the crimson fabric embroidered with curling shapes that resembled tongues of fire. Her hair was a cascade of black, framing a face of striking beauty—sharp cheekbones, full lips, and eyes like molten gold. Her hands were outstretched, her head tilted back as she chanted in a throaty, melodic voice that carried over the crowd.
Harry caught snippets of the strange, rolling words—Valyrian, he thought, though not quite the dialect he’d partially learned from Maester Luwin.
Jon crossed his arms, glancing sidelong at Harry. “Good thing Theon’s not with us,” he muttered. “Otherwise, there’s no way he’d let us leave without at least trying to have a … ‘discussion’ with her.”
Harry snorted. “I imagine that you are right about that.” He let his gaze drift back to the priestess. “Though, to be fair, I can see why he’d be interested.”
There certainly was something alluring about her. Beyond her physical appearance, she seemed to command the space around her, a pull that held the crowd’s focus. The flames on either side of the dais danced higher as her chanting grew louder, her hands weaving through the air as if shaping the fire itself.
A shiver crawled down Harry’s spine. There was something … familiar about her chant. The feeling clawed at the back of his mind, a sense of recognition that made no sense. He frowned, squinting up at her—and in that instant, her eyes snapped open.
Golden eyes met green, and both of them froze.
The priestess’s chanting trailed off, her gaze locked onto his. Her expression shifted—barely, but enough that Harry saw the flicker of surprise, the hint of something like recognition. He stood rooted to the spot, his mind scrambling.
The moment passed as she lowered her hands, and the flames in the braziers guttered. Disappointment rippled through the crowd as murmurs rose, but the priestess paid them no heed. She gestured, and her guards—a handful of men in red lacquered armor—began dispersing the crowd.
“Well,” Harry muttered with a shrug, forcing himself to look over to Jon, “Looks like the show is over, I guess that’s our cue to leave.”
He turned, intending to walk away, but before he could take a step, a heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder. He whipped around, wand already halfway out of his sleeve, and found himself staring into the flat, expressionless face of one of her guards. The man’s other massive hand rested on Jon’s shoulder, and Jon was in the process of trying to twist free, his expression angry, as Ghost was growling at the man.
The guard’s grip tightened. “Lady Nyllesia requests a word with you,” he said in a guttural accent, the name rolling from his tongue with respect.
Harry raised an eyebrow, glancing over his shoulder. The priestess—Nyllesia, apparently—stood watching them with an inscrutable expression before turning and heading down the street.
“Lady Nyllesia requests a word,” Harry repeated, dry amusement curling his lips as he looked at Jon before looking back to the guard. “Well, it would be rude to say no, wouldn’t it?”
The guard’s expression didn’t change.
Jon shot Harry a glare as the guards began steering them forward. “Why are we doing this? Shouldn’t we be leaving?”
Harry glanced at the guards surrounding them. Two more had fallen in behind, subtly boxing them in. Their hands rested on their weapons, but there was no menace in their posture, just the look of men who were prepared for anything.
“I don’t think they mean us harm,” Harry murmured. “I think there is a chance she really did just ask for us for a chat, and these guys just don’t know how to ask in a non-intimidating way. Besides, red priestesses seem to be everywhere. She might know something useful—maybe even something about Daenerys. And just on the offhand that it comes down to a fight, I’d rather handle it off the main streets than out in the open where even if we won the fight, it would no doubt draw the attention of the city guard.”
Jon stared at him, jaw clenched, then sighed. “You’ve got a point.”
Harry smirked. “Plus, this gives you a chance to make Theon jealous and have a ‘discussion’ with her.”
Jon huffed a laugh, shoving Harry lightly. “Unless of course her plan is to burn us alive.”
Harry chuckled and shrugged. “I’m willing to take that risk for you to have a shot.”
The guards led Harry, Jon, and Ghost to the end of that streets and up a nearby small hill toward an imposing manse. The building loomed over the surrounding structures, a testament to wealth and power. Its walls were smooth sandstone, decorated with carvings of serpents and dragons intertwined in fierce battle. Braziers lined the walkway, their coals smoldering despite the sweltering heat of the afternoon.
Harry squinted as sweat trickled down his brow. He wiped it away with a swipe of his sleeve, casting a sidelong glance at Jon. To his annoyance, Jon seemed unbothered by the heat, his expression calm beneath the curtain of his dark hair.
“How are you not dying in this heat?” Harry muttered.
Jon shrugged. “Grew up wearing furs, remember? Maybe I’m just tougher than you.”
“Right,” Harry grumbled. “I don’t think toughness is the problem her. It honestly feels like I’m standing inside an oven.”
The guards herded them into the building, past curtained archways and corridors decorated with tapestries depicting scenes of fire and destruction—men burning, shadowy figures rising from flames. The air grew warmer, the incense heavier, and Harry’s discomfort grew.
The maze of corridors finally opened into a central chamber. It was an impressive space, though unsettling. The room was circular, its floor marked with circular rings of crimson and gold. A large, shallow fire pit dominated the center, flames flickering and snapping. Braziers lined the walls, and the scent of burning herbs thickened the air.
Harry’s shirt clung to his back as they stepped into the room, sweat beading on his forehead. He cast a glance at Jon, who looked slightly flushed but otherwise unaffected. Annoyance pricked at Harry—how was Jon, raised in the icy halls of Winterfell, coping better than him? It made no sense and was starting to annoy him.
He tried to ignore the uncomfortable heat and focus instead on the room’s strange design. Symbols etched into the floor and walls seemed vaguely familiar—similar to those he had seen in Hermione’s notebooks while at Hogwarts.
“Cozy,” Harry muttered.
Jon’s expression was stony as he looked from Ghost who had gone and laid against a wall back over to Harry. “A bit much, isn’t it?”
Before Harry could respond, the door at the back of the chamber creaked open. The red priestess—Nyllesia—glided in, robes flowing like liquid fire. The glow of the flames kissed her face, accentuating sharp cheekbones and eyes the color of molten gold. A faint, knowing smile curved her lips.
“Ah,” she purred, “the wolf and the stranger. Welcome.”
Harry raised an eyebrow at her greeting. Jon crossed his arms but said nothing.
Nyllesia’s gaze lingered on Jon, and she tilted her head. “The North breeds them strong, but heat does not trouble you as it should. I saw as much in the flames,” she said. “But it is always nice to see that what I’ve seen is correct.”
Jon and Harry exchanged a puzzled look. Jon scowled. “What are you talking about?”
Nyllesia’s smile widened. “It is not my place to say but rather a story that will come to you when the time is right,” she said. “But to get to business, tell me, what do you know of the Lord of Light and his servants?”
Jon shrugged. “Not much. Fire god. You burn things.”
Harry snorted. “The only thing I know is that if the septas looked more like you, the Faith of the Seven would probably be more popular.”
Nyllesia laughed, a throaty sound that seemed to echo unnaturally in the room. Her fingers toyed with the red stone on her necklace. “Not everything is as it seems,” she said, her eyes glimmering. “You of all people should know that.”
Her lips curled. “But to prevent us from getting distracted … the Lord of Light grants some of his followers who know how to look into fire the gift of sight. We see what was, what is, and what may yet come.”
Harry scoffed and looked at her with raised eyebrows. “Fire divination? Well, that’s something I haven’t seen before.”
But before he could come up with something else, Jon spoke up. “And what did you see in the flames about me? What did you mean earlier?”
Nyllesia’s expression hardened, and she shook her head. “It is not my place to say. In time, you shall learn. However, I will offer this piece of wisdom freely—be there for your family. Ones position in life is not always a matter of their own choices, and sometimes all they need is family.”
Jon frowned. “What does that mean?”
Nyllesia only smiled and looked away, eyes dancing with firelight.
Harry shook his head, “So, why are we here? What do you want?”
Nyllesia’s gaze was unrelenting, a flicker of amusement in her eyes as she studied their reactions. “I know that you seek the soon-to-be dragon queen,” she said smoothly.
Harry’s heart leapt into his throat. He and Jon exchanged a startled glance.
“Soon-to-be? Dragon Queen?” Harry echoed, forcing a laugh that felt brittle. “Are you talking about Daenerys Targaryen?”
“I am,” she confirmed with a slow, confident nod.
Harry frowned. “And you know that ... how?”
“The flames,” Nyllesia answered, fingers brushing the crimson stone at her throat. “The fire speaks and I am one of those who can hear its truths.”
Jon scoffed.
Ignoring him, Nyllesia continued, “She is tied to your fates, just as you are tied to hers.”
“And what does that have to do with you?” Harry asked.
Nyllesia’s eyes glimmered. “I am but a messenger.” She moved closer, the flickering firelight painting her face with sharp shadows. “There is a prophecy—one that was given to the Targaryens long ago, but has been lost to time. It speaks of the prince that was promised. ‘From my blood comes a prince that was promised, and his will be the song of ice and fire.’”
Harry exchanged another look with Jon, brows knit in confusion. “And who is this prince that was promised.”
Nyllesia shook her head as she answered, “You will know in time. But the verse itself was is incomplete. A second verse was never passed on.”
Jon’s scowl deepened. “What second verse?”
Nyllesia’s voice became almost musical, the cadence of a chant:
“The storm-born shall rise as dragons wake,
And shadows fall upon the land.
A son of lightning shall stand beside the fire,
When hope fades, and darkness demands.
Bound by trust and marked by fate,
only flame can push back what is coming.”
Harry’s breath caught in his throat, a chill creeping over him despite the oppressive heat of the room. Son of lightning. It couldn’t be, could it?
Jon looked at Harry, then back at Nyllesia. “Son of lightning? What does that mean?”
Nyllesia ignored Jon’s question as her eyes met Harry’s. “You shall stand beside the dragon when hope fails and the darkness rises.”
Harry’s mouth felt dry.
Jon’s gaze was wary as he looked between the two of them. “You think he’s part of your prophecy?”
“I know it,” Nyllesia replied.
Jon bristled, jaw clenching. “And what does that mean?”
“It means what it means,” Nyllesia murmured. “This very morning, I looked into the flames and I saw a wolf and a dragon standing upon a wall of ice, a storm of lightning swirling about them. They were looking out as a blizzard brought with it cold, darkness, and death.”
Harry swallowed hard. The image she described echoed visions he’d seen in his dreams—visions of shadows with blue eyes and a darkness that never ceased.
“The dragon queen’s path is uncertain,” Nyllesia went on, “but what is certain is that without friends and family, she will fall to madness. The fire will consume her from within, and though you might still be able to defeat the coming darkness, the cost of this would be unfathomable. All in Westeros, and likely beyond, are tied to her fate.”
Jon’s jaw clenched. “And you’re telling us this out of the goodness of your heart?”
Nyllesia smiled, a sly curve of her lips. “The Lord of Light commands it and I merely carry out his will. But my counsel is freely given. Seek her in Lhazareen, not Vaes Dothrak. A seed of darkness has already been sown, and unless you hurry, it will find fertile ground.”
Harry tensed. “What do you mean? What seed of darkness?”
But the priestess ignored his question, gaze distant as she looked towards the fire in the center of the room as if already watching a new vision in the fire. “Go now. There is little time to waste.”
Frustration gnawed at Harry, and he glanced at Jon. It was clear neither of them wanted to walk away with more questions than answers, but the priestess’s expression was unyielding.
Jon scowled. “Let’s go.”
Harry hesitated, searching Nyllesia’s face one last time, but she offered no further explanation. Only a knowing smile.
The guards ushered them back through the winding corridors, the scent of incense clinging to them like smoke. They emerged back into the blazing sunlight of Meereen’s streets, and the door to the manse closed behind them with a resounding thud.
They walked in silence for a while, Harry’s mind a storm of thoughts. The prophecy gnawed at him—son of lightning. It couldn’t mean him, could it? But then, he was the Boy Who Lived, who seemed to end up being thrown into bad situation after bad situation, struck by the Killing Curse and marked by lightning shaped scar.
Jon glanced at him. “That was useless.”
Harry barked a laugh, the sound bitter. “Not entirely. She did say to look for Daenerys in Lhazareen, not Vaes Dothrak.”
Jon frowned. “And why should we trust her?”
Harry sighed. “We don’t have to trust her, but if she’s right it would save months not going to Vaels Dothrak.”
Jon was quiet, brow furrowed as he mulled it over.
They walked on, the noise of the city eventually fading as they passed through the city gate. Ahead, the great expanse of the Dothraki Sea stretched out—a vast, rolling plain of grass and open sky.
Jon halted, squinting into the distance. “So, where to? Vaes Dothrak or Lhazareen?”
Harry stared out at the horizon, the words of the prophecy circling his mind. The storm-born shall rise as dragons wake. A son of lightning shall stand beside the fire. He didn’t believe in fate—not really. But he couldn’t fully shake the feeling that the prophecies carried weight.
He drew a steadying breath. “Lhazareen,” he said firmly.
Jon nodded as he patted Ghost. “Then let’s not waste any more time.”
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 – Certainly was an eventful trip visit to Meereen and despite my desire to have a couple arcs about things that happened here I felt it was more important to more Harry and Jon along after Danyerys in order to be there as soon as possible. Of course once they find her they will start heading back to Westeros at a much quicker pace than she had done in the books so I guess we shall see if any of the storylines end up getting incorporated.
Story Note 3 – 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.
Story Note 4 – Also yes Harry is obviously interested in visiting Valyria, however this might have to wait a while as there are obviously pressing reasons or unavoidable circumstances that lead him to landing there … but as of now Harry certainly has no plans to land there at least in the near future. Certainly without knowing he won’t die there.
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.
