Chapter Text
If nothing else, Harry’s little adventure on his first name day had somehow turned into another thing for his father to boast proudly of. Along with his first word. That evening a feast was thrown in his honor which felt a little stupid since he hadn’t done anything other than live to be one year old.
And never mind, infant mortality and all that.
Still Harry was too little to enjoy it much beyond the people watching. Though on top of learning his last name and his parents names, it did give him a good understanding of a few things. His father definitely ruled and the world was unfortunately more than a little patriarchal. Harry could practically hear Hermione’s scathhing remarks as he eyed the way most of the men treated the women around them.
Including his own father, Robert Baratheon. The man’d started out the night with relative courtesy, formality, and respectability, but once he’d gotten a few cups in he’d been distracted by a servant with a rather nice chest and his behavior went down the drain.
His mother, Cersei Lannister (and why did she keep her birth name? This seemed like the type of world where a woman would take a man’s name), seemed a bit resigned to the behavior, though Harry could only occasionally see her face from where he was securely held by a maid. Every now and then, though, he could swear that he caught glimpses of fury in her green eyes when she thought no one was looking. For all she aped compliance and used words like ‘my love’ for Harry’s father, Harry felt a bit worried he’d end up an only child because his mother would kill his father.
And from what he could glimpse from being politely acknowledged and then ignored by everyone else, Harry didn’t have a lot of faith in the people around him to stop that from happening.
The old, beleaguered gentleman from earlier was called Jon Arryn, and apparently something called the Hand of the King. Given he just sighed at his father’s exploits, Harry promptly categorized him as a pushover.
The stern faced guy did in fact look a bit like Harry’s father since he was his younger brother Stannis Baratheon. It didn’t take much to see that the two got along about as much as cats and dogs. They had another younger brother, Renly, who remained at a place called Storm’s End. From what Harry could gather his Uncle was hardly older than him, so he wondered who exactly was raising him and put it on his list to find out somehow.
The creaking man in robes was Pycelle and seemed at best a man far too into senility to be holding any type of office. Harry didn’t quite know what a Grand Maester was aside from the word being Spanish for teacher, but he didn’t hear any other Spanish influences so that might be wrong.
Merlin he needed to get old enough to be able to start reading.
Especially since the slimy feeling bald guy, Varys, was something called the Master of Whispers and kept side eyeing Harry in a way that made Harry want to toss a Protego up when no one else was looking. He almost wanted to try and push for a flash of Legilimency. Unfortunately he really couldn’t risk overreaching too hard with his undeveloped brain so needed it to come relatively naturally.
Harry really, really wanted to have a few words with Death. Dealing with this mess would undoubtedly take up way too much time.
As much as he wanted to scream and throw a tantrum (which even he could admit was only partly due to his physical age), Harry knew that the sooner he got started on figuring out as much as possible, the better. Thus in preparation for dealing with everything, he started watching even closer and listening more carefully.
While he tried to mainly overhear conversations about him, he heard more than a little about Lords and Ladies who couldn’t place yet. Altogether, this initial night didn’t do much besides give him the impression that this place was a festering cesspool in more ways than one.
“-he King’s love of a good joust I’m surprised there wasn’t a tournament for the Prince’s first name day?” He heard someone, a Lady speaking to Varys, say. Harry carefully sipped his sweetened milk, very carefully trying not to give away that he was focusing on their conversation.
Varys simpered at the man, seeming to be ‘oh so concerned.’ “Lord Tywin wanted to throw one for his grandson’s name day, however the queen declined her father’s oh so kind offer due to how poor of health the prince is so he wouldn’t be able to attend.” Varys, the Lady, and all the people not so subtly listening in around very carefully didn’t actually look at Harry, who was the picture of health. “And even though the king would have loved to host a tourney himself given the hardships on the boy’s constitution would be so much less without the travel time to Casterly Rock, he restrained himself to a feast.”
Harry narrowed his eyes, so even the King didn’t want to insult his father-in-law. Given his apparent willingness to have screaming matches with his wife, it wouldn’t be in the name of ‘happy wife, happy life’ or something similar. Great.
His grandfather was either just that nice, or was a tyrant that put the ones around him to shame.
Harry risked a glance at Varys as the crowd around him erupted into a flurry of whispers, the Lady he’d been talking too in particular exclaiming over having to talk to the queen to see if she could offer her own maester to assist the grand maester and everyone else the queen had undoubtedly already consulted.
Varys sat in the middle of the storm, just smiling almost demurely.
Yeah, screw his developing brain. He was a defenseless kid surrounded by shitty assholes, he needed to become more active ASAP.
He’d need his Legilimency quickly, along with his wand. He had the feeling he’d need anti-poison measures and defensive spells sooner rather than later.
And his invisibility cloak.
XxXxX
It took a month or so after Harry’s first name day for his father’s attention to wane. Right along with his dwindling attention, Harry noticed the neglect start up again. It wasn’t as bad as when he was a baby, perhaps because he’d started to talk. It made sense that they wouldn’t want Harry to be able to tell anyone something was wrong, even in the babbles that amounted to speech for a child his age.
Unfortunately they’d gotten rather underhanded with their shenanigans and shifted more into undermining him. When his nursemaids or the Maester that had been assigned as his teacher condescended to encourage him to talk, they gave him the wrong names for things. That or mispronounced them horribly. His developing brain still couldn’t manage more than a very rare burst of Legilimency, but he got a vague understanding that they wanted to make him seem slower, perhaps? Not quite as smart?
Harry deigned to play along with them when he couldn’t manage to ignore them. There were worse things than having someone underestimate you.
XxXxX
There were still times when he managed to slip out of the nursery though. He vaguely remembered enough about raising kids to know being cooped up in a single room wasn’t healthy for his growth, and since no one seemed willing to take him out, he felt determined to explore as much as possible on his own. Luckily he hadn’t run across anyone yet who truly wanted to hurt him, and the servants, for better or worse, got used to spotting him running around on his own so stopped raising a fuss. Probably to avoid dealing with the inevitable explosive reactions from his parents. They mostly left him to his own devices unless someone was in a particularly good place to grab him or it was a day with a high chance of the king or queen wanting to see him, in which case he was quite neatly picked up and carried back to the nursery.
Harry, who quite agreed with this arrangement, didn't fight any of the servants, and always made sure to say thank you when delivered back to where he should have been, most often without the people actually in charge of him ever noticing.
XxXxX
On Harry’s second name day, his mother announced that she was pregnant again.
XxXxX
His mother’s pregnancy was… odd? Was maybe the right word. The way she behaved around him was tempered a bit, and when she visited she seemed quite intent on telling him about how he’d absolutely have to protect his sibling, which he planned to do anyway so he didn’t mind. Still the way she was pressuring him so hard when a normal child his age wouldn’t be able to understand felt strange.
She seemed excited about the pregnancy at least. Far more excited in fact that she’d apparently been for his from what the various people around them indicated.
She’d also taken to redoing part of the nursery for him, including expanding the number of rooms and doing some serious redecorating. If anything the chaos made it easier for Harry to slip away so he didn’t really mind.
XxXxX
When his younger brother was born, Harry was one of the first people in once the mess of the birth was cleared away and visitors were allowed. The number of visitors that apparently absolutely needed to see Harry’s new sibling seemed a bit excessive, but it was a royal birth in the equivalent of the middle ages, so there was probably some type of protocol involved there.
Harry was lifted up onto his mother’s bed by his father and settled carefully next to his mother where he could look at his little brother. Aside from a small tuft of blonde hair, his brother looked much like any other baby, squished and awkward.
Harry thought he looked adorable.
“What’s his name?” Harry asked his mother.
“Since your father named you,” the queen stated regally, “I’ve named him Joffrey. The ravens are already being sent.”
Father blinked, too confused to react to mother circumventing him about the announcement of his son’s birth. “No, you named Harlan. I would’ve named him after my Father or Ned.”
Mother looked at his father absolutely askance. “I most certainly did not. He’d be Joffrey, Caster, or Tommen if I had.”
“Well if you didn’t name him and I didn’t name him who did?” Robert stated, looking even more gobsmacked than before at Cersei, who for once didn’t appear angry, instead looking just as flummoxed.
“I really thought you did?” The queen said. “Harlan’s pregnancy was… difficult. My recovery took so long…” Harry called lies, but wisely didn’t say anything and just fluffed the blanket around his younger brother’s toes, smiling as it caused his little face to scrunch up even in sleep.
Robert blinked. “We certainly celebrated his birth, but I think I’d remember if I did.”
“I named the prince with input from Lord Stannis and Ser Jamie,” Jon Arryn stated firmly from the corner he was holding up along with Uncle Stannis, Pycelle, and more of the court than Harry thought was really needed even with protocol. “It had been three days since his birth and you were both… indisposed. We really needed to send the announcements out. I am quite glad that we will not need to repeat the experience with Prince Joffrey.”
Harry secretly relished both their dumbstruck looks. He sincerely doubted that this would actually teach either of them to be better parents, but he could hope.
XxXxX
Joffrey, while still adorable, liked to scream.
Harry, who remembered five lives of children, felt he screamed far more than normal. None of his various siblings, nieces, nephews, or in one rare case children, had screamed as much as Joffery did. Maybe it was colic? Or something else wrong?
Harry didn’t know. He did know that he was not a fan of sharing his nursery with his little brother, and the cries kept his father well away which made Harry’s life far more difficult than it would otherwise be whenever he was stuck in there, which was more than he’d like. The increased number of adults around for Joffrey and the more frequent visits from his mother meant he couldn’t sneak out as often.
At least the adults never seemed to neglect or sabotage Joffrey the way they had Harry.
It meant that for his third name day when his father asked him what he wanted, he felt almost no guilt in asking for his own room.
XxXxX
There were both benefits and downsides to having his own room at such a young age. Neither parent really thought to assign him any sort of caretaker or move his personal nurses with him, and didn’t really think of him much unless someone brought him to their attention. While he’d initially tried to go spend part of his days in the nursery to get to know his brother better in the rare instances he wasn’t screaming, the nurses wouldn’t always let him in, and he’d heard them rather pointedly disparaging him in comparison to his brother.
Ultimately this left him to his own devices most of the time, and to ensure this particular state of affairs remained stable as long as possible, Harry made sure to make the few scheduled lessons he had and be in bed on time in case his father decided to have one of his late night melancholic drinking sessions and came to watch him sleep.
He also made sure to be continually kind to the servants to keep them in the unspoken agreement of not drawing attention to his wanderings. It also meant they weren’t opposed to helping him with the odd closed door or to looking the other way as Harry raided the various snack tables or fruit bowls that appeared in proximity to wherever a noble was, and even helped him pour a glass of water from the carafes that often sat untouched next to the wine if he was thirsty. He’d eventually found both the small kitchen and the main kitchen and as long as he stayed out of the way, the kitchen staff was more than happy to slip him treats or let him taste test what they were working on.
His wanderings let him gain quite a bit of knowledge about the castle, its secret passages, and the people that inhabited it.
And not just the Lords and Ladies, though he’d learned far more than he wanted to about those nutjobs. He learned about the servants too, their lives and their family’s lives. How things really were for the average, non-noble person of this kingdom who were rather annoyingly called ‘smallfolk’ among other things that just sounded derogatory. It was a bad situation when something like ‘peasant’ was an improvement from the normal mode of address.
He refused to be a useless king that didn’t know his subjects, and even watching this small subset of people made him realize exactly how truly different the social expectations were to any of the previous lives he remembered.
The first time Harry had seen one of the younger pages, a boy who looked about eight, Harry had needed to take a deep breath and beat down his inner voice (which sounded extremely like Hermione) that wailed about child labor. Different cultures, different worlds had different expectations, and it always took some adjustment. Harry decided to follow various young pages around to see what exactly they did to help calm himself, and sure enough most did perfectly easy tasks. Some ran messages or carried small things while others helped organize items and kept lists. A few in the kitchen helped pluck birds, took turns turning the spits, carefully stirring the pots, or other menial tasks.
Harry still didn’t love the concept, but as he learned most were the children of either servants, guards, or other court attendants, and there wasn’t really a thing like daycares or schools in this place, he found he couldn’t bring himself to complain yet. He merely took a few deep breaths and added it to his list to try and find a balance with how this world currently treated children which gave them duties like he’d seen to help bring their families some additional small funds,keep them out from under foot, and to teach them responsibility and more of what Harry thought should happen, which involved no child labor and schooling.
He had the feeling that as bad as things would be trying to manage things with the servants and the rest of the people, his hardest sell would be with the squires and other young boys he saw in the training yards. He knew quite well how hard trying to keep headstrong teenagers from throwing down could be.
While the maester he took his ‘official’ lessons with still tried to sabotage him by continuallymisnaming people and places, mispronouncing words, and otherwise deliberately hobling his education, Harry had been lucky enough to find the library and Maester Godry who was kind enough. Though undoubtedly the man had just been humoring him at the beginning, once he’d realized Harry was a quick learner, took well meaning instruction or corrections to heart, and honestly wanted to learn, he’d helped fill in several of the gaps in Harry’s rather self taught knowledge.
After he got Harry writing relatively cleanly through children’s primers and practicing a good number of words, he’d broken out the maps. While Maester Godry went about transcription work, cataloging new books, or helping the rare person who visited, he’d quiz Harry on the houses, where on the maps their house seat was, their lords, words, and banners. He’d assign him a city, point to where the books were, and Harry had to come back with several basic facts about it. Eventually he’d even started Harry on his sums.
Given the man rarely interacted with children, or even left the library, and Harry wasn’t exactly a normal child nor did he have much experience actually raising toddlers (his past siblings had all been over ten when he’d been put in charge of their care, and he’d been involved a thing that kept him away when his twins had been born so he’d come back to them being five year olds), neither of them quite realized Harry was well beyond where he should have been when his brother’s first name day came around.