I am an Alien in another reality.

In the grand throne room, Sansa stood before Alex, her posture both humble and resolute.

"Your Majesty, I ask you to heal my brother and appoint him as Governor of the Northern Region," she pleaded, her voice trembling slightly.

Alex leaned forward on his crystal throne, his expression thoughtful. "Bran? Do you not wish to govern the North yourself?"

Sansa glanced at the motionless guards lining the hall, their silence amplifying the weight of her words. She took a breath, then spoke softly, "As long as my brother is well, I... I wish to serve Your Majesty in exchange for this favor."

Alex tilted his head, a teasing smile playing on his lips. "What was that? I didn't quite catch it."

Her face flushed. "I... umm..." Sansa hesitated, lowering her head, embarrassed by her own presumption. She thought of the little elves that diligently maintained the castle, and the beautiful fey and elves in the army, she felt inferior. She realized that she had nothing to offer at all.

"Alright, I'm just teasing you," Alex said, his smile softening. "How about becoming my cupbearer? Isn't that the traditional position offered by kings to those in favor?"

Sansa's reply was immediate. "I have no complaints."

Her unwavering response caught Alex off guard for a moment. This girl, he thought, how eager is she to stay here? Then again, maybe having more people around the castle would make it less lifeless.

In the southern plains, Daenerys and Jon Snow rode at the head of their combined forces, having quelled the last pockets of resistance. Their temporary camp buzzed with activity as preparations for the march to King's Landing began.

Seated by the fire, Daenerys bit into a slice of roasted meat. "I miss eating physical food," she said with a wistful smile.

Jon nodded, understanding her sentiment. "It's hard to believe such magical beads exist. They can sustain a soldier for a week or a dragon for a day." He held up one of the small energy beads, its surface glowing faintly.

"It's made of pure magic," Gendry Baratheon chimed in, chewing on a piece of meat. "I doubt anyone but His Majesty could create something like this."

His gaze wandered to Alex's Silver Moon Legion. Their cold efficiency unnerved him. The soldiers were emotionless, operating like tireless machines. Gendry had observed them over the past days, holding crystals to people before deciding whether to spare or kill them. It was a grim but flawless system of justice.

"Magic is truly terrifying," Varys muttered, similarly reflecting on the power and precision of the legion. Meanwhile, Alex, while on his way to King's Landing, detoured to an old fortress.

High above Harrenhal, Alex gripped the saddle of his black dragon, surveying the ruins below. The fortress, once a symbol of ambition and tragedy, lay in crumbling disrepair. Its shattered walls bore the scars of dragonfire from ages past.

Hovering at the center of the fortress, Alex extended his hand. Energy poured from him in a radiant cascade, flowing into the broken stones and scorched wood. Slowly, Harrenhal rose to its former glory, its walls mending and towers reforming.

Yet Alex frowned. "Still ugly," he muttered. He left the structure intact but added his own enhancements. Along the ramparts and towers, adamantium gargoyles now stood sentinel, their eyes glowing faintly. Imbued with magic, they would defend the fortress against attacks and apprehend escapees.

Inside, the fortress transformed into a massive prison. Cells with stone beds lined the halls, each equipped with flowing water from the God's Eye lake. Alex envisioned Harrenhal as a place where criminals would be judged and punished. Minor offenders could serve their sentences and repent, while those guilty of heinous crimes would meet their end here.

The sky above darkened. Thunder rumbled, and lightning crackled as cloaked figures descended from the clouds. Dementors.

Alex had studied these creatures during his time in the Harry Potter world. Fascinated by their abilities, he had visited Azkaban to learn more about their nature. Now, hundreds of them roamed Harrenhal, their eerie presence chilling the air.

The gigantic fortress, already foreboding, grew even more menacing. The Stark siblings and the lords accompanying Alex shuddered as the temperature plummeted. Nearby villagers, feeling the unnatural cold, gazed at Harrenhal with unease.

The once-feared cursed castle had become something far more terrifying: the ultimate prison, guarded by magic and death itself.