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Chapter Text

"What's this? Where am I?" Asked a stoned looking man in a realm of impossible chaos and order.

And then I remembered the deal I made with a guy who calls himself Professor Paradox. And I thought it was a good idea. Stupid drunk shenanigans.

Welp, time to see what this new madness is.

And that's how I found myself staring at a guy who looked like Surtur fighting/colliding/kissing/tearing into an elf-ish woman with white hair and deepest blue eyes, another woman who just wouldn't stop wailing, a centaur, a manticore, a huge Black Goat, a guy with a thousand faces, a figure straight from Lovecraft's imagination, a white tree with red leaves and a serene face and dozens of minor unremarkable entities(except the one with sixteen tits).

Yet at the moment, only the demon tree, the ice-elf-woman and Mr. Fire-Lord seemed to be "active". None payed any attention to me, for that I was thankful. Their mere presence evoked a dread I had not felt until Professor Paradox threw me into a blackhole.

For once in my life I prayed to whatever deity would listen to wake me up or kill me or just take me from here. And for once my prayers were answered and I woke up to a stern face beckoning me forward.

It seems my life is a big cosmic joke. Before the madness started I wished for magic, knowledge, adventure and women. Seems like "be careful what you wish for" is a prudent advice.

I did walk forward with remarkable balance for a toddler.

And promptly head-butted, my presumed father. Accidentally. Ooops.

Chapter Text

After that unfortunate headbutt and prompt unconsciousness I woke up to see the same tall(6'10), dark-grey eyed man with striking snow-white hair and a mid-30's face talking to a man in grey-robes and a chain with several links. It looked like he was consulting the grey-robed man about something related to the eyes. They looked into my eyes a few times and seemed like they didn't understand what was going on.

What happened to my eyes?

Oh!

Before I came to this world I had been to the Harry Potter world where I had been lucky enough to get metamorph powers, advanced, once-in-a-thousand-years metamorph powers with potentially complete control over every aspect of my body. So advanced that I had been born as a vaguely humanoid, too-soft-yet-not-liquid-y baby. And what a experience that was!

Too stretchy, no coordination whatsoever, flailing like a dying deer and couldn't even cry(jumbled vocal cords)!. I was grateful that I had functional organs and organ systems in that mess.

To remedy that, someone(don't remember, too busy trying to remain alive) did a ritual that both strengthened my body and also bound my power to my experience and skill level. But the price was I would have multi-colored, constantly changing like a kaleidoscope(1), eyes(representing my power) until I learned how to control my powers, so as to not end up as a puddle of human flesh.

I suppose that's what awakened when I came into this body or was it the head-butt? Not sure.

The grey-robed guy and my presumed father chattered on anxiously and feeling left out, I decided now was a perfect time to cry. Hey babies are demanding you know and I need attention damnit!

And behold! In comes a pregnant, blonde, green-eyed woman. Presumably my mother but she didn't have the same kind-eyes and the warmth of a mother. It felt like she was doing this out of duty rather than love. Oh well, no skin off my back.

Is it wrong that I want to fuck her?

And that thought reminded me that I can't make full use, of metamorph abilities, not others, until puberty. It would take until teenage to "assimilate" the magical xylocrasts into my soul as to retain my magical abilities and not be lost to the magua blocaerer of the 79th reality (yeah Professor Paradox really needs to work on his science for idiots) or in other words, learn patience.

Well one benefit/disadvantage of waiting that long was I would have the abilities, magical or otherwise, and temperament of this "original" Brandon. He left an imprint on this body that just can't be removed. I would have to wait to pass judgement on how I feel about that. I don't want to second-guess every decision of mine.

And so I started learning about this world. It would take decades but a journey of thousand miles begins with a single step.

I toddled into the library and hit the Maester with my enhanced-yet-not-significant strength to get his attention. It seems luck was on my side and he picked me up and put me on the table.

"Hello young Lord Brandon" He smiled at me indulgently. "What can I do for you?" As it turns out Common Tongue was simply old English, rigid and formal but still English. I understood him but I didn't want to draw undue attention to a 10-month babe speaking fluently. So I pretended to be dumb(er) and pointed at a book about language.

"Do you want to start your lessons early?" Asked Maester Walys. I nodded. He sighed. "The things I do for the realm and the citadel. Babysitting a 10-month babe? Gods why did I accept this mission?" He muttered under his breath. I heard some of it. Something about the realm and the citadel. Whatever that was. I decided to be on guard with this guy.

It would serve me well in the years to come.

After two hours of basic mathematics and letters, I was bored and tired of pretending. I realized this was going to take a long time.

Fortunately I did have my own hide-out. A dimension with all of the modern-tech and where I could take back my adult form and relax/research/watch TV/whatever while I appeared to be sleeping in this world. The best part was I could take physical objects and people(If I so wished) into this dimension and back. It would be nice to have someone I can confide in and be real with. That person would come about 6 years later. Ashara Dayne.

Bored and tired of being a toddler, I walked over to the lowest shelf(the unimportant books) that I can reach with this body and promptly entered my own dimension. On the outside it appeared I took out a few books and then proceeded to fall asleep. Servants would name me the "The Dreaming Wolf" for I spent upwards of 20 hours a day in my dimension. Less charitable ones would call me "The Lazy Wolf" I suppose both are appropriate from their point-of-view.

These books would contain the mundane and boring details of trade deals and economic status of this lord or that city. I suppose it was just my frustration talking when I didn't even finish the first book and attempted to cross dimensions again until my head started ringing and I realized that magic fluctuated and behaved strangely in this world. Once a day seemed to be the limit of how many times I could cross over. Maybe it would grow as I grow older. No way to tell really. That also brought up the realization that I have to be judicious in what and who I bring into this dimension.

Finally, after taking a very long nap I woke up and decided it was time to go back. I crossed over to find myself in the blonde-woman's big bosom. Gods what a place to be. She maybe cold towards me but her tits were warm enough. Maybe being pregnant awoke some of her motherly instincts> Who cares? I am gonna savor this. The only benefit of being a toddler again.

I had to change my opinion about the woman when instead of treating me coldly she gradually warmed up to me. Still not going to feel guilty about what was freely offered.

Over the many weeks I have been here, I overheard some servants talking about how lucky they were that they were inside Winterfell and close to StarkCity rather than being in the harsh North. Why? Why did it seem that Winterfell was unaffected by seasons? That was my first magical event/occurence of this world. Another was talking about some family called Targaryen having a growing Dragon. A Dragon. Seriously? I was so excited to see it. In hindsight, meeting overgrown fire-breathing reptiles is not good for your health.

Time skip: 6 moons

I have been here for 6 moons and already the maester is convinced that I am blessed by the Seven to be so intelligent. Starks aren't particularly religious people despite the deities, the Old Gods, being so much more worship-worthy than the product of an overactive imagination of guy high on weed. Eye Roll In his opinion, I already have a decent grasp of the Common Tongue and a very large vocabulary for my age. I don't know the side the maester is on or if there is even a side but he recommended a second and third language to take advantage of the flexibility of a growing child's brain. I agree with him. And that's how I started learning Sarnori. My mother's tongue. That was the first bit of information my father let loose about my mother. Its clear talking about her is painful for him. I wanted to learn the language if just to pay respect to a woman who died giving birth to me. Sarnori was actually very similar to Hindi and made a heck of a lot more sense than English.

I learned that the Sarnori civilization was a shadow of its former self when it could contend with the like of Valyria but grew too prideful. It was fortunate that King Brandon "The Exhibitionist" Stark was showing-off his new flagship along with escorting fleet to finalize a trade deal when the Dothraki attacked. The Dothraki warred against the decadent Sarnorii and unfamiliar-with-terrain Northern warriors and laid waste to half the cities. The admiral, Davos Dayne, used the superior mobility using river Sarne to return favor in the battle of Field of Crows where Sarnori chariots and Northern wargs and warriors butchered 3 Khalasars. The river ran red with blood that day and the carrions feasted. In the end, the Kingdom of Sarnor was reduced to 3 cities and the Sarnorii people have been ever grateful and steadfast allies of the North. Trade making both of them richer and distance ensuring hostilities remain in the dark recesses of minds only

Many refugees from Dothraki rampages took refuge in StarkCity bringing invaluable skills and knowledge. Unfortunately, despite it being more than 300 years since those refugees came here, they have yet to be accepted as Northeners. Part of it is the long memories of the Westerosi, but at least the Sarnori or Tall Men as they are called in Essos are not the only ones yet to assimilated.

House Manderly and a large part of inhabitants of White Harbor face the same and they came over a thousand years ago! Around the same time as Braavos was being founded. House Manderly is a perfect example of how the Kings of Winter ruled. When the GreyStarks rebelled, they felt the might of the StarkFleet, after crushing the rebellion the Starks killed all the legitimate GreyStarks, exiled the only bastard left to the Three Sisters and installed him as a new house, House Grey. They even took his surname!

It would be a few years until I would be allowed outside Winterfell and see the world but I was okay with that. A castle like Winterfell, said to be built by the ancestors of Brandon "The Builder" Stark was humongous and had a lot of space and items to be explored. I had thought Winterfell to be the biggest castle until I learned that Harrenhal and Casterly Rock were even bigger. One thing was sure, people in this world sure like to build big.

Chapter Text

Rickard Stark, mid 263 AC

I returned to Winterfell after a disappointing talk with Artos at StarkTower about how I should not be Lord of Winterfell. Again.

Genna was already on the bed with her legs spread apart, as if in invitation.

One that I must refuse.

For our little Eddard. How could this girl of seven and ten have such experience in bending men to her will, I would never know. But I did know she felt some gratitude for rescuing her from becoming a Frey bride. I shudder. Her father had been just about to give in to Lord Walder's pestering to wed her to his second son when Tywin convinced him to break their betrothal and hastily wed her to me.

She was attractive enough but the real reason for that was Tywin felt that a Frey, a second son at that, would never be suitable to marry his sister. If I had a sister, I suppose I would feel the same. Relations with the westerlands had never been too warm or cold but this was the first marriage between the Lannisters and Starks. A momentous occasion.

She finally spoke, "Husband, where have you been? Fornicating with whores while your loving wife carries your whelp in her belly?" And there it is. The guilt trip. The attempt at manipulation. One miss-step, A bastard who didn't live till his second-name day and she is going to hang this over me till the day I die.

Ignoring her sharp words, I reply. "It seems he gets his jolly's from tormenting me, when he knows perfectly well that Rodrik would rather die than be chained. He is called the Wandering Wolf for a reason". She looks awfully pleased with herself. I wonder why? She says, "So what are you going to do about him or that sell-sword cousin of yours?"

"Genna, he is called Artos the Implacable for a reason, it seems my father is the only one he would listen to. As for Rodrik, he hates the very idea of being one place for too long. I hope you didn't imply what I think you did"

Genna was undeterred. She continued "You know perfectly well how your fore-fathers dealt with enemies and dissidents, Rickard. I shouldn't have to remind you of this. Even Tywin spoke fondly of them. Artos's belligerence and Rickard's devil-may-care attitude and your stupidity threaten the stability of the North and their children can one day claim Winterfell for themselves. It's unfortunate that House Stark has so few female descendants, we could have wed Eddard or Brandon to unite both lines together but you had to get your firstborn betrothed to the Princess himself. I hope you are happy with yourself that you are going to leave your sons a war of succession to fight. The ugliest kind of war."

I sigh.This woman just loves being uncooperative. I should have expected this from a Lannister. Another mistake on my part. Assassinate my brother or cousin's son? She must be half-mad to think so. What game are you playing at Genna?

"Genna enough of this. How is Brandon lately? Is he behaving too unruly?" Is this my life now? Too busy too spend time with my son? The last piece of my wife left to me? At least he is happy and healthy.

She answered, "No, he spends his days sleeping on books and scrolls Rickard, I don't know if that's how children spend their time but even little Ned is more energetic. The servants and small-folk have started spreading rumors about his eyes too. I don't know what to do. Some say he is a gift from the Gods, others say he is a curse for your father usurping his nephew."

I had no reply to that. What could I say? My cousin, the rightful heir to Winterfell had ran off to Essos when news came of his father, Lord Willem's death. My father had beaten back the King-Beyond-the-Wall and people needed a leader when the Skagosi rebelled. With him gone and father succumbing to his injuries, it fell to me to be the Lord of Winterfell. Later, he had a son, Rodrik "The Wandering Wolf" who still refused to listen to me and didn't return to the North except briefly. If Rodrik had a son and he wanted Winterfell, there would be war. Genna was right in that. But what could I do?

I had made many enemies in the North with my decisions. Using the Northern Armada to beat back the NinePenny Kings. Marrying a Sarnori when a few generations had already married outside the North. Betrothing my heir to the Princess when the volatile King could call it off any time. Marrying a second non-Northern lady, especially a Lannister. Giving the Braavosi important positions in the shipyards and sending aid to Hardhome. My mother, Vaella Targaryen, was simple-minded and the Northerners had yet another reason to protest. The list of minor disagreeable decisions was even longer.

What people saw as supplication and easily-bended was actually playing the long-game. How do I explain that to these simple fools? At least Brandon seems to be a strong lad. He would have a difficult time ahead of him, but he would prevail.

Tywin Lannister, same time

Seeing Rhaegar read books boys twice his age had trouble with brought a sense of shame, a twinge of insecurity and jealousy. Jaime, born a few moons later and he hasn't even learnt his letters yet. I have to spend hours and hours helping him learn his letters while Rhaegar does all the maester asks and more. And then there is Cersei, not even 5 name-days old and thinks she can trick me. At least that was a good attempt.

Just then Barristan Selmy came forth. "Lord Tywin, his grace summoned you".

"I will be there" Selmy nodded and left.

Tywin entered the small council chamber and saw only Aerys sitting at the head and had a look of glee, as if he had the most brilliant idea ever. After hearing his idea of claiming lands north of the wall, I was apprehensive. What is going on in that head of yours, Aerys?

I took a moment to regain my composure and made a small noise at the back of my throat. "You summoned me your grace"

"Aye I did, Tywin." Aerys rose from the chair and walked to the window.

"Tell me, what do you think of Princess Aerea?"

She is four namedays old. There isn't much to say

Princess Aerea was a difficult topic. Affectionately called Arya by the servants. She was a lost opportunity that Rickard capitalized on, though I am sure his decision was only going to bite him in the ass later on. Rickard had sent the famed Stark Fleet to help the war effort at a crucial time and gained an audience with Aerys when he was both drunk, in public and feeling very generous. That perfect storm of coincidences led to him bagging a betrothal to Aerea for his first-born. Aerys was getting desperate these days for a daughter to wed Rhaegar to, yet he couldn't let that happen. Pycelle worked diligently to make sure that Rhaella didn't have children or have them killed in infancy. But there was another obstacle between wedding Rahegar to Cersei. Myrcella Waters. A bastard Aerys got on Joanna's cousin. Aerys kept a close eye on his bastard daughter. He couldn't move against her, yet.

The Starks had got 3 royal marriages, Visenya's first daughter, Jaehaerys I's daughter and Daeron(the Drunk)'s daughter, this was the fourth, while the Lannisters had none. Yet the situation was not dire. Rhaegar was the real prize, he was close to the dragon, Sonar, and had the best chance of claiming him. Why would he care for someone as wild and mercurial as Aerea when Rhaegar was right there for him to rule through?

"She is a fine princess, your grace." What else do you want me to say?

"Aye she is, she loves me the most and seeks me out for validation. Truly, my daughter. I hope I didn't make a mistake betrothing her to that Northern savage. Yet we needed to bind the North closer to the Iron Throne and Rhaegar's egg had not yet hatched when I made that betrothal. Now I keep thinking of breaking that betrothal. "

No, I need to convince him that breaking the betrothal is fool hardy. Rhaegar couldn't wed Cersei if Aerea is still there.

"Your grace, you are wise and patient. A king breaking his word would make you unpopular. You brought stability with that decision. Think of what the bards will say? Aerys the flimsy or Aerys the dishonorable" There that should do it. Aerys was always vain and prickly about his popularity, just guide him with a deft hand and he will be dancing to your tune.

"You are right of course Tywin. I gave my word in front of hundreds, didn't I? I would keep it."

Tywin hid a little smirk upon hearing that.

Chapter Text

Davos Seaworth, THE SEAWOLF, flaghip of Stark Fleet

264 AC, winter

Lord Rickard Stark was furious, that was plain to see. Some men had a fury that was terrifying to behold. Like the Baratheons were renowned for. Others had a cold rage that shimmered beneath the surface just waiting to be let out at the most opportune moment. Lord Rickard, undoubtedly, had both. He had contained his rage long enough to be alone and then let it out. The results were plain to see. The captain's quarters looked like a tornado had gone through them. Parchment everywhere, torn clothes, upturned table, smashed wine cellar, there seemed to be no end to it. In the corner sat Rickard Stark with bleeding knuckles and a murderous expression.

Davos had never understood why many Northeners thought Rickard weak and toothless. Seeing that expression on hs face only cemented the stupidity of some people in his mind.

Lord Rickard was uncharacteristically angry because a shrew of a woman, Olenna Tyrell, with one word, had forced Lord Rickard to break a promise made to his mother and to his childhood best-friend, a commoner. The promise to feed as many people during winter as possible. Rickard had even opened up the famed Glass Gardens for the small-folk yet Winter was unrelenting and harsh. While winter was seldom felt in Winterfell or about half of StarkCity, due to the queer magics of the place, the rest of the North had no such luxury. This winter was much harsher than expected, which forced Rickard to go beg on his knees, metaphorically speaking, for food to feed his people.

Olenna Tyrell was a spiteful woman with nary a care about savages of the North and the one time she had an upper hand in a negotiation she wanted to bring down "the big bad wolf". If she was as smart as she thought herself to be she would have put the drama of the "Faith in the North" campaign behind her and realized that friendship with Rickard was much better than their enmity. Alas, it was not to be.

Even Olenna's callousness and smug face didn't make Rickard as determined as what came next. When Lord Stark went to plea with the Iron Throne, with Aerys regarding this injustice, Aerys washed his hands off the matter. That infuriated Lord Stark to no end, for good reason. The feudal system was based on honoring your vows, if nobody trusted anyone anymore then the entire system would collapse. The relationship between a lord/king and subject was a give and take one. Safety and prosperity in exchange for loyalty or any other variations. Aerys, with hs indifference was breaking his part of the deal and Rickard was very close to breaking his own in response. The Targaryens really had one way to keep the North in line, food. Food that they used to import from Braavos or Sarys(a Sarnori City) but willingly gave up that as part of the deal Torrhen made with Aegon when he wed Visenya's daughter in exchange for access to the markets of rest of the kingdoms. Importing food from elsewhere would mean not only treason but breaking faith with both the Targaryens and the entire Reach. It could cost the North favorable Trade deals and partnership upon which so much of StarkCity's prosperity was based on. It was not a decision to be taken impulsively.

As a desperate measure, Lord Rickard had ran for the next best food exporter, the Riverlands. Yet the situation was barely any better. Lord Hoster Tully had tried to convince Rickard to break his heir's betrothal and betroth Catelyn Tully to Brandon Stark. Since that didn't work, and Hoster didn't want his prized daughter to marry a second-son(Ned), he finally agreed to sell the food for a higher price(high demand) than usual but still much lower than the Tyrells. This entire ordeal had left Lord Rickard a bitter taste in his mouth. And vowed vengeance on the Tyrells and Aerys.

How successful would he be in his endeavor only time would tell.

Nowhere was the power of wealth more visible than in the relationship between the Starks and Hightowers. They both were patrons to different religions where the Seven labeled the followers of the Old Gods as savages while the First Men feigned indifferent to insults. Yet, trade flourished between StarkCity and Old Town and everyone looked the other way when money was involved.

And that's how they sailed up the White Knife, passed the Death Channel, the moving bridges and docked at the Dire Harbor.