A Reason to Live (ASOIAF SI)

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We've all heard it before.

A Self Insert is isekai'd into Westeros. Uplifts the Seven Kingdoms, whilst everyone magically follows their orders. Single handedly building institutions from nothing.

The classic power fantasy. Done to death.

This is not that kind of story.

Join RepliSI as he struggles to lead a decent life, and maybe, just maybe finally gets some self respect.
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A Reason to Live Chapter 1 : Funeral New
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    • Replicant

    Replicant

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    A Reason to Live Chapter 1 : Funeral


    The first emotion he felt was confusion.

    One moment he was having dinner with his family and relatives. Quietly eating his dinner as his parents were arguing with relatives over financial issues. A familiar albeit uncomfortable ritual. His relatives always wanted money and his parents were not inclined to give it to them. His input on their discussions was not welcome. At best they would just ignore him, so might as well focus on dinner instead.

    The next moment he was in a room. A bedroom with brick walls, a bed that was too small for someone his size and a window with no glass.on it. Not his bedroom.

    Definitely not his bedroom.

    The next emotion he felt was, inevitably, panic.

    The next few moments were not his finest.

    He remembers the smell coming from outside the window, a nauseating smell of human excrement and waste. He remembers backing off looking out the window the moment the stench overcame him, so powerful it nearly caused him to vomit the contents of his dinner, right there and then. He remembers pulling open the bedroom wardrobe , looking for clues, only to find mediaeval looking clothes He remembered realizing he was shorter than he was supposed to be. He remembers the ever increasing existential dread within him as he searched the bedroom in vain \for something, anything but only finding crafting knives and half finished wooden figurines. Clearly the person who lived here liked woodcraft.

    He could not appreciate the person's work or dedication. Art does not interest him.

    He remembers the only places he did not search for clues was out the window or walking out of the room.

    He chose to look out the window.

    He should not have looked out the window.

    For outside, in front of his eyes, was Maegor's monstrous creation.

    The Red Keep.

    And then, the screaming started.

    It did not end for a long time.
    —-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    "Hey, want to go outside and watch the wrestling match?"

    He remembers his Voice.

    He remembers ignoring it, willing the Voice to just go away. He cannot be real. None of this is real. He should not be here. Cannot be real. It is just a dream. Another delusion.

    The Voice did not listen.

    The Voice chose to stay.

    The Voice was persistent. Unlike the Man and Woman thing that called themselves his parents. Unlike the flesh golems masquerading as his siblings. They had long given up on him. They tried to heal him, spend large sums of money on maesters and healers, to heal his hysteria.

    One of the healers got stabbed by his crafting knife after trying to get him to eat cockroach eggs. Said it would "heal his mind".

    Real or not, he would not consume filth.

    The healers left soon after that.

    The knives too. Once the Woman thing found out he was trying to slit his wrists.

    He tried throwing himself off the window.

    He just broke his legs

    The Man thing boarded up the window.

    Soon after that his fake family would not talk to him after all. They would not plead or beg or scold him. Instead there was just silence. Other than the Woman thing taking care of his broken legs and feeding him, they would leave him be. Which was how he wanted it to be. He did not belong here and as soon as his legs were healed he would try again to leave this dream. That was the plan.

    And then the Voice showed up.

    The Voice stayed. He talked. A lot. He introduced himself as Rodrick, he was thirteen years old and his family were textile merchants. And then he would ramble on about what he did during the day, about how he had fun with his friends, How he was an apprentice to a tailor shop, how he helped that one elderly lady carry her things. He talked about the mundane things that no one really cared to listen to. The minor, ordinary things in life.

    And that is how he spent his days. In bed with two broken legs, listening to Rodrick rambling everyday. Regardless of whether he wanted to or not. He was a very inconsiderate person.

    But even if he was inconsiderate, it was nice. Even if he didn't reply to Rodrick 's stories, it was nice listening to the kid talk about his days.

    And then he asked for his stories.

    It wasn't fair, Rodrick said. That he spent his days after his apprenticeship hours were over talking to him, when he would never reply or share anything with him.

    It was true, it wasn't fair. But, the thing is he never had anything worthwhile to share. Nothing in this dream or his life before that. He had nothing. Been nothing in the eyes of others.

    But it wasn't fair.

    So after months stuck in this hell, he opened his mouth and spoke for the first time.

    "Long, long time ago, in a land far away from here, there was once an emperor that held a vast amount of land, bigger than Westeros. One day he asked a shepherd boy how many seconds in eternity…"
    —----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    And so it went like this for a while.

    He would wait for Rodrick to arrive.

    He then would think of a story to share. Some days it would be stories of historical figures. Sometimes it would be fables, tales from the Brothers Grimm. Other times, he would share stories of his life.

    And then Rodrick would come. Sit right outside his bedroom door and they would exchange stories. One would share his daily life, the other would share stories that were deemed useless, not worth remembering by others in his lifetime.

    But, it was worth it. To listen how Rodrick laughed in disbelief, in the pure wonder and horror of what had been accomplished, what humanity did to itself. Of metal ships that roamed the skies. Of a 14 year old winning an empire in a single battle. Of men reaching the Moon, reaching the stars themselves.

    It was worth remembering garbage after all, if someone cherished it. He remembers thinking.

    He still didn't think this was real, but some days he caught himself, hoping. Sometimes. That Rodrick was real.

    And then one day, Rodrick asked him a question.

    "    Why don't you write a book about all the things you told me about? It would be amazing if the Septon read it aloud during his sermon."

    He remembers telling Rodrick that there were so many things wrong about that statement. That the Septon would not read a children's storybook during a sermon. That no one would spend so much time and energy on writing a story like that. Parchment and ink are expensive.

    "Just make one of those, what do you call it, printing machines? Like, you come up with all these wonderful stories, surely you could make a machine that prints books?"

    He remembers laughing. He remembers telling Rodrick, he knew how to spin a tale, a story but he had no talent in anything else. This is all he has for himself. Just stories for people to listen to.

    But for Rodrick, he would try his hand at writing something down. Maybe more people could cherish his stories. Maybe more people could laugh and smile because of him.

    There was just one problem.

    He did not know how to write in the Common Tongue.
    —---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    He remembers telling his fake mother that he wanted to learn his letters.

    His legs had long since healed by then and it had been a long time since he last attempted suicide. So, he was allowed, tentatively, to share meals with the rest of his false family.

    He remembers his false father asking the rest of his non-siblings how their days were going. He remembers slowly sipping on his onion soup as his eldest non-sibling proudly boasted about how their apprenticeships were going. A sailor in the Royal Navy. If he kept up his hard work he would surely be a captain someday.

    He remembers the ugly, misshapen feeling of hate and jealousy. His eldest non-sibling's proud boasting reminded him of his other life. When his actual sibling was the golden child, the one that always succeeded in everything, the one with a long list of accolades and achievement . Him, he was just that guy who knew useless things no one sane would remember.

    He remembers, thinking nothing had actually changed. In this dream or in real life.

    He remembers he has a story to write.

    He asked to be taught how to write.

    The silence was deafening.

    He realized that this was the first time he ever really spoke to them as a family. He remembers being hugged and his false father crying, tears and snot dripping down as he unashamedly cried out that his son had inally talked to him. He remembers his false mother's incoherent speech about how proud she was of him. even his non-siblings rushed in for a group hug, happy that he finally responded to them.

    For the first time in a long time, he felt guilty. For deluding himself that this wasn't real, that everything was false, a hallucination. For thinking it was a dream. For pretending to not notice everyone's worries, for only talking to Rodrick and no one else.

    The snot and tears were definitely real. These feelings of happiness are real. The hugs were real. Their warmth is real. How could he be this blind. How?!

    After all this time, he was still so blind as to what was in front of him.

    He could not pretend this was false any longer . Despite not being his real family, they cared about his well-being. More than his actual family ever did. For that, and that alone.

    He cried.
    —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    His second father hired an actual maester to teach him.

    No, that was a lie.

    A halfmaester.

    When he asked to have a literate education, he did not expect his second parents to go to such lengths. He knew they cared about all four of their sons and daughters, arranging an apprenticeship for Oscar as a sailor in the Royal Navy, was no small feat.

    Even for a well-off smallfolk merchant family, that took a lot of connections in the right places.

    But a half maester.

    He feels a sudden warm feeling in his chest, right where his heart is.

    But back to the half maester. Edric was pretty accomplished even if he failed to complete his education at the Citadel, with several chains underneath his metaphorical belt. Gold for the study of money and accounts, silver for medicine and copper for history. That is to say, overkill for a simple request to learn how to read and write.

    Edric was also a homosexual.

    He was expelled from the Citadel due to a scandal. Fornication with another student. Rumours spread quickly in King Landing. Nobody wanted to employ a sword swallower till his second father decided to take pity and employed him instead.

    A once rising comet, destined to be a well accomplished maester was reduced to being a tuition teacher, teaching him his letters and sums. Well, he and Rodrick. Somehow his friend managed to convince his parents to allow him to join in the lessons. Even if he already knew how to read and write thanks to his father's homeschooling.

    He just wanted to learn more about the World. About the history of Westeros and other parts of the world. Oh and to spend more time with his friend. Being the only student must be lonely, Rodrick said.

    It wasn't that bad being alone, but having someone to share lessons, to talk to, was nice, he thought.

    And so it went like this for a while.

    In the morning, he did his homework assigned by Edric. Usually they weren't that hard to complete, except for when there were words and phrases in the Common Tongue he didn't understand.

    In the afternoons, after lunch, Edric would arrive, followed by Rodrick, always slightly late. And the lessons would start. Sometimes it would just involve learning how to read certain words and sentence structures. Other times it would be grammar or vocabulary. On some occasions Edric would teach history, those lessons were the most interesting for him personally. Even if the stories of this world are duller than actual historical events, and usually of questionable historicity. History is history. It will never bore him. His one passion

    Once the day's lessons were concluded, Edric would ask any questions. And he always had so many questions. About this or that letter, what does this sentence sound like, what is the tense used for this paragraph and is this the correct verb I am using? Sometimes he would even challenge Edric on Westerosi history. How do we even know this person existed, if there are no real sources about them except for myths and hearsay? What were the motivations of the Targaryen conquest of Westeros? Normal questions from a normal boy.

    And at night, he worked on his book. Or tried to anyway. He still did not have a firm grasp on the Common Tongue but he wanted to try. And his second parents would indulge in his wishes, purchasing large amounts of parchment and ink for him to write with.

    He felt guilty for wasting so much ink. Wasting so much parchments on a delusional, egotistical hobby that pretty much nobody would read except for him. Maybe Rodrick. Guilty for asking his second parents to waste so much money on him (    some things would never change between this life and the previous one). But vocalizing his guilt served no purpose. So he kept it to himself. Shoved it deep down in that part of him where he threw all meaningless things into. He continued writing.

    And so it went like this for a while.

    And for a time, he felt something resembling content and peace.

    Until it all fell apart.
    —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    It started with a cough.

    Rodrick would smile and say nothing. Wipe his mouth with a handkerchief and try to cover it up. Pretend everything was fine.

    It wasn't. He saw it. His handkerchief had flecks of blood.

    It was then he realized, there was really, absolutely nothing he could do. Not once, in this life or his previous one was he ever useful in any way. His ideals, his knowledge, all of it. Useless. He couldn't do anything. Not against this.

    He knew, deep in his heart, nothing can be done against consumption. Rodrick would die.

    He screamed, wailing in his heart even as he smiled at his friend and pretended everything was fine. That someone like him was destined to die from something that could be prevented by a simple childhood vaccination in his previous life was a tragedy. If only he were a medical student, if only he knew some obscure medical knowledge. If only he truly knew a thousand and one useless facts, and the methods to replicate it.

    If only, if only.

    But no he doesn't know, because in the end he was nothing but a fraud with superficial historical knowledge. There was nothing he could do to ease his friend's suffering.

    Except for one thing.

    Finish it before he passes away. Make him proud. Make him smile.

    Finish the damn book.

    —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    And so his days went by, with ever more increasing desperation.

    Rodrick, once so healthy, started coughing with ever more alarming frequency. He soon stopped bothering to cover up the blood now. Said it was a passing illness.

    A lie. But he didn't have the heart to call him out on it..

    His writing, once slow and steady, increasingly turned frantic, desperate. He tore through the parchments like a devouring wolf. Racing against time. He made a bet with the Stranger that his book would finish before he could claim his friend's life. He challenged Kronos that he could beat him in a fight against time itself.

    He hoped and prayed he would be fast enough.

    He wasn't fast enough.

    Rodrick's mother came to his house. An announcement that he was too ill to continue his lessons. He had to stay in bed. For now. Soon he would come back, she said. Another lie to comfort him or herself, he doesn't know. Maybe it was for the sake of both of us.

    His writing devolved into the scribblings of a madman. He didn't sleep. Could not sleep. He had to write. He burnt candles. So many candles. He must focus. He must finish it. He would. This was his promise to himself. Rodrick would be proud. Even if he never mustered the courage to visit his house. He would finish the book. He would read it to him. He asked God, just once in his life, to not let him be a failure, just this once.

    He prayed he could make it in time.

    He never finished the book in time.
    —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    It was a rainy day when he finally visited Rodrick.

    In another life, his older sister once said that rain was God's tears upon seeing mankind destroying his perfect world. That God would cry for man's sins.

    Back then he thought she was full of shit. Now, he just thinks the rain is God's way of laughing at mankind's monumental failures.

    He didn't want to visit. If he had a choice, he would not have visited at all. He hates living funerals in both his previous life and his current one.

    But Rodrick had run out of time. Any day now the Stranger would claim him. He wants to see you one last time.Rodrick's mother had begged for him to visit, said he wanted to see him one last time. Just once, to please visit. And he wanted to see his friend, he did. For the final time.

    In his right arm was the book, he wasn't even three quarters done yet.

    Still, he would read it to him, even if it was shit. That's what he thought as he pushed Rodrick's bedroom door open.

    He wanted to scream.

    The skeleton in front of him was not Rodrick.His limbs have wasted away. Just bones now. He tried to smile. He coughed out blood.

    "Took you long enough to come and visit. Sorry for… looking like this."

    He could not speak. Even now, he can't. How could he? He spent this entire time chasing after a book. It wasn't even a good book. Not once he had visited his friend. Not even once. Too focused on himself. Too self absorbed. He remember his sister once saying not everything was about him.

    He really was. Really is. A horrible person.

    He doesn't know what to say. He could not say anything. He doesn't think he has the right to talk.

    "    Oh, you actually brought along the book you worked so hard on. Read it to me.Please?" He said with a blood smeared smile.

    So he read the damn storybook. Of men. Of people. Of fairy tales. Of gods and demons. Of figures trying their best. Of Heros and Vlilians.

    It wasn't a good book. Not remotely publishable material.

    But his friend smiled at him as he read it. So it was worth it. The blood, sweat and tears. All of it. Worth it.

    And as he finishes reading the latest chapter, Rodrick asks him for a request.

    A promise between friends.
    —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    And so here he stood in front of Rodrick's gravestone. Just outside the Great Sept of Kings Landing. Reading the now completed book of fables out loud.

    It had been a year now. Since his death. Two years since his arrival.

    It was high time to get an apprenticeship, his parents were constantly nagging at him to get a job. Some things never change.

    Except he doesn't know what to do with his life. If it's ok to be like this. He has no plans for the future, or any ambition really. If this really was a story in a fictional book, he thinks he will make for a lame main character, with no talent whatsoever.

    It was a familiar feeling he thinks to himself, this feeling of detachment, of feeling lost. Just like his previous life. Aimless. Directionless.

    Similar. Except for one thing.

    He had a promise to keep. So, he had a reason.

    He had a reason to live. A reason to move on. And sometimes that's all that matters. At least for him.

    In his mind, a plan begins to form.
    —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Author note : Hello. It's me. The author. Some of you, dear readers might be somewhat bewildered about the purpose of this fanfic. After all, Self inserts MCs are monsters of logic that uplift entire civilisations with their large amounts of acquired knowledge, whose motives are usually imperialistic and self serving.

    So what. Exactly. Is the point of this fanfic.

    The truth is. This is a love letter to myself.

    My younger self. The 17 year old me to be precise.

    I want to hug him. I want to shake his hands. I want to tell him everything will turn out fine. That his ideals he thought were trash, are valuable and important. That his passions and hobbies are not useless, that they are treasures to be prized. I want to tell him that there are people out there that care for his well being. That they appreciate him for being him. I want to tell him he has self worth, that he should not continue breaking his own heart like this.

    I want him to give life a chance. I want to give him a reason to live.

    But what is done, is already done. The past cannot be changed. The march of time is relentless.

    Ultimately, this fanfic is just a wish. A wish that maybe, the author could be a better person.

    That's all it really is at its core.

    Thank you for reading.
     
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    • Replicant said:
    @Hianny no canals you fake German :D
    Click to expand...
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    Great chapter can't understand why your SI will not build canals they are such a great way to promote economic activities but hey at least he will still bring the industrial revolution :). Kidding aside great chapter Repli excited for more and hope he gets to find his place in this really unpleasant world
     
    The si really needs to start being industrypilled. He's stuck on the tiny feudal scale when he should be in advancing science instead of writing books. If he doesn't adapt the chances of him being taken out increases exponentially. Plate armor is infinitely fragile compared to tanks and firearms. He should be building towards creating the foundations to facilitate an industrial revolution. /s

    For real tho, keep it up, this is a certified banger.
     
    A Reason to Live Chapter 2: A Job Offer New
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    • "Your Bookkeeper is stealing money right underneath your nose."

    The audacity of this child.

    Those were his first impressions of the boy.

    Well. Not his first. The boy's parents were close friends with him and often visited his humble Library, sometimes bringing along their children. So no, he was well aware of the boy's existence.

    And the fact that he took a peek at his commercial records. Normally, he would throw the rascal out of his establishment for that.

    But the boy's parents— he trusted them with his life. So, He let the boy be, and gave him unspoken permission to look around his library.

    Apparently, his past self had made the wrong judgement.

    But still. The boy was nearly a grown man, but he was still a child. So he gave him another chance.

    He told the boy to explain himself in the politest tone he could manage. Blurting out such a serious accusation towards Gerold, his bookkeeper for a decade, required substantial evidence, after all.

    Something must've been wrong with his speech, because the boy looked like he was going to faint. Seriously, was this child a boy or a girl? It wasn't like he was really scolding him.

    Okay, Martha was giving him the death glare. He must have said something wrong to her son tha-

    Wait, the boy's lips were moving, but not a single word was coming out of his mouth.

    The boy was panicking now. His eyes were darting left and right, looking for an escape route. His back seemed to be damp with sweat. He uncrossed and crossed his arms in a vain attempt to gather courage.

    Must be nervous. Of course he was nervous. A big frame muscular stormlander like him must have posed an imposing figure. an intimidating symbol of adult authority to the boy. It didn't help that he had a deep voice, either.

    He sighed.

    "    Before you say anything, take a deep breath. That's it. Just. Calm yourself first. Breath in. Breath out. Good. Now, do you have a reason for such a serious accusation?"

    The boy still looked nervous, but he stopped acting like a lost pigeon. Or a headless duck. That was an improvement. Even if he looked like he was going to faint, at least he was trying to keep it together.

    Now if only he had something worthwhile to sa-

    A rush of words spewed out of the boy's mouth.

    His eyes widened.
    —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    He was hired on the spot. The previous bookkeeper, Gerold, was fired for ripping off Ronald's, the library owner, hard-earned silver stags, and he became the new bookkeeper.

    His parents, who had a front row seat to the drama that unfolded, were incredibly proud of him and told him so just before they left to complete some errands. After all, it had required six full months of fruitless interviews for apprenticeships positions. Six months of constant rejections. Six months of people whispering behind his back, of the strange child with his book of witchcraft. Six months of worry and fear of an uncertain future.

    He should be proud that he got the job. It meant that he could gain some respect for himself. A means to support himself. It means that the vile rumours could cease for a while.

    Except.

    Except that he didn't want the responsibility.

    This was not part of the plan. The plan was to show off a little. Introduce double-entry accounting. Prove that Gerold was embezzling money from the library. Brown nose a little. Get an entry level job, something like a librarian? That was the plan.

    (It was fairly easy to prove Gerold was stealing money. The idiot didn't even bother covering his tracks well. He was busy creating new fictitious suppliers of parchment which on the surface seemed legitimate, except there's only one true parchment supplier in town, the Great Sept itself. King Baelor made sure of that. So no, Gerold wasn't just corrupt. He was also lazy. The only reason he got the job was because he was Ronald's blood relative, or that's what his parents said.)

    But no. Apparently he had to suffer from overachievement. He did not want to be the sole person responsible for the library's financial well being.

    And he really, really didn't want to be the person to reorganise the entire financial record keeping of this establishment. He was too inexperienced and young to do such a thing.

    (The sweat had returned. The shakes were starting again. His hands trembled regardless of his wishes for them to be still. He ignored it as best as he could. Deep breath. Just breathe. In. Out. In. Out. There was nothing wrong. It was nothing. Nothing at all. I am nothing.)

    He told Ronald his worries. The madman just laughed and said he was more than capable of such an endeavour, and he trusted he would do a good job. Obviously, he would take a look at the records from time to time, just to see if he was actually doing his job, but he had full confidence he would do better than the previous bookkeeper.

    What the fuck. That seemed awfully irresponsible of him, downright naive, even. Especially since his previous employee did such a wonderful job at messing up the records. And now he had to unfuck the situation.

    (Why was he so sweaty? Stop being gross. You got the job already, so stop being stressed. Why, why—why was he like this. No, calm down. Deep breaths, breathe in, breathe out. Still nervous, his hands were trembling. No. Deep breaths again. In.…out…)

    His bad feelings must have shown on his facial expressions as Ronald did seem apologetic. The stormlander explained that normally he would have caught Gerold red-handed, if he wasn't so districted with local politics as well as being busy handling new suppliers outside of King's Landing. So he didn't have much time to look through the records whatsoever.

    (Deep breathing is not fucking working. It's getting worse. need a distraction, if not…this will escalate into something else. Fuck— stop shaking. Why am I shaking so badly?Breathe, just breathe. In. Out. In.. Why amI sweating so much? I should lea- no. No— I can't run away. Don't run. Stay. Stay. People need me, so do not run. Not from this.)

    Well, the records did prove Ronald wasn't lying. It was only fairly recently that Gerold had gotten greedy and started skimming some of the library earnings when Ronald was out of town. Normally, the punishment for embezzlers would be a civil trial and chopping off the offender's hands, or the wall. But Ronald, on account of Gerold's years of service, just fired him. Let him go, just like that.

    He really didn't understand his new employer. It might just be a public relations stunt? Or because of nepotism? Maybe both. Probably both.

    Anyway, Ronald continued, since this was his first day on the job, he would get his daughter to show him around the place. Familiarise himself with his new working environment, so to speak.

    (Look at the walls, they're made of wood I think, is it oak or something, no this keeps getting worse, the shakes are getting worse, look, keep looking for something. Breathe breathe breathe, in, out, in. There are so many desks with people reading chain manuscripts, why chain the manu- to prevent theft. Sensible. So many people, everyone counting on me. Me. Why, why why why. I don't want this. I want this so badly. Why is my body like this? No, stop, stop and breathe. In, out, in, out. Whatever you do. Don't run. Not again, never again don't run from this, cannot run. There is no door, trapped again, always trapped. What the fuck is wrong with y-)

    Which brought him right here, in front of a brunette girl sneering at him, asking if he had any questions before she started the tour.

    (Is it too late to run away from everything? No. Never. Run you fucking coward nothing you do will change. You're still the same even after all these years. Run then, run away from yourself. That is the only thing you can do.)

    It seemed someone had already decided they hate his guts.

    Joy.

    Pathetic.
    —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Leyla didn't like the new bookkeeper.

    Not one bit.

    For one, he was shaking. Like actually shaking. His entire body was literally vibrating from sheer nervousness. And he was sweating profusely. Seriously, was he a boy or a girl?

    She couldn't believe the new bookkeeper was related to Oscar. They were two complete opposites; Oscar was dashing, rogue and charismatic, while the new bookkeeper was…

    Never mind. She felt bad thinking about him so lowly.

    But still, she didn't know him. Despite knowing Oscar well since he always visited the library (even though he didn't read anything and only watched her for some reason), his younger brother was a non-entity in her mind. A non-factor. Someone that she knew existed in the neighbourhood, but not someone she was remotely close to in the slightest.

    Which meant he could be a threat to her. To her inheritance.

    She was an only child. But what if her father liked the new guy more and decided to give her inheritance to him instead? Maybe his shakes and shivers were a mummer farce. Maybe he was trying to deceive everyone so he could claim what was rightfully hers. Maybe—

    She knew she was being paranoid, but still. Still. Her male relatives were always looking for a way to steal what was hers by law, but laws could change, Will Guarantors could be bribed, and her father's will could be changed by unscrupulous relatives after his demise. She was, after all, just a girl. And the fairer sex's worth was only to be betrothed and then married. Just as the gods intended.

    Her uncle's words, not hers.

    So yes, she might be a tad paranoid. But she felt that her worries were justified, despite her father's repeated assurance the library was hers if he passed away without a son.

    She loved her father, but he was too trusting of relatives with greedy intentions. History was never kind to female inheritors. Just ask Rhaenyra. Actually, you couldn't ask her, for she was already dead.

    Oh, the new bookkeeper asked a question. Mumbled, really.

    When was this place first founded?

    …No one actually told him. Guess his parents didn't want their children to know their dirty past history with her father.

    Well then. Guess she had to give him the standard new hired talk after all.

    "    This Library was first founded by my father about 12 years ago as a way to store knowledge and books that he acquired over the years as a travelling merchant," she started. "Over the years he acquired even more manuscripts, scrolls and books from his own network of contacts across Westeros and even from Essos. Obviously we are not a charity here so anyone who wished to read here had to pay for the privilege to do so. Oh, we also do book rentals, which is when readers are allowed to borrow books or scrolls, but they have to pay a deposit as collateral so they, you know, don't just run off. Also, see those chained manuscripts?"

    She pointed towards the collection of desks. "Those are the rare ones, the ones that are one of a kind. The kind not even my father will risk allowing readers to borrow because of their immense value, so of course the privilege of reading them is more expensive than the normal book or manuscript copy."

    Even if the entire neighbourhood was once in on the scheme, it was best for those who didn't know to be kept in the dark. After all, if word got out, they were all going to the wall or be hanged for treason.

    Ignorance was a blessing. The irony was delicious.

    Wait, the boy wasn't even listening to her book speech. Which was incredibly rude. She should probably scold him for that, except he probably wouldn't register her scolding. In fact, he looked like he was going to faint at any moment.

    Worrying. Guess she had to distract him from whatever he was thinking. Even if she couldn't trust him, no one deserved to be so wrecked with nerves. It was nauseating and spoiled her mood as well.

    What to do, what to do.

    Huh.

    He was carrying a book. Well, not carrying, more like clinging onto it like a drowning man clinging onto a piece of log in the middle of an ocean.

    Interesting.

    "You wrote a book by yourself? That is incredible! You are what? 14? That is the same age as me and you've already finished writing a book by yourself? Can I read it? I promise to return it later!"

    The boy said he was the author, and no, he would not let her read the book.

    Unacceptable. She did not take no for an answer.

    Another approach, then.

    "You clearly spent a lot of time writing that book and seeing as you're clinging to it so tightly, it clearly holds immense personal value to you. Don't you want more people to appreciate your hard work? My father and I can arrange for your book to be stored here and let people read it. Imagine your book being read by maesters, wouldn't that be great??"

    The boy said she could've put in more effort in her speech. But he did let her take a glance at his book. He called it the book of fables.

    Which, she was guessing, was a book of natural sciences? Cartography? Sounded like her kind of book. She could feel her excitement grow.

    And then she opened the book.

    And read the chapter.

    Her excitement vanished.

    Anger and crushing disappointment took over.

    This. This Bookkeeper.

    He spent so much time. Effort. Tears. Precious parchment. Ink. So much ink and parchment.

    On half-baked fake tales of fictional worlds. Did he know how much a sheet of parchment cost? Five silver stags. Five silver stags were wasted. And on what— children's tales.

    And there were hundreds of papers. And the ink. The ink too. She didn't want to know how much the entire book actually cost.

    His parents must've spent, no, wasted dozens of gold dragons for this. THIS.

    AND THE ENTIRE CHAPTER WAS FILLED WITH GRAMMAR ERRORS. WHAT WAS WITH THE SENTENCE STRUCTURES? ALSO THE VERBS WERE USED INCORRECTLY. SHE HAD TO REREAD THIS THREE. TIMES. TO EVEN UNDERSTAND WHAT THE STORY WAS ABOUT. IT WAS ALMOST LIKE HE JUST STARTED LEARNING HOW TO WRITE REC-

    Wait, why was the entire library looking at her?

    Where did the bookkeeper go? He was right in front of her.

    Also why was her father's face so dark?

    …By the maiden nonexistent chest, she'd said it out loud.

    Uhhhh.

    Well.

    Shit.
    —-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Oscar found his brother cowering in an alleyway.

    It wasn't that hard to find him. He just had to follow the sounds of sobbing.

    Wait, that's a lie, his brother was actually pretty hard to find when he didn't want to be found.

    It was only thanks to the neighbourhood criers pointing where he went that Oscar found him.

    Honestly, society could not function without town criers. Good men. They deserve higher wages.

    Anyway,

    He honestly thought his brother was doing better now. Well, at least he was doing fine these past few months. He'd been trying to find an apprenticeship but it wasn't his fault that he had bad luck. Most shops in their neighbourhood already had their hands full with current apprentices. Or just straight up didn't want him for being a weird child. Stupid really, his brother was really cute with that book of his, always by his side.

    People just couldn't comprehend his brother's greatness, really. Bunch of losers.

    But still.

    Still. He expected better. Not of his brother. Never him. He was trying his best. But he really expected better of Leyla. She shouldn't have been so hard on him.

    Like, she was really cute and easy to look at (her ponytail and the way she frowned when reading some dusty scroll. She looked. Amazing.), but she was so paranoid that someone was out to steal the library from her. Like, come on, look at his baby brother, he couldn't even hurt a baby! At least she looked guilty when he asked where his brother went, served her right, heh.

    She did look really cute with that guilty loo-

    Nope not the time, absolutely not the time for that.

    His brother needed the great Oscar. The second coming of the Sea Snake.

    So he did what all responsible older siblings did.

    He hugged him.

    And dragged him to a tavern.

    It was high time for a drink.

    —----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    "    And that's why Lelya has a stick up her ass. Wait, not like that. But despite uh, having a stick up her ass, she is so cute like by the gods I'm happy you got an apprenticeship but I wish I could trade places with you, brother."

    He wished to be anywhere but here.

    But Oscar was trying to cheer him up.

    Even if it was with this god-awful beer, his brother had come to save him from himself. So

    He stayed.

    Even though hearing that Oscar had a massive crush on that Bitch was–well, honestly not that weird. They were just a year apart. But still.

    He'd rather not talk about how Leyla was amazing. Or cute. Or apparently an intellectual. A prodigy. A female maester. Whatever. Being viscerally torn apart like that in front of dozens of intellectuals, scholars and maesters was… You know what?

    He just wanted to cower somewhere and process the magnitude of his fuck up.

    Also, talking about how cute a teenage girl was was very fucking creepy.

    Well, at least his panic attacks had stopped. What a fucking disaster.

    He drank his beer. Blugh. It sucked ass. His past life wasn't much of a drinker, either, and yet…he wanted more.

    Oh wait, his brother was quiet now. It seemed like he was actually going to say something profound, with how much his forehead wrinkles were showing.

    He had to listen to this.

    " Brother, you know how bad I am with speeches. But you need to hear this. No matter what anyone says about you, you're great. Fantastic, really." Oscar said with a bright, flashing smile.

    He frowned. Oscar didn't know shit what the fuck does he know about him anyway.

    "No, don't give me that look. You need to love yourself more. So what if you ran away from your first day at work? Bah, fuck Leyla. Not in that way you know mother would kill m- you know what? If I was there I would scold her back." Oscar exclaimed as he let out a laugh.

    Oscar would not do that, he loved leyla way too much to talk back to her, that was his honest thoughts.

    Somehow his brother was a telepathic.

    "Yes, I would scold her. Even if I like her, she went too far this time. You know what brother, your main problem is that you don't fight back. You just soak up everything. Now that's fine sometimes, but it's not always the right solution. You need to stand up for yourself at times. But if you don't, well, that's fine! I am here for a reason." Oscar said with a weary smile as his arms pulled him into a hug.

    "Anyway, that was a long-winded speech, but I guess what I want to say is that if you have problems you should just stand up for yourself. Talk about it. I mean, I'm here right? Oh gods you're going to cry again." His brother's head looked around frantically for something or someone for help. Suspiciously everyone else in the tavern was busy with their own conversations or drinks.

    "Hhhhh fuck. Okay uh. You know what. Tomorrow we'll march into Uncle Ronald's library, and force Leyla to apologise. Now cheer up, we got beers to drink." Today, he thought, was a suspiciously rainy day. In a tavern, of all places.

    Laughing uproariously, together they toasted and drank a a pair of cups brimming with beer form.

    And another.

    And another

    And another.

    This continued for quite a while
    .
    .
    .
    .
    And that was how he received his first hangover.

    And how he was late to his second day of work.

    Fuck.
     
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    • Poor Repli, at least he got a job, dude got off his feet quicker than me after college :V

    Anyway, I can't wait for his superior methods of accounting to dazzle his boss (and piss off Leyla)
     
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    A Reason to Live Chapter 3 : Question New
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    • A Reason to Live Chapter 3 : Question

    Walking to the library wasn't a fun experience.

    Especially with a hangover.

    He honestly didn't want to go to work, but just the thought of disappointing his parents and siblings (again) was painful. Oscar did ask to accompany him, but honestly—it would be too embarrassing. It was bad enough that he ran away from his first full-time apprenticeship. Asking his older brother to accompany him was going to tank his non-existent reputation even further.

    That, and he was nursing the mother of all hangovers.

    So here he was. Slowly walking through the busy market to the Library.

    If he was going to gaslight himself to go and work for a living, he might as well slowly stumble his way to his workplace. And maybe get something as an apology gift for Leyla after yesterday's debacle.

    Which sounded awfully like an excuse to be late, but at least it reassured the guilty feeling in his heart for fucking up yesterday, so that worked out fine.

    Let's see.

    That peddler over there was selling fruits, while the merchant to the left of the fruit seller was selling seeds. Next to him was a woman selling trinkets. , and opposite to her was an old man selling metalware. Next to the old man was a gaggle of goat herders…

    Actually, what did girls fancy anyways?

    …

    This was embarrassing. He had a sister in his previous life so he should know, except that his older sister preferred cold hard cash and unhealthy food as an apology gift.

    For some reason, he didn't think this was gonna fly with Leyla. Call it a hunch, but he was reasonably certain the girl would go ballistic if he bought fried corn as an apology gift.

    From yesterday's interaction, he was confident that Leyla prized one and one thing only: Knowledge.

    Considering the world he found himself in, that was one expensive apology gift, not something his merger savings could afford.

    … He regretted not asking Oscar to follow him now. With this persistent headache, it was hard to actually think straight. Maybe he should go buy some jewellery or accessories, girls liked that right? But Leyla would most likely not be interested in those kind of things so maybe something el-

    Wait. She loved reading, and by extension, that meant she liked to write as well. Which meant that it was also reasonable to assume that she tended to stay up late at night reading with candles on. He assumed from her heavy eyebags she didn't get enough sleep and was lethargic, which meant-

    He wasn't sure if they actually sold coffee beans here. But …

    Fuck it why not.

    If nothing else, he could delay an uncomfortable confrontation. And if she was waiting for him, well,

    It was kinda her fault for yesterday so he didn't feel too bad, really she kind of deserved it.

    Heh.
    —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    He was late. For his second day.

    She was standing outside of her father's library, under the blistering sun. Because of him.

    She could feel herself getting angrier by the second.

    She really shouldn't blame him for being late. But still. Still. That did not leave a good impression of his character. What kind of person had a massive meltdown on their first day of work and didn't show up on their second day?

    Not a reliable person, that's what.

    Sure, her father went on a long speech about how the new hire had, well, issues and it was her fault that she scared him away, that she should apologise. Fine, she got it. This was her fault. Right. But still, it's not actually her fault the new bookkeeper didn't have the spine to stand up to her, like if he had a problem with her criticism (and it was criticism not a rant like what the other librarians whispering behind her back, those cowards), he should've spoken up.

    Not run away, crying. Seriously, how he was a guy she had no clue, much less Oscar's younger brother.

    So here she was, glaring at the pavement, even as the gold cloak guards that her father hired to deter robbers were trying to make small talk with her.

    She didn't need their distractions. She needed this little shit to hurry the fuck up so she could go back to reading. Her father forbade her from going back in till this cock suc-

    Oh. He was here. And with a shit-eating grin. What the fuck was he smiling so hard for, was her suffering amusing to him? Sadistic little shit that he was, did he know just how long she had to wait for him? Since the sun came up. Yeah that's right yo-

    Wait. Did he just say that? Those were coffee beans. Actual coffee beans.

    Huh. That was the first time someone actually gave her something in good faith, excluding Oscar or her father.

    Maybe he wasn't that useless after all.
    —-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Finding coffee beans in the marketplace was surprisingly not that hard.

    Well. It took hours of searching. But they existed. Somehow. He chalked it up to the author's shitty worldbuilding.

    All he had to do was ask questions around the market, about beans that caused goats and sheep to act weird. It took some time to work up the courage to hold a conversation with the peddlers and merchants, but amusingly enough, one of the goat herders had the beans. Something about buying it from a failing dornish merchant who thought that there was a demand for waking beans in King's Landing or something.

    Well, there was a demand for coffee beans alright. Just not the kind they were expecting.

    Good thing he found the beans too, since by the time he reached the library, Leyla looked ready to slaughter him in broad daylight. Apparently, her father banned her from coming in till she apologised.

    She had been waiting since the sun rose.

    It was currently noon. And considering how the gold cloak guards were quietly sighing with relief, he imagined Leyla wasn't the best at managing her temper.

    Okay, he felt guilty. A bit. For the guards and maybe for forcing her to wait so long. But seeing her rage turn into wonder was pretty funny and nice for a change. Even if her apology was fairly bland, that was fine. Part of what happened yesterday was his fault anyway.

    Which left him in his current state.

    He had an office now, on the Library second floor which outsiders weren't allowed on. It was better than he expected to be honest. Everything was neatly organised with all the scrolls and manuscripts on the shelves, a small container for ink on the desk, and no ink stains or parchments all over the place, which was surprising considering how incompetent the previous bookkeeper had been. At least he was organised and neat, he would give him that at least.

    It was too bad that he had to reorganise everything to his own preference and that they were going to need more parchments for his plans.

    A lot more parchments. And ink. And quills.

    … Leyla was going to hate him for his proposal wasn't she? Great.

    Hopefully, Ronald could understand the superiority of the double entry system even if it may be a bitch to implement.

    Hopefully.

    (… Honestly he didn't think he could pull this off. He did not have the confidence to believe in himself. He did not know if this was a great idea. He didn't know if he could do it. He doubted that the system he spent several years in his previous life memorising would actually have a tangible benefit. He knew its theoretical benefits; he didn't believe that it would actually work. The only thing he believed in right now was his self doubt and the courage of hangovers)
    —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    She took everything positive she felt about him back.

    The new bookkeeper was a vicious idiot.

    It all began during the end of the day staff meeting. The usual discussion of maybe acquiring some books by librarian Matthias, the latest acquisition of manuscripts by her dad dealing with book merchants and the citadel. Complaints about the regular patrons. Usual bitching by the Gold Cloak Captain Edmure on how the sun was so hot and maybe they could have shorter shifts guarding the Library. Oh, and what to do with the one or two thieves that always somehow sneak into the Library.

    Usually, the punishment for thievery was handing them over to the city authorities to get their hands chopped off. But since it was her father, they usually got off with a warning, much to the dismay of all the staff. Sometimes, she wondered why her father got into business with a bleeding heart.

    Then, just as they closed the meeting for the day, the new bookkeeper opened his big mouth. For god's sake, she just wanted to go back home and do some personal reading.

    But no. For some reason, he thought the entire bookkeeping system wasn't good enough for his standards. That he, a fourteen year old crybaby, could change the way they did bookkeeping, that he could make it more efficient. Stammering about a double-entry system that no one had ever heard about that could change the way bookkeeping worked forever.

    Considering the sheer disinterest and outright indifference the vast majority of the library staff had to his "idea", well, she thought he should work on his public speaking skills over conjuring up ideas that had no place around here. Also, it may not have been such a great idea to do an important speech when everyone just wanted to go home.

    No, the staff was not a problem here. The problem was that her father was stroking his beard while the new bookkeeper continued his speech (with increasingly sweaty palms and a pained expression on his face, she noticed). Normally, nobody would notice it. But she did. It was a telltale sign her dad was seriously considering his proposal. Great. Fantastical. It's not like they would have to order even more parchments. More ink. More quills. More wax tablets for practise writing. It wasn't like this little guy's harebrained scheme was going to eat into the Library's profit. It's not like her father was forgetting her deceased mother's bookkeeping work. No, Leyla is not mad at her father; she would never be angry at him.

    She is just angry at this little shit wasting everyone's time, effort and spitting on her mother's grave.

    Oh, he finally was done with his little speech. That took forever and he even looked proud. Good. Continue looking proud. She would make his life a living hell for wasting everyone ti-

    Why did he look so gre-, no, shit, fuck he was going to vomit like Oscar always did, why the fuck did she stand to him, movemovem-

    FUCK HE VOMITED ON HER DRESS THAT SHI-
    —-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    He really.

    Really.

    Has zero inclination to go to work today. Not one bit. He just wanted to sit in the corner of the bedroom and pretend nothing happened.

    Yes, nothing happened. Yesterday was a dream. He did not just embarrass himself and by extension his entire family, no sir. It wasn't like he demolished any goodwill he had gathered from Leyla. Not like everyone in his workplace hated his guts for wasting everyone's time. Nope, nothing happened. He definitely didn't vomit on Leyla. Nope, that was someone else. He did not have a job, he didn't have any responsibilities. Just a waste of space. What was the word again? Ah yes, hikikomori. Yep, that was him.

    But of course his family did not let him wallow in his own self-inflicted misery.

    See, Oscar, after banging his door for the thousandth time, had given up and said he didn't have time for his shit since he had to go back to his galley. Off for a two weeks naval patrol near Dragonstone or something. He did not listen to his brother's rambling.

    So his brother brought the big guns.

    Their younger sister, Lena. Who did not tolerate his bullshit. Grabbed the keys, unlocked his bedroom door and threw him out of the house. Wonderful.

    So here he was. On his third day. Being dragged to the Library doorstep by a very pissed off younger sister ("Seriously can you just man up and go to work by yourself?"). Right in front of a very, very, pissed off Leyla. And promptly abandoned by Lena as she ran back to their parents. ("Brother, how d- actually, you know what? This is your fault, I have no idea how in the world you pissed off Leyla; she's a sweet girl so clearly you're the one at fault here. Man up and face the consequences of your own actions, got to go, mom wants me back at the shop. Oh and don't die, I would be very upset if you do.") So much for sibling loyalty.

    Also he still. Didn't. Understand why Leyla was mad at him. It clearly wasn't the vomit considering how angry she got during yesterday's presentation bu- you know what.

    Someone please insert a bullet in his skull.

    He just wanted to die from the humiliation and he knew the gold cloaks standing on guard duty were laughing at him. Fuck, could he just dig a hole and just die already? He really did not want to be here.

    But alas in this life and the previous one, he cannot say no to his family demands.

    … But Lena was right. He had to face the situation he created because of his own big brain idea. Even if it meant facing Leyla's anger, he had to prove that his idea was not only right, but was also beneficial to the Library as a whole.

    So with courage he didn't have, confidence of previous life knowledge that he didn't feel, he opened his eyes and faced Leyla's antagonism head on.

    …

    He would rather face a dragon, to be honest.
    —--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Today was truly a hellish day.

    For one, her father thought it was a great idea for her to supervise the bookkeeper as he got to implement his shitty double entry system. Considering how panicky he looked when she first greeted him, at least he was aware of her being mad at something. Good. Let him stew in his own misery.

    Throughout the morning, she had to help him collect parchments and scrolls up from the first floor storage room behind the library to the second floor bookkeeping room. Which should have been easy for her and the new bookkeeper. Except the sheer amount of scrolls he needed was, well. They needed multiple trips around the entire building. Which meant climbing up and down the stairs. A lot of climbing.

    At least they had one thing in common–both of them weren't physically active individuals. And honestly, seeing him this pathetic, gasping for air and sweating heavily, it was getting harder to stay angry at him. He looked more like a soaking wet puppy than a person. Not like she was any better. Then she remembered how many silver stags his scheme cost her father.

    … Maybe he didn't know how much it actually cost. She should tell him. Actually, never mind he was already writing something down. She should leave the room. He was clearly working on something for once in three days that wasn't crying, running away or reorganising manuscripts. Yes, she should leave. He was being serious about something.

    Her hands were at the wooden door. She just hads to push.

    She couldn't push it.

    His face. Something had changed when he was writing. He;d changed. He no longer looked like he was going to cry or panic.

    He was actually smiling. It was a painful, nostalgic, thin smile. But he was smiling, like the parchment was an old friend he'd been reunited with. Like a friend asking a stupid question he knew the answer to. Which was honestly a bit creepy. But–

    He was smiling. He never smiled. Oscar told her that much when he first ran out of the library. He was always frowning and scared of everything, even his own shadow.

    She needed to know why. Why did he change? Why was he sitting straight? Why were his hands no longer shaking? Why did he look like a different person?

    Why was she no longer angry but instead curious about the individual before her?

    She turned back around.

    For the first time, she asked a question.
    —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    "    Why are you smiling?" she asked with a curious expression on her face. Her eyes were wide with unabashed curiosity. It reminded him of a time before.

    He honestly had no idea how to answer her.

    In a rare moment, his mind, rather than in a constant state of panic or near mental breakdown, was blissfully blank.

    This. This he could do. His proof that he wasn't useless. That he was able to do something. Instead of stories people could ignore as ramblings of a madman, this thing in front of him meant only one thing to him.

    Validation.

    They could ignore his existence. They couldn't ignore this. He was good at this, first in his class, the entire school, even. The only achievement that forced his previous family to turn around and acknowledge that he was useful for something.

    Even if it was just the basic first steps, the principles of accounting. Even if it wasn't real mathematics. Even if the entire school wrote the subject off as useless, only for bottom feeders who couldn't achieve distinction. Even if it was nothing in the grand scheme of things, he was so absurdly proud of it he didn't realise there were tears flowing down his face, much to the girl in front of him's dismay.

    How did he explain that he was good at taking unworthy discarded things that ordinary people threw away and polishing them to gold in his mind?

    He did not know the words. He never had the words or the vocabulary to explain it out in simple terms or concepts that people could understand. He did not and will not have the ability in his previous life, or this one.

    He was doomed to failure. To never achieve it. To always be ridiculed for wasting his life away on useless things. He understood that. Even as he choked on his own inner rage and willed the world to try and realise it, he knew that he couldn't change peoples' mindset or gain their understanding. That ability was simply not his.

    Yet.

    Yet the girl in front of him had asked him a question. It was a simple question. And like the idiot he was, he still hoped that maybe one day, just maybe, someone could understand it–that the things he deemed precious were truly needed and necessary for society. That he was needed.

    So, despite the countless times he was looked down upon .Despite the ridicule. Despite the pain he still holds in his heart. He still hoped.

    He answered her question.

    "Because I am good at this."
     
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