Harlan Thornwood, Adventurer of the Realm! (ASOIAF, Insert, 260 AC)

[WarofJenkinsEar]

Harlan Thornwood, ADVENTURER OF THE REALM

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Index Post.

Premise: A series of adventures featuring a highly reluctant protagonist, inserted into the world of a Song of Ice and Fire at the end of the 5th Blackfyre Rebellion. Organized into a number of "books", these adventures will weave in and out of known canon, with a heavy dose of AU. Expect the world to start diverging however, with Robert's Rebellion and everything that follows likely butterflied away.

Prologue:
ONE
TWO

Book 1: The Orphans of Glass
​

 

[WarofJenkinsEar]

Harlan Thornwood, ADVENTURER OF THE REALM

~Prologue~
​

'You're facing green boys from the Reach. Forward, you lot! Kill those flowery fucks!'
-The last recorded battle cry of Maelys 'the Monstrous' Blackfyre, pretender to the Iron Throne.​

ONE
​

IN ALL THE decades I've spent fighting, fleeing, and looting my way across the battlefields of Westeros and Essos, I've learned that very few things compare to the horror of watching a cavalry charge massacre themselves against a line of waiting pikes. Especially when that cavalry is on your side of the battle. All it takes is some idiot lord trying to be a hero, doing his absolute best to avoid any sense of tactics or proper reasoning, and you end up with the fool and all his metal friends skewered on pointy sticks. The smallfolk who make up the bulk of his forces are left to fend for themselves, of course, largely dying pointless deaths as they're want to do. I've ended up on both sides of the equation more times than I would care to admit over the years, fleeing with the routers and marching with the victors. Yet by far the foulest of these was the first battle I ever fought in, surrounded on three sides by the Golden Company's banners.

It's been years since that fight, but I can still picture it in my mind as clear as day. After all, it was the first time I ever saw this world in the flesh. I'm not speaking some flowery metaphor for witnessing the true horrors of war, craven though I may be. No, the very first sight I had of Westeros was that damned fool knight and his fluttering standard, a white tower crowned with flames becoming drenched in blood.

At the time I had no idea where I was, who was fighting, or how I had even gotten there. Hells, I still don't know the last one. I simply appeared on the battlefield, in line with the other peasant levies from Oldtown. Somehow I knew how to use the spear in my hands and the axe hanging on my belt, but it was the knowledge of a few desperate training sessions on the eve of battle rather than the steady hand of an experienced warrior. The me-that-never-was hadn't been a knight or a soldier. His society had largely moved past such things, unless you specifically chose to serve that duty. In his three decades of life he had scarcely even picked up a weapon.

Horse after horse was cut down before my eyes in the span of seconds as I stood there gaping, men dripping with the stench of blood and shit and piss as they died in droves. At the center of the charge was that young lad, likely barely more than a squire. Helmless, he rode forward fearlessly with only the banner of House Hightower for a weapon. I saw a spear exit out the back of his head, splattering his brains across the ground.

The fear hit us all hard and fast. I stood there amongst the levies, with only light padded cloth and a loose leather helm for protection. Perhaps between all of us we fielded five sets of proper armor. Dotted here and there were a few household knights and warriors, but even to my untrained eye it seemed obvious that nearly all the men of worth had ended their lives in their gallant charge against the enemy forces.

"H-hold. Hold your positions!" The voice of the young second son of Lord Hightower rang out from somewhere behind me. Even if I had known who he was in that moment, I admit that I wouldn't have given much consideration to listening. Survival, managing to live past even just the next few minutes, was all I cared about. I tried to move backward, away from the horde, but a firm punch to back of my head left my ears ringing. I tried to move forward, but the line was packed in too tight. To my left and right men looked around uneasily, frantically searching for a way out and finding none. Then the opposing host began to advance.

Whereas the futile charge of the cavalry had been wild and chaotic in form, the Golden Company's marchers instead moved with ruthless precision. These were not untrained men anxious to return home to their fields – no, these were seasoned killers who had traveled all across Essos amidst the continent's constant conflict and it showed. They were mercenaries and cutthroats, yes, but any knight would be a fool if he were to think that those men don't make the best sorts of killers. I was panicked and breathless, with my eyes half-closed in a wince as my head throbbed with pain. I barely blinked and there was the sound of clashing steel, along with the slick thud of metal cutting through leather and flesh.

I opened my eyes. Bearded, dirty, and dressed in full leathers, the leering face standing across from me finished ripping his short sword out of a front-line spearman's stomach. He spat on the ground as the poor man gurgled his last, glancing me up and down before snorting. He didn't expect much of fight from me. I can certainly say that I wasn't ready to give him one.

I thrust my spear at the smirking mercenary, trying and failing to keep him at a distance. In a flash he moved forward, grabbing the wooden shaft and forcing it upward. Another second and his sword gleamed in the air, heading towards my neck. I could only drop my spear and fall backwards to try to escape him, limply rolling to the side as I attempted to get to my feet.

I was still half-kneeling when the swordsman's knee slammed into my face. My nose crunched in on itself and I screamed, blood filling my mouth and dripping down my beard. I struck out wildly in response. I remember my fist hitting the man hard in the side, but it did little to actually force him back. My other hand grasped loosely at the axe at my belt, but I honestly expected that I wouldn't be able to pull it out before my opponent simply gutted me like a fish.

When I heard the air whistling above my head, I squealed in terror, thinking it was all over. Then a small gasp came out of the man in front of me and he slumped to the ground by my side. With shaking hands I grabbed at my spear as it fell with him, pulling it towards me and using it to drag myself up. I turned and saw my savior. Another simple levy, the man merely nodded before an arrow hissed through the air between us and struck him in the side, blood gurgling out in some sad joke of the Seven. I still remember the look of utter surprise on his face.

Then there was no more time to think. The Golden Company continued to press forward into our lines, its soldiers slowed but not stopped by our spears and axes. I roared and screamed and cried as more and more men continued to join into the fray. Spear in, sink the point into soft flesh, quickly move back, try to breathe as blood dribbles into my mouth – in truth, I barely managed to stay alive. Only one in five of my attacks seemed to hit home in the melee, most thudding against armor or wildly slipping past their target.

A black-eyed warrior ducked underneath one of my blows, my spear overreaching and dragging me off balance. Then suddenly another man was in my face, this one short and wild-eyed. I punched out at his head and heard a satisfying crack as my fist met his ear. The short man hissed and bared his teeth but in the chaos of it all I simply kept punching. I had barely gotten him to the ground when the first rushed at me with a blade in hand. When I looked up to face him, a spear darted out from behind me to end up in his throat. I looked on as his bloody hands frantically pawed at the shaft, black eyes widening in sheer terror. Then he fell still. It was hell, but we simply kept fighting.

It all seemed to lessen, after a long while. The men in front of us moved back a pace. Then another. The entire line fell silent as we tried to decide if we were about to be charged again. We were still holding that breath when the Golden Company seemed to fully retreat, its soldiers still watching us with disciplined and wary eyes as the distance between our hosts grew. All of a sudden a ragged cheer broke out and began to be shouted up and down our line. I cheered with the loudest of them, still alive despite it all. Then the men behind me began to push forward.

I'm still not certain if those men were idiots or merely suicidal, but they were essentially ensuring the deaths of all those at the front of the line, myself included. I was already exhausted from the scrimmage, as were those fighting by my side. A chance to rest may have seen us ready for duty. Even sending us to the middle of our group could have worked in a pinch. To simply charge forward, however? Even if the enemy were routing – which they weren't – it would only take one wrong move to see the front of the line collapse. I simply swore and tried to sink back into the mass as we moved forward.

I'M PROUD TO say that I realized that something had gone terribly wrong approximately ten seconds after everything had already gone to hell. Proud, because I didn't end up dead, which is more than I can say for most of my fellows. While the center of the Golden Company had pulled back, the sides of their force to the left and right of us had not. When we rushed to chase after them, the jaws of their trap sprung shut.

One moment I had been fighting, arms moving like lead in their aching slowness. Then a low horn blast echoed over the battlefield. In an instant our formation seemed to simply disintegrate, Golden Company men moving through us like water. I felt a sword slice into my arm, the spear falling limply from my hand as I cried out in pain. A boy, perhaps no older than fifteen, moved forward, his pale skin flashing in the noon-day sun. With a grunt he pushed his sword into my side and I fell to the ground, dazed. He looked down at me for a moment, then moved on.

I laid there trembling as I waited for my life-blood to drain out onto the parched brown earth, my breath coming out in short and painful gasps. When that didn't happen, I slowly felt down my side until I found where my wound was. Damp with blood, I could only breathe in a hiss of pain when I touched it. Yet still I was alive.

"Just a scratch," I grunted to myself. "Just a scratch." I slowly lurched to my feet, ducking low as the fighting continued all around me. With a pained grunt I slipped the axe off my belt. My right hand moved when I tried it, but shook with pain so into my left in went.

I don't know how exactly I survived the battlefield it that state, but what saved my life was the cause of the damned massacre in the first place. Head spinning, I managed to trip over one of piles of dead horses that littered the field. Once fine stallions, now they were only so much meat. I crawled over a fallen knight to a crevice between two of the corpses and laid there, hiding myself by pulling a red-stained Hightower banner over my body.

There I counted the seconds underneath the din of battle. One minute became two. Two became five. The sounds of fighting around me began to lessen and halt, the vanguard forcing the battlelines deep into the midst of the Hightower forces. Just as I began to think that I might have had a chance to escape unseen after the body of the enemy host passed me by, I heard another horn - this one strong and high pitched.

"Stormlords! Turn, turn! The Stormlords are making their move," a hard voice quickly shouted from somewhere off to the side. "Form up, make ranks. This is the chance to show the Company and your king your mettle!" All around me I heard the echo of footsteps, dull thuds shaking the ground beneath my head. Then there was dim rattle to my side, metal scraping against dead flesh. A bronze-skinned archer slowly climbed up the pile of corpses to my left, his hands holding a massive black bow.

I whimpered quietly in my hole as I stared up at him, knowing it was far too late to move. At any moment he would look down and see me, plainly still among the living, and that would be my end. Yet I couldn't strike first, surrounded as I was. My options were shrinking by the second. In the end, I decided on the course of cowardice and stayed as silent and still as I could. The men around my hiding place began to chant and shout, slamming their weapons into the ground and against their shields. The air shook with their roars. Then there was the thunder of hooves and the battle was joined once again.

The man above me loosed shot after shot and he grinned in victory as he let each arrow fly. There was squealing and yelling, cries of pain followed by the smell of death in the air. Even from my hiding place I could tell that the battlefield would be soaked red with blood. Suddenly, I began to hear the clash of combat from somewhere behind my head. The archer turned, nocking another shaft to his string as he did so. He glanced down briefly at my hiding place while watching his footing and my breath caught in my mouth. There was a long moment and I almost believed he hadn't seen me. Then his brow furrowed and he looked down again. It was then that he met my eyes, his own widening in surprise.

I admit I pissed myself. I also leapt up, screaming in pain as my body tried to rebel against me, and slammed my axe into his leg. I heard it gouge deep into the bone with a horrifying crunch despite the clumsiness of my shaking, twitching hands. The arrow twanged loosely from the man's bow as he fell, fluttering to the ground by my feet. Already there was shouting from all around me, the archer's screaming drawing the attention of the surrounding men like flies. I cursed and quickly turned to where he had been aiming, hoping to see a large host of friendly soldiers. Instead all I saw was a silver knight and his small vanguard, facing off against the horde.

Directly matching the knight sword for sword was a mountain of a man, clad in black chain and a red tabard matted with gore. The giant's helm was ill-fitting and he carried himself like a hunchback, yet his blade moved with a expert warrior's skill. Already two of the vanguard had died by his hands, their guts falling out onto the brown dirt of the battlefield. To join them in battle was likely a death sentence, but so would have been staying put. In that split second I weighed my options and made the obvious choice.

I charged forward, almost falling as I staggered around the corpses, my axe flailing wildly in my left hand. There was no time to think about anything really, the rush of blood in my ears blocking out all other noise. The man's back had been to me when I began moving, but already he was turning, teeth clenched in a grimace of anger. I let out a yell and aimed my blow at his shoulder where I thought his mail would be at its weakest.

There was a slight thud as my axe met the giant's armor. Then ever so slowly it slid off, the impact not piercing through at all. I stood there frozen in horror for a moment before I desperately threw up my weapon in defense. There was a flash of pain across the left side of my face and blood splattered against the ground. I couldn't see, couldn't think. I tried to scramble backwards but the giant caught me by the throat and began to squeeze.

Those few seconds thankfully gave the silver knight the opening he needed. He barreled into us both, forcing us all to the ground in a pile of metal and battered limbs. I clawed at my eyes as I wheezed in shallow breaths, the blood blinding me in a red haze as we all scrambled to find our footing. Finally through one eye I managed to see the silver knight atop the armored giant, fighting for control. I staggered forward drunkenly, grabbing one of the mailed warrior's arms and putting my full weight on it.

I cast around for my axe as we struggled but only found a dagger laying in the sand, lost by someone in the melee. My fingers grasped at it and the edge sliced my hand through before I found its handle. The blade was heavy, now sickened with blood, and my movements seemed far too slow. Still, I grit my teeth and grabbed out at the giant's head, my fingers grasping onto the tufts of hair that peaked out from beneath his coif. I screamed and my left hand snaked forward, burying the dagger beneath the man's chin. He bucked wildly for a few moments, but the steel snapped off deep in his neck and blood poured out between my fingers. Then he became very still.

EVEN IN THE midst of the chaos of battle, that moment stood out as unnaturally quiet. I fell limply to the ground, my wounds throbbing and my stomach turning over in my gut. The sky burned over head and clashes of swords still continued faintly in the distance. I fully expected to die, surrounded as I was. Then muted shouts began in the air, followed by horns, more yelling, and the stomping of feet. Eventually, I felt hands moving up and down my body, pressing up against my open wounds.

With a long grunt I brought myself up onto my knees and found the silver knight by my side, his sword forgotten in the dirt. Another one of the vanguard walked forward, the sigil of a fish on his armor and red hair slightly darker than my own slipping out from under his helmet. He stared out at the giant in front of us before shaking his head. "Thank the gods that the monster's dead. Who struck the final blow?"

I looked over to the silver knight, one of my eyes still blinded with blood. Even through the haze the man seemed every inch a noble, well-shouldered and clad in well-cared for steel. "It was the lord knight, sir," I spoke, my voice was thick and muddled, blood dribbling from the corners of my mouth. "I would have been dead in an instant had he not tackled the brute." Now, I could have tried to take the glory for myself, but even as shaken as I was, I could guess enough about the world to know how foolish that would be. Far better to gain the man's gratitude by gifting him the glory rather than earning his jealousy and ire, I thought.

Yet, as I would soon learn, this noble was one of the odd few who actually lived up to the name. The silver knight removed his helm to reveal a young man in his mid-twenties, short brown hair plastered to the sides of his head with sweat. His blue eyes looked at me quizzically before turning to the other knight. "The man speaks falsely, Ser Brynden."

"Ser Barristan?" The red-haired knight, Brynden, looked between us both. I blinked slowly as the names turned over in my head.

"He struck the final blow while we both held the Blackfyre down. The dagger in the Maelys' throat is his." Barristan Selmy stood, his house's sigil placed proudly on his armor. Three stalks of yellow wheat, on a field of brown. He bent down to the ground and picked up his sword. My own eyes looked down at the corpse in front of us. The giant had white-blond hair and what I had taken to be a humpback was instead a lumpy mass with eyes and teeth, looking almost like a child's head.

"My lord-" I sputtered, the truth of where I was slowly dawning upon me. While it was the first time I had seen this world in the flesh, I had known of it for years. A world of magic and might, where the night was dark and full of terrors. An experience I would wish upon nobody, but would have to suffer through all the same.

He shook his head. "I am no lord. Not yet. What is your name, brave soldier?"

"H-Harlan." It was not the name that I once had, but it rang true in my head. Likewise, the banners I had seen throughout the battle struck home. "Harlan of Oldtown, ser. I am but a levy in service to Lord Hightower."

Barristan the Bold placed his sword on my right shoulder and I shuddered, both in fear of a blade far too close for comfort as well as for the mess I found myself in. "Harlan of Oldtown, you have done the Seven Kingdoms a great service by ending the threat of Maelys the Monstrous, last of the Blackfyres. Moreover, you have shown the humility and good nature of a true knight, despite your station. As such, in the name of the Warrior I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother I charge you to defend the young and innocent…"

Very few things compare to the horror of watching a failed cavalry charge, true. Yet as I was knighted after that first and foulest fight, realizing that this was but the beginning of my adventures in a land whose name is synonymous with death surpassed it by far.

Spoiler: Author's Notes

Obviously large portions of the text badly ape the style of Ciaphas Cain and the insert (not self-insert) considers himself to be a coward and hedonist much like Cain does. I hope to make his individual voice much clearer in later chapters, but due to the action-heavy nature of this first section that was hard to do.

Speaking of which, man, writing large-scale battle sequences is extremely tough. Trying to get at that essence of chaos and terror one would feel, while also making it apparent that Harlan wasn't the only one in combat, was extremely difficult to do and I'm still not sure if I succeeded. I'm glad that the next chapter should be far more talky.

As can be expected, this story will be somewhat AU due to much of the 5th​ Blackfyre Rebellion and its surrounding time period not being laid out by George R. R. Martin in any great detail. Almost none of the Stepstones are named or described, for example, so don't be surprised if I start making stuff up on the fly. Do tell me if anything sounds too stupid or out of place, however.

The Hightower force involved here was a small one, sent late in the war in a show of support for the Kingsguard Lord Commander Gerold Hightower after he took command of the Targaryen Forces following Lord Ormund Baratheon's death. As such it was more of a conscripted militia rather than consisting of the trained levies that Harlan assumes it to be, largely drawn from poor farmers and dockworkers who were cajoled (willingly or otherwise) into joining up.

The unnamed Hightower lord is Ser Peyton Hightower, an OC who is the younger brother of Leyton Hightower and nephew to the White Bull. He realized too late that he was being drawn away from the other forces of the Iron Throne and was willing to call the charge in hopes of breaking through back to the rest of the army. Unfortunately he was unaware that Maelys himself was directly in the path of the charge, and as such, some of the Golden Company's best troops met his own. Harlan is far less forgiving of the man's tactical decisions than I am, however, and old age has not made him kinder.

In the initial Stormlander charge, Barristan Selmy lost his horse but began charging through the Golden Company lines when he caught sight of Maelys Blackfyre. A number of his men followed him, along with Brynden Tully who had been in the area. They successfully broke through the Golden Company's troops, creating a wedge that was well utilized by the other Stormlander lords. (Hoster Tully and Papa Baelish were with the Riverlands and Vale forces, an island away, fighting other members of the Ninepenny Kings.)

Expect updates to be rather glacial in forthcoming. I'm a nervous writer and it's not uncommon for me to constantly go back and revise my work, or to simply sit on it when I get stuck. If anyone is willing to Beta, I'd appreciate it. Just PM me.

 

[Syn0]

Watched so hard!

I'm looking forward to what he gets up to on his adventures. Hopefully he doesn't end up stranded all the damn time, that picture in the first post is kind of hinting at it if I'm not mistaken.

 

[Athanor]

Im so happy i read this. Have my like and watch.

 

[Baron Steakpuncher]

DAMN IT, THIS MEETS ALL MY STANDARDS! *Adds to the pile of good fics*

 

[Queensclone]

A lot of ASoIaF stories don´t look like they would meet the standards us fans have, but this is a good start. Consider it watched.

 

[WarofJenkinsEar]

Thank you all for the kind comments.

Watched so hard!

I'm looking forward to what he gets up to on his adventures. Hopefully he doesn't end up stranded all the damn time, that picture in the first post is kind of hinting at it if I'm not mistaken.

Click to shrink...

I can promise that he will have a base of operations, but saying anything else would be spoilers.

Im so happy i read this. Have my like and watch.

Click to shrink...

Thank you. What did you like about it in particular?

DAMN IT, THIS MEETS ALL MY STANDARDS! *Adds to the pile of good fics*

Click to shrink...

I can also make spaghetti.

A lot of ASoIaF stories don´t look like they would meet the standards us fans have, but this is a good start. Consider it watched.

Click to shrink...

When I decided to sit down and write this, I took a hard look at the ASoIaF fics both here and elsewhere. There are many great and fantastic stories out there, as well as some less-than-stellar ones of course, but I wanted to do something deliberately contrary to the "Bob the Builder" self-insert tales that are so common. Don't get me wrong, I've tremendously enjoyed reading some of them, but you can only kickstart the Industrial Revolution so many times before it starts getting stale to read and write.

 

[Athanor]

Thank you. What did you like about it in particular?

Click to shrink...

Well amongst other things you took your time, the text flowed well and delivered at a good pace. The fact that the main character acted realistically for his situation, a lot of Si lose a part of what makes them human, aka feat, panic and other less heroic traits not realizing that it is by overcoming those fears that makes for true heroics. There are more but i feel these are my main reasons for enjoying this fic. Can't wait to se more

 

[Blazinghand]

Just as brutal and terrifying as you'd expect for a medieval tech battle. But also, I like the interaction with Barristan at the end, and the knighting on the battlefield. That's pretty sweet.

 

[RichardWhereat]

Yeah, for me it was the brutal reality of where he ended up, how he responded rationally, the short and sweet fight, and Barristans goodness being captured well. It just looks so damned decent.

 

[SkyCrack]

You don't have to worry too much, the writing is greatso far! Though a word of advice, even though revisions are good for improving, one should not keep revising and revising your stories. You'll find problems that really aren't problems eventually, and will constantly try and "fix" em, kinda like what George Lucas did with the Star Wars prequels.

but I guess thats what a beta is for though I'll say again, the writing quality here is impeccable!

 

[Megamind]

When's the second chapter coming up

 

[Fabula Amanti]

Given the title and the picture, is it going to be like the adventures of Sinbad or Alibaba?

 

[WarofJenkinsEar]

When's the second chapter coming up

Click to shrink...

Well, I did say my writing pace was glacial... In all seriousness, I received a very kind beta offer from SkyCrack that I've taken him up on. Due to work related stuff + Persona 5, I haven't been writing as much as I wanted do, but I'm about half-way done the next update.

Given the title and the picture, is it going to be like the adventures of Sinbad or Alibaba?

Click to shrink...

I won't reveal much due to [SPOILERS], but I will say that Harlan will be travelling in and out of Westeros in his adventures. In some ways this may buy into a bit of "orientalist" fantasy (much like George RR Martin himself does in his rather... odd depictions of Essosi society), but I'll try to be fair with the world-building not supported by the books.

As a side note, the picture I used is actually a depiction of Barbarossa Hayreddin Pasha (1478-1546), an Ottoman Admiral/Corsair known for his red beard.

 

[tamagat]

adventurer? does that mean harlan is gonna kill a lot of badguys in order to get their stuff?

 

[WarofJenkinsEar]

adventurer? does that mean harlan is gonna kill a lot of badguys in order to get their stuff?

Click to shrink...

No, quite close really, but what you're describing is a murder hobo. An adventurer bungles their way through their quest, sometimes even slaying the bad guy and getting loot but mostly just wandering around lost. Somehow they tend to be loved and awarded despite all their mistakes and best efforts otherwise.

News: The update is (finally) off to my beta, so expect it to be posted sometime this weekend after final revisions. Each update right now is shaping out to be around 4k, so I would expect that going ahead.

 

[WarofJenkinsEar]

Harlan Thornwood, ADVENTURER OF THE REALM

~Prologue~​

'Look at all the fierce killers who fought so hard to slay the black dragon. True knights one and all, many without a speck of blood on them.'
-Remarks of Lord Walder Frey at the feast celebrating victory in the War of the Ninepenny Kings.

TWO
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THE BEACH WAS sweltering and crowded, the ramshackle pirate docks of the Eyeless Port half-slouching into the sea with the weight of the host of soldiers and sailors crawling over them. The island of Bloodstone held dozens of such outlaw coves, each usually known only to a few select captains. The invasion changed all that, of course, and the largest of the lot were mapped out during the months of warfare to the future dismay of pirates and smugglers alike. The Eyeless Port, named for a particularly unfortunate Lyseni merchantman who had run afoul of Samarro Saan, had specifically been seized by the main body of the Targaryen forces for use as a field command early in the war. As such, it was where all the Iron Throne's forces gathered when we prepared to depart the islands. After a year of hard fighting in the Stepstones, the armies of the Seven Kingdoms were ready to return home.

The war was won the moment the Golden Company had been routed by the death of their commander. With the end of the Blackfyre line their cause became hopelessly shattered. The rest of the Band of Nine had quickly followed them in retreat to Essos and the petty kings who made up their number began jockeying for position before Maelys' body had even begun to cool. Perhaps only the Tyrant of Tyrosh came out of the alliance better off, with an entire city to his name.

Most of the Stepstones had ended up being scoured clean of life. The few men and women who had waged an honest living there had largely been put to the sword by one side or another during the course of the conflict. At the time it seemed as if the entire world had all but wiped their hands of the damned spits of land, as humorous as that seems to me now.

The vast majority of the Westerosi warships that made up our fleet were anchored out in the bays scattered near the Eyeless Port, being far too large for the shallow waters of the hidden inlet itself. What seemed like hundreds of cogs and makeshift fishing vessels were hard at work, however, transporting fresh provisions to the fleet from ashore for the voyage ahead. As I moved unhurriedly through the churning crowds of the sprawling camp, men made room for me as they saw the scarred wounds strewn across my body and recognized my face. Strange enough as it had seemed to me, I had become a minor war hero, even after disappearing from view after the battle.

I had slept with sweat and fever for some two weeks. Thankfully, none of my wounds had turned to rot despite the conditions, but the worst of them, the sword strike from Maelys that had clawed deep into my face, had managed to graze the top of my left eye. I had been treated by a field-medic almost immediately, some learned septon with a damned bloody smile, but as good work as he had done, I knew the chance of my regaining full sight was minimal. Partly in a daze, partly still disbelieving where I was, I mostly chose to distract myself by wandering around the camp and ingratiating myself with the lords and lowborn alike.

For the latter that was easy. Many of them looked at me as if I had hung the stars in the sky for simply being at the right place at the right time. What exactly the king would reward me with for killing Maelys even became a hotly debated topic among their number. Some spoke of a royal marriage, even though princesses are always in notoriously short supply, especially then with the Tragedy of Summerhall only a year past. Others skipped straight over to my being given an entire kingdom to rule, the fact that King Jaehaerys had gone to war for the cause of defending his seven being somewhat lost on them. A few were slightly more reasonable in their speculations of what awaited me – though only slightly. A fortune of gold dragons without comparison. Being given custody of a great castle and a noble name. A sword made out of precious Valyrian steel, with a ruby in the pommel the size of an eagle's egg. I laughed as I heard it all and scarcely believed any of it myself. The victory I had won had been shared with Barristan the Bold. I knew that any reward I received would have to be given at least twicefold, to a far more worthy figure I would add.

Among the nobility, my reception was thankfully somewhat more measured. I was congratulated, toasted, and then put firmly into my place. As a newly made knight of peasant stock, I could hardly be considered their equal, no matter the honors I might have accumulated. I admit that I fully played up the part of being the simpering and humble warrior of the smallfolk. As I recall, I spoke the words 'simply doing my duty for the realm' so often that I almost began to believe them myself. Meeting those expectations was easy, and garnered me a number of offers of employment for after we returned to the Seven Kingdoms.

Yet within the circles of the younger noblemen, there were a few who seemed almost eager to make my company. Chief among them was Brynden Tully. Though I had met him on the battlefield, I was surprised when he routinely sought me out afterwards, managing to slowly pull bits and pieces of my personality out from under my hastily constructed mask. From my sick bed, to the days afterwards, I could usually count on finding him to be close by.

As such, I wasn't surprised when that very same Riverlander lord caught my eye as I walked through the makeshift command post, the man stepping out from under a large pitched tent towards the center of the place. With a handsome jaw and one hand brushing back his thick auburn hair, he looked much more like a cocky young nobleman out for a stroll rather than one of the most skilled warriors alive in Westeros. It was still strange for me to see him out of armor, that image of him being so firmly planted in my mind. Instead he wore a loose blue silk shirt that was half unbuttoned due to the oppressive heat of the humid sea air, much like my own linen tunic. When he finally spied me he gave a small smirk and stepped forward with a spring in his step, weaving through the crowd with ease. "Ser Harlan. I see that you have finally removed your bandages."

"Aye, that I have m'lord." His lips twitched as I turned and bowed my head in mock deference, now a small running joke between the two of us. I raised one hand to the scar by my eye and tapped it gently. "The claws of the monster certainly left their mark on me. One wonders if the Blackfyre knew the end that awaited him, if he was willing to eat his twin in the womb so as to have two throats to cut. I still got him in the end, however." I gave a weak grin and tried not to think of the fleshy corpse that had been pulled from the battlefield before I finally collapsed. Looters had torn it to pieces in their attempt to steal a bit of the glory.

"Indeed so." Brynden's smile slowly receded from his face as he studied me carefully, his eyes gently narrowing in concern. "Would you join me back in my tent? We could share a drink and speak. I also have sourleaf from Lys, if that would suit you better." Now, I have never been one to pass up alcohol and pleasant company. I have even been known to be social when only one was available, strange as that might seem. To have both of the highest quality on offer obviously meant that I had I had little choice in the matter. After a short nod from me his grin returned in full force and away we went.

I followed him back under the tent flap and sat down on an intricate woven rug, the trout of the Tullys appearing in white repeating patterns beneath my feet. After ducking to the rear of the tent, the young knight returned with a dry Arbor red which he poured into two large wooden cups. "Ser Barristan asked after you," Brynden said, firmly placing a vessel in my hand before leaning back with one arm braced the ground behind him. "He visited your tent many times while you were unconscious."

"Did he now? I must thank him for his concern." I turned the thought over in my head. I hadn't seen the knight since I had reawakened. "Where is he now?"

"Already on his way to King's Landing with Prince Aerys and his entourage. The ship left a week ago now," Brynden explained. "He spent much of his time here with your liege lord's cousin, Ser Gerold Hightower. I think he means to join the Kingsguard if he can, as soon as a spot becomes available."

That, if anything, made the difference in our statures clear. Still, I held up my cup in a toast before taking a long draught. "He would have the right of it, with the honor of his kill."

Brynden took a drink as well, tapping his cup against the ground before looking at me curiously. "And what of you?" he asked. "You would have been given the same place of honor by the prince, if you had been awake for it, but they didn't wish to risk traveling on the open seas with your injuries as they were. What reward will you seek?"

I sincerely doubted that, but answered him all the same. "Have I not already received it?" I laughed, my shoulders giving a light shrug. "My life in exchange for half-blindness and the fear of smelling the stink of decay in my own flesh. A warm reception from the other smallfolk and tight smiles from my social betters. Truly I have been blessed by the Seven."

Brynden frowned, his voice rising in slight annoyance. "Do you think you and I are so different, Harlan? Last I looked, us nobles shit and piss themselves as we bleed and die, same as everyone else. We all did our duty."

I laughed again, leaning back into an oaken chest. "Brynden, many of your fellows can't stand the idea that one of the smallfolk can kill a king, even if he was a king in name only. And truly, as much as I have spoken of doing my duty to the realm, during the battle I honestly only cared about surviving from moment to moment. I have never been so damn terrified before in my life. If I could have, I would've simply hidden among the corpses until it was all over." I shook my head. "Now I'm to be given great honors by the crown? Piss on that. We're not the same."

I took another long drink from my cup, draining it completely and rolling the wooden vessel in my hand. My body felt as strange as it was familiar, itching and twitching beneath me, much like how the name Harlan was both intimately mine and not. I was out of time and out of place. When I thought of the Long Night and the despair of this world to come, I realized just how slim the chance for survival was. At the time I simply prayed that I would be long dead before it came. It was too much for one man to handle.

I shook my thoughts clear, stretching my neck back and forth. "Don't think I'm being unkind to you, Ser Brynden. You're most definitely a far better man than I. It feels as if all the eyes of the Seven Kingdoms are on me and there are so many things that could go wrong. I'm no lord or great warrior. Ser Barristan knighting me was a mistake."

"Then take care of yourself." Brynden spoke, his own voice soft. "And fuck everyone else."

"What?" I blinked. I hadn't expected that reply.

The red-haired knight leaned forward. "If you want to build something with your own two hands, then build something. If you want to become a great warrior, pick up a sword and I'll help you myself. Hell, if you want to go whoring throughout the Free Cities, do so with a smile on your face." He poured more wine into my cup, his hand brushing against my own. "I have lived my entire life trying to balance my duty to my family and my duty to myself. You have an opportunity before you that few ever have. Don't throw Ser Barristan's honor to you back in his face."

I leaned forward myself, absolutely bewildered. "What of my duty to the crown? Or to my liege lord?"

"Loyalty." Brynden closed his eyes in thought, as if sounding out the words in his head. "Loyalty is noble and honorable, yes, but it does not always feed a man or keep him sane. You ended one of the greatest threats to our peace that has loomed since Daemon Blackfyre himself first raised his flag in rebellion. Do as you wish, I say."

"That… that is certainly a suggestion," I said, my mind wandering to the future. "I admit that I have no clue what my path forward will be. Yet… I wouldn't mind having a friend for it, even if it's only from afar."

Brynden paused, a small and honest smile spreading across his face. "I can offer you that, certainly. Come, let us drink. There are far better topics to dwell upon."

"True," I laughed then. "I've never had a Dornish wine, but I see one hidden away in back. We must drink quickly and work our way your stock through before we depart."

True attachments are hard to come by and I've found that they appear fewer and farther in-between as you get on in age. Yet as we spoke and drank long into the night all those years ago, I had the tremendous honor of counting Brynden Tully as one of mine. I've never regretted it.

THREE WEEKS LATER I stood above a wash basin in the Red Keep, a razor's edge slowly scoring the hair from my neck. Though I was a newly-made and unlanded knight, I had been given my own room and servants to wait upon me in preparation for the welcoming feast. This was, of course, entirely due to my recent stabbing of the Blackfyre pretender. However, even now I'm not one to trust another man to hold a blade to my throat. Especially one paid to do so. Instead I cut the down the worst of the tangles myself, neatening down my beard to a close-cropped goatee and moustache and my matted hair to but a shortened wave. With only one functional eye, I ended up giving myself a few small nicks and scratches, but far fewer than what I had been only a few weeks previously. None that would stand out, anyway. After a short inspection, I toweled myself off and called for the servants to come in and finish dressing me.

From across the city the bells of the Sept of Baelor rang in victory and I knew that the taverns were likely packed to the gills on the crown's purse. I found King's Landing to be a stinking quagmire, filled to the brim with minor nobles, bickering traders, sailors, peasants, and whores. Strangely enough, I already loved it with all my heart. From the bustling markets to the stinking pit that was Flea Bottom, the city breathed and thrummed with activity, hundreds of languages and broken cants being shouted across its dirty streets. It was fundamentally a more honest place, open in its deceit. A far cry from the endless pageantry of the nobility.

After years of misrule under Aegon 'the Unlikely', the peasant-loving king, the nobility had thrown their all into celebrating the reign of their new, more traditionalist ruler, and their shared great victory over the Blackfyres. The crown, of course, was happy to oblige them. The bulk of the feast itself was held outside of the palace, the sheer scale of its extravagance forcing it to pour out into the courtyards and grounds. At the center of it all was King Jaehaerys II Targaryen himself, standing proudly at the head of banquet table. Well, he was leaning proudly, looking slightly sick to his stomach as he stared out at his guests, both hands holding on tightly to the table in front of him. He had a sort of pinched and pale face, and aside from the silver hair, it would have been far easier to imagine him as a minor functionary than as the king of almost all of Westeros.

Prince Aerys and his entourage of vaguely familiar faces to the king's right looked all the world like fairy-tale princes by sheer contrast. Laughing and sitting tall in his seat, the prince looked positively regal in bearing. To the king's left was his sister-wife Queen Shaera, seeming vaguely hawk-like perched on her chair. She held a beauty of her own and an undeniable sense of presence, at the least. It should be remembered that the king and queen had taken each other against their father's will, and looking at the pair I had my own thoughts on who had led the charge. I had been placed far to king's right, about a table's length away for good measure. Seated next to me, albeit closer to the king, was Ser Barristan.

He had stood when I arrived a few minutes earlier, led to my place by a rather putout servant. "Ser Harlan. It is good to see you well." Much like Brynden, his boyish face and earnest demeanor hardly matched what I imagined him to be, though he certainly held a warrior's form beneath his clothing.

I tried to wave him off then, quickly taking a seat and adopting the tone of slight embarrassment. "You should be seated, Ser Barristan. There is no need to stand on my account. I am already late enough as it is."

"No need? The last I had heard you were still stricken with fever and close to death. When I didn't hear further news, I could only pray to the seven that you still lived." He had settled into his chair, still looking concerned. "Are you still wounded? Your gait was uneven as you walked."

"Merely getting used to having lost use of an eye, ser. To end Maelys' threat, I think that was worthy enough a price to pay." To my satisfaction my words were met with scattered whispers, most of them even positive as far as I could tell. "We all have our duty, of course. What of you-"

I had of course been interrupted when the king stood to speak, drawing the attention of the crowd and silencing even the most brazen of braggarts. One does not talk over the king, no matter how dull and boring his speech may be. And dull it was, stressing unity and loyalty among the vassals of the throne, proclaiming the victory that they had won together as fruit of their able service. I absentmindedly nodded and cheered loudly at the appropriate pauses, but my mind and eyes largely wandered, looking over the feast that had been prepared.

The tables were piled high with food. I saw soups and baked breads, meats lathered with sweet smelling sauces with skin that was browned and cracked. Beyond them there were salads and fruits and jellies of all kinds. What I noticed most as I looked over the spread was how exotic some of the food was, especially compared to what I had gotten used to over the last month and a half. Oranges from Dorne, olives from across the Narrow Sea, large peppercorn and spices from who-knows-where-else. As I said before, the crown had spared no expense.

I stifled a laugh when I saw what looked like a scene from the war itself toward the center of the banquet, played out with chickens mounted on roasted piglets. A cock in white with a paper helmet charged another in black, each with shields and wooden lances covered in gold foil pointed at full tilt. Behind the pair another chicken stood ready, a steak skewer bound with wire to its wings held in front of it. This one had a shield as well, but it was empty, lacking any particular design. A spearman, I realized, newly knighted without a coat of arms prepared. I coughed, quickly grabbing a drink of water to quiet myself. Finding yourself in food is an odd experience, I have to report, especially as such a good looking cock.

Still, the speech eventually came to an end and the feast began in earnest. The servants served those of us closer to the king with a flourish, bringing dish after dish directly to our plates for our perusal before whisking them away again. The wine began to flow and, after a while, so did some peoples' words and tongues.

I had been conversing with Ser Barristan and those around us for some time when I overheard a raised voice, not too far away. "Look at all the fierce killers who fought so hard to slay the black dragon. True knights one and all, many without a speck of blood on them." A weedy looking man with stringy brown hair leaned back in his chair, a look of disgust on his face. "One might think that the Tully sigil was a bird, for all that young Hoster is crowing about his brother's work."

The exact retort to the comment was drowned out in the din, but from the sound of shoved back chairs and shouts in anger that matched it, I took the general response to his point to be quite negative.

"And you, Lord Hightower." The man raised his cup at another nobleman, this one a rather gangly looking fellow with a slanted nose. "Yes, your Ser Harlan came from the docks of Oldtown. What of your other 400 men, slaughtered almost to the man? Your son was lured into a trap and managed to survive thanks to the luck of one man alone. One that I'm sure you raised by your knee, to hear you speak of it."

Well, with my name being mentioned, I took that to be my cue. Obviously no man barring the guards had steel on them, but tempers were running hot and it would be good to cool them before dessert. And honestly, it would cost me little to try to intervene, with the crowd on my side, and might yet improve my situation further. I stepped forward, pushing through the crowd, noting Ser Barristan following me close behind. "Pardon, my lords, but we should turn to lighter topics," I said, a tight smile on my face. "There is no reason to speak ill of the lords who fought so bravely in the south."

The man's eyes turned to me, squinting as he focused on my face. He snorted and spat. "Oh, I've done quite enough fighting myself. I've killed a number of men over the years and I'm also on my third wife, so you can tell what that speaks to my prowess with a spear." He waggled his eyebrows, laughing bawdily at his own joke. "No, this was my last war. I have a number of sons ready to fight for me, each waiting for me to die in turn. I won't give them the pleasure of it being in battle, I assure you."

I let the smile drop slightly, leaning forward to emphasize my scars. "While the Blackfyre threat is ended, that's no reason for the lords of Westeros to begin to war among themselves. You may not wish to die in battle, but you are trading barbs all the same."

Behind me Ser Barristan coughed. "It would be best for you to retire to your chambers I think, Lord Frey."

The lord's eyes widened slightly before he began to speak, his lips curling upwards. "Hah, I recognize you both now. Some of the true southern heroes." The man howled with laughter again before he fell silent, his eyes flicking back to me. "You can stop trying to threaten me. I have no quarrel with you or the Selmy boy there behind you. You both at least are honest in what you are, upstarts though you may be. It's the rest of the pampered shits I have a problem with." He stood, draining back another glass of wine, his teeth glinting red after he had finished. "Well, I know when I'm not wanted. Come, Stevron, I've had my fill."

Lord Frey left, quickly followed by a young man in his mid-twenties who looked as uncomfortable as we all probably felt. Grumbling, lords and ladies went back to their conversations, hushed voices whispering of the vulgarities of the event. I myself returned to my seat, receiving a few pats on the back on my way. Yet what struck me most was honestly how much I agreed with the words of Walder Frey. Beyond a few notable exceptions, it was hardly as if the lords of Westeros truly sacrificed all that much themselves in their wars. Men and women of the smallfolk died in droves thanks to their actions, but few ever mourned their loss. Brynden's own remarks buzzed in my ears.

I had turned to ask Ser Barristan his own opinion, when a hush fell over the crowd again. King Jaehaerys stood, his voice calling out into the courtyard. "I see that, even now, the slayers of the Blackfyre keep the peace in my domain. I thank them for it and wish to honor them, as I will honor all who fought in my name." There were nods and applause, though one could question the politics of openly calling attention to Lord Walder's actions. I suppose that even then, it's possible that no one liked the Freys.

Not hearing my internal thoughts on his political astuteness, the king continued on blindly, "While each will be granted awards before the Iron Throne tomorrow, I believe their deed was worthy enough that they should be acknowledged before all others." He paused for effect, waiting slightly too long to continue. "...Ser Barristan Selmy has asked to remain in the capital, to serve the throne until a place in the Kingsguard is opened to him. I have granted him this request."

More cheers filled the air and I turned to Ser Barristan, raising a cup in his honor. Amusingly enough the man flushed, raising one hand in acknowledgement as pink graced his cheeks.

"As for the brave warrior of Oldtown, Ser Harlan," My head swiveled back. "Being once a man of the docks, he will serve Lord Celtigar, the Master of Ships, in a manner that both he and the Small Council see fit. He will also be honored with a coat of arms, granted directly by the crown for his service."

I immediately stood up to applause, smiling and waving to the crowd. When the sounds began to die down and all the lords and ladies returned to their feast, I slid back into my seat.

"I didn't know you had already met with the king," Ser Barristan said quietly, tilting his head in question. "His grace gave me some time to fully consider my request before accepting it."

"I haven't yet," I muttered through my teeth, still smiling. "I imagine he will speak with me when he best sees fit." Fuck everyone and take care of yourself, indeed. Already the game of thrones was in full swing.

Spoiler: Author's Notes

The Stepstones are odd in that they are depicted simultaneously as barren islands of unoccupied wasteland as well as the site of numerous well-developed pirate coves. The Iron Fleet is even able to stop there for game and grain, which points to either some form of internal settlement or a very sophisticated shipping network for providing supplies. In my own story, I've chosen to put forward that they're often lightly settled by marginal groups. No one truly rules them, but many places have influence over them - through piracy and other means. Of course, this also leads to these settlers often dying in droves, as they're the people no one likes or cares about.

The "helmeted cocks" depicted above were in fact a real type of medieval dish, first mentioned in the French Cookbook of Guillaume Tirel. That section of this chapter was largely a nod to GRRM's own love of depicting food in his work, though each meal is not likely to receive the same amount of attention from me in the future.



Quite honestly, it makes a lot of sense for King Jaehaerys to foist Harlan off on Lord Celtigar from a political perspective, as your average peasant warrior wouldn't be ready to do much of anything with regards to ruling. 'He was a dock worker, so maybe he's good to work with ships? Eh, worth a shot.' It may have been wiser on his part to get Harlan's opinion on the matter, but he is a more traditionalist king after all.

Not too much more to say here. There will be one more chapter of prologue, and then we will time skip about a year into the future for the first actual story.

 

[Athanor]

Really should be sleeping but saw the update and had to read it. NO REGRETZZZZ.
Great update.

 

[Vlagroth]

This story meets literally all my standards and is amazing to read! please continue this story!

 

[Queensclone]

Great update! This seems like a story that gets better and better the longer it goes on. Keep up the good work!

 

[Dragonfiend]

I really appreciate the quality, I am look forward to his future adventures.

 

[kimera]

Great chapter! I think you're presenting the character and fitting him into the world really well. I'm very excited for future chapters, whenever they may be written!

Adventuring is probably one of the best ideas for a SI's direction; technical upheavals are cool, but they tend to be rehashes of history with attempts to min-max. Your SI should be equipped with some really neat tricks and methodology, but literally exploring the unknown is still terrifying. Especially since this is a world with latent, ancient magic.

 

[WarofJenkinsEar]

Really should be sleeping but saw the update and had to read it. NO REGRETZZZZ.
Great update.

Click to shrink...

Sleep is important, but I appreciate the sentiment.

This story meets literally all my standards and is amazing to read! please continue this story!

Click to shrink...

That's the plan. Thank you for having standards that I can meet.

Great update! This seems like a story that gets better and better the longer it goes on. Keep up the good work!

Click to shrink...

Considering that this story is only two chapters long, I expect that it won't be a 1:1 relationship. I would be incredibly surprised if that was the case, at the very least.

I really appreciate the quality, I am look forward to his future adventures.

Click to shrink...

We're almost there! It feels like such a slog to get to the starting point I want, but I'm glad you all are enjoying it.

Great chapter! I think you're presenting the character and fitting him into the world really well. I'm very excited for future chapters, whenever they may be written!

Adventuring is probably one of the best ideas for a SI's direction; technical upheavals are cool, but they tend to be rehashes of history with attempts to min-max. Your SI should be equipped with some really neat tricks and methodology, but literally exploring the unknown is still terrifying. Especially since this is a world with latent, ancient magic.

Click to shrink...

And this is why, slog that it is, I'm doing these prologue sections. Harlan needs to fit into the world in a way that makes sense.

SIs tend to have an odd relationship with magic/super advanced technology. Most seem to ignore how they got to the setting, aside from occasionally cursing ROB or an ASB, and just sort of pretend it doesn't exist story-wise. As far as Harlan's concerned, he's already been deeply affected by a latent, ancient magic that tore him away from all he knew. Whether that means he goes seeking magic out or runs wildly away from any sign of it depends on the adventure, I guess.

Author's Question:
I've discussed this with my beta, but what do you all think about the influence of the butterfly effect on all the future children in the setting?

Obviously all events after Harlan's arrival have already been tilted askew, so in all honesty people like Robb and Joffrey wouldn't be born. HOWEVER, this is already an OC-heavy story and I don't want to really add to that bloat if I can avoid it.

I'm thinking about compromising - canon couples would have the same children together if they got married, but the personalities of these children would be changed/twisted depending on the situation around them as they grew up. This wouldn't be the case if its a new pairing, however. If Ned and Cersei had children, to give a random (non-canon, as neither of them are actually born in the story yet themselves) example , they would be completely OCs.

The OCD part of me rebels against this, but I'm honestly undecided as a writer. Thoughts?

 

[D King Hecht]

Author's Question:
I've discussed this with my beta, but what do you all think about the influence of the butterfly effect on all the future children in the setting?

Obviously all events after Harlan's arrival have already been tilted askew, so in all honesty people like Robb and Joffrey wouldn't be born. HOWEVER, this is already an OC-heavy story and I don't want to really add to that bloat if I can avoid it.

I'm thinking about compromising - canon couples would have the same children together if they got married, but the personalities of these children would be changed/twisted depending on the situation around them as they grew up. This wouldn't be the case if its a new pairing, however. If Ned and Cersei had children, to give a random (non-canon, as neither of them are actually born in the story yet themselves) example , they would be completely OCs.

The OCD part of me rebels against this, but I'm honestly undecided as a writer. Thoughts?

Click to shrink...

Personally, I have always hated the concept of a single butterfly changing everything. With what I have seen so far you have not really changed all that much. So canon couples as of now should be the same, with their offspring included.

 

[Cap'nSmurfy]

Sleep is important, but I appreciate the sentiment.



That's the plan. Thank you for having standards that I can meet.



Considering that this story is only two chapters long, I expect that it won't be a 1:1 relationship. I would be incredibly surprised if that was the case, at the very least.



We're almost there! It feels like such a slog to get to the starting point I want, but I'm glad you all are enjoying it.



And this is why, slog that it is, I'm doing these prologue sections. Harlan needs to fit into the world in a way that makes sense.

SIs tend to have an odd relationship with magic/super advanced technology. Most seem to ignore how they got to the setting, aside from occasionally cursing ROB or an ASB, and just sort of pretend it doesn't exist story-wise. As far as Harlan's concerned, he's already been deeply affected by a latent, ancient magic that tore him away from all he knew. Whether that means he goes seeking magic out or runs wildly away from any sign of it depends on the adventure, I guess.

Author's Question:
I've discussed this with my beta, but what do you all think about the influence of the butterfly effect on all the future children in the setting?

Obviously all events after Harlan's arrival have already been tilted askew, so in all honesty people like Robb and Joffrey wouldn't be born. HOWEVER, this is already an OC-heavy story and I don't want to really add to that bloat if I can avoid it.

I'm thinking about compromising - canon couples would have the same children together if they got married, but the personalities of these children would be changed/twisted depending on the situation around them as they grew up. This wouldn't be the case if its a new pairing, however. If Ned and Cersei had children, to give a random (non-canon, as neither of them are actually born in the story yet themselves) example , they would be completely OCs.

The OCD part of me rebels against this, but I'm honestly undecided as a writer. Thoughts?

Click to shrink...

Go with the compromise. OC bloat is very much a thing to be avoided. And in all honestly I can't see the SI changing a huge amount. Unless it's an active or indirect change you make I wouldn't alter things. Yes the single butterfly effect would be a thing but it doesn't make for a very good story. Reality can be annoying like that.