*Sigh* I had promised myself I would never write one of these damn things. Unfortunately, I lost...
See No Evil - ASOIAF SI
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Edge of Reality
Probellum
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*Sigh* I had promised myself I would never write one of these damn things. Unfortunately, I lost a bet and my friend is a jackass. Was it too much to ask for that chick he was after for date to turn him down for jut another week or so? Really? One week and I wouldn't be doing this.
Oh well. Never let it be said I don't stick to the agreement of a bet. But dammit, if I'm writing an SI, i'm gonna write a damn good SI. You can know one thin for sure, this won't be your usual Self Insert!
It happened quickly, in a blur. One moment I was in the ring, taking the mother of all hits to the face and the next everything went dark. I could feel my body falling, but even as I hit the floor, a part of me kept on going. Down. Down. Down.
The world twisted in on itself. My course changed, rising up and up, before being violently jerked to the side. Then down again, then back to the side, then up, over and over and over again. Caught in a violent maelstrom, that felt like it was tearing me to pieces. Literally, I felt pieces of myself breaking off and disappearing into the ether. One by one, they went.
Memories, moments in time. Thought, and feelings, bursting into vibrant colors before fading to nothingness. Senses went blank, one after another. First touch. Then smell. Taste was next. It was my hearing that went after that, leaving just my sight.
And oh, what a sight it was! In those moments, where time wasn't time, and space wasn't space, I saw it all. Everything. All of it opened up before me, every possibility filling my vision for one, glorious, infinitely long moment. Planets, stars, galaxies, universes. Realities passed me by, each and every single one fascinating me as they revealed things that I was sure would normally tear my mind asunder.
I can't really sight disappeared, as it felt more like a blink than anything. That blink was what ended everything, as the world snapped back in place. With the world came back my thoughts, and my senses.
As well as a flood of memories and disorientation.
Especially since they weren't all mine.
Oh, there was also pain, a quick bop to my head making me cry out. "Ow!" Rubbing my head, I winced as a raging migraine flared to life, memories reeling through my had, knowledge flowing in with it.
"Don't be a fool, Ben. Like Dad would ever let you take part of the tourney, you're too young!" The rough, yet jovial voice of my...my brother called out.
I paused at that thought. Since when did I have a brother? No, that was a dumb question, I'd always had one. Well, two, but not the point.
But that wasn't right. My only sibling was my annoying little sister.
Immediately, memories of two different people flashed through my mind. Who were those people again? They seemed familiar. Yet, I recognized neither.
Woozily, I stumbled, tripping down to my knee, my hands going out to catch myself. Landing roughly on my kneecap, I couldn't help but stare at my hands. Why was my skin so pale? Sure I'd never been the tannest of fellows, but I'd never been as pale as this. Except, I had always been this pale. Vision blurring, it was like I was looking at two different sets of hands, like I was in two different bodies.
A nauseous feeling filled my throat.
"Woah, Ben!" Hands pulled at my shoulder, keeping me steady as a worried voice called out. "Are you alright, brother?" It washed over me, my eyes unfocused. Who was Ben? I was.
No I wasn't.
I was...
Who am I?
My head pulsed, pain flaring up even worse than before, making me grunt. Blood rushed to my face, as it scrunched in pain, my breathing starting to become heavy. Through it all, I felt oddly disconnected. I couldn't bring my body to move.
Well then. If I couldn't do that, I might as well try and bring myself under control. It was hard, trying to think. Every thought seemed scattered, and frantic, slipping through my grasp the moment I lost focus even the slightest bit. I had to give each thought and memory my full attention.
There seemed to be two sets of conflicting memories, in my head. Trying to order them was difficult, but I was making progress. In one, I'd been 21 years old, a man from the state of Maine. That life had been full of ups and downs, but was mostly normal for the 21st century. There were more memories of that life, than the other, up until what felt like earlier that day when I had been in an unofficial boxing match. Things had gone well, up until that damn problem with my ankles had made me slip and drop my defenses.
The subsequent hit had knocked my head back, and I'd begun to fell. I'd felt something snap, painfully, before it had all gone dark.
My other set of memories...
I was 14 years old, and from the North. Winterfell, to be exact. I'd been given the name Benjen, and I was the third son of Rickard Stark. With two older brothers and one younger sister. Brandon, Eddard, and Lyanna.
Oh dear. More memories came to mind, of the world I lived in. The Seven Kingdom, of Westeros and Essos and all the noble families. History and lore, local beasts and fauna. A series of books, from one world, describing all of these things and events that would take place in the future.
No. No, no, no. Noooooooo.
Please, Gods, tell me it wasn't true? Tell me I hadn't gotten stuck in the body of Benjen Stark, and this cesspool of a world! Anywhere! Anywhere, but here!
While there were a lot more memories that still needed to be sorted, getting a hold of the basics had given me some clarity. Taking a deep breathe, I clasped the hand on my shoulder, and gave my brother, Brandon a weak smile. "I'm sorry brother. For a moment I felt a bit faint, but I'm fine now." No. No I wasn't. But damn If I'd say so out loud.
Taking the taller boy's proffered hand, I stood up, taking a moment to regain my balance. Brandon, with his larger bulk and broad shoulder towered imposingly as he looked down worriedly at me. A surge of light envy flowed through me and it took me a moment to locate why. Benjen had always been skinnier than his brothers, though from what I could recall I was currently the same height they had been at this age. He, or I or whatever had always been a bit envious of it.
Luckily, my other memories stomped that feeling down. What an odd situation. While old Benjen might not have been entirely satisfied, at the moment I was simply glad to have a body whose ankles had a full range of motion, and that didn't have flares of burning pain shooting down its nerves every 10 or 20 minutes. I was also quite well aware of how useful a more lithe body could be over a more top heavy and broadly built one.
Shaking my head, I refocused on the moment.
All around me there was the sound of people. Talking, cheering, walking, people passed by in droves. We were currently in Harrenhal, outside of an inn. Brandon and I had been sent out to take care of the horses, and we'd been conversing about the upcoming Tourney. At some point, I'd voiced aloud my desire to compete, like both of my brothers were doing.
That was when Brandon bopped me on the head, and my world turned upside down.
"Are you sure you're fine, Benjen? You're looking a bit of it." Blinking, I realized I'd been lost in thought again. Turning to the man, I smiled weakly at him once more.
"I just need some rest, I think. The journey was a long one, and I'm not used to this kind of heat." Which was true enough. This was my first time south of the neck, and it had been getting warmer recently. Many thought that it was the beginning of spring.
I knew better now, though.
Sighing, my brother shook his head. "Alright then, lets get back inside. Father should have gotten us a room by now. But if I see you acting oddly again, I'm telling Father and we'll take you to the nearest Maester."
Nodding my head gratefully, I followed him inside. Luckily for me, it seemed as if Rickard and Ned had both gone off. Father probably wished to speak to the other Lords, and Ned had gone to find Robert. That was fine with me, as it allowed me to slip into our rooms and lay on the bed. Not before fishing out some parchment and quill, however.
Brandon had gone out into the city, after he'd dropped me off here. Lyanna had her own room, across the hall, leaving me all alone.
Perfect.
Thing were still very muddled in my head, but it was getting clearer by the minute. Unsure of how much I'd remember, I grabbed something to write on, and began scrawling out what I knew.
First off, I had died. Then, my memories, or spirit, or soul or what have you, seems to have been thrown into the body of one Benjen Stark. Who I also was, because I had his memories two. Now, I wasn't entirely sure who I was. For now, I decided to go by Benjen, as that was whose body I inhabited. Also, it would be awkward if I accidentally referred to myself differently in front of others, because of how I mentally thought of myself.
Secondly...I simply know my personality has been affected. Inevitable, really, with two sets of completely different memories clashing and colliding. Of course, there was an extra seven years in one set, so I was probably taking a lot from those. Mentally, I dubbed them my Earth Memories. That said, my Westeros Memories were having an impact too. I felt real affection for my family, here, and there was a certain giddiness permeating my being.
Lastly, with my Earth Memories came information on a certain set of books. Thinking about them made me scowl, not because I disliked them, but because I now had to deal with the damn events, dammit!
And hells, what the fuck had even happened, when I died? Would that happen every time? If so, what was the damn point? Would I just eternally shift from one life to another? Part of me considered simply killing myself to find out, but it was small and luckily the larger part of me felt a lot of trepidation at the thought. Thinking about it logically, why risk it? I'll die one day all the same and find out then. No reason to hasten the process.
Still, that brought me back to the current problem. Right now, it was 281 AC and the Tourney of Harrenhall was going on. Something about that itched at the back of my mind, it tok me a moment to remember. It had been a long while since I'd read the books, and there wasn't enough good fanfiction out there for me to remember every single noteworthy event. However, this one was a damn huge one.
Namely, this was where everything went wrong, with Westeros.
"Shit." I cursed, as I paused with my scrawling.
Gods Dammit, Lyanna! It had never been confirmed in the books, of course, but it was clear she was the Knight of the Laughing Tree. It was that knight that set off everything, Aerys' paranoia, Rhaegar's search, the subsequent kidnapping of Lyanna, and the ensuing rebellion. To make matters worse, I remembered meeting the young Howland Reed earlier that day.
So, obviously, I needed to prevent all that.
...Or did I?
Groaning, I palmed my face as I remembered the onset of the Others.
And as I remembered Jon Snow.
Oh well. Never let it be said I don't stick to the agreement of a bet. But dammit, if I'm writing an SI, i'm gonna write a damn good SI. You can know one thin for sure, this won't be your usual Self Insert!
It happened quickly, in a blur. One moment I was in the ring, taking the mother of all hits to the face and the next everything went dark. I could feel my body falling, but even as I hit the floor, a part of me kept on going. Down. Down. Down.
The world twisted in on itself. My course changed, rising up and up, before being violently jerked to the side. Then down again, then back to the side, then up, over and over and over again. Caught in a violent maelstrom, that felt like it was tearing me to pieces. Literally, I felt pieces of myself breaking off and disappearing into the ether. One by one, they went.
Memories, moments in time. Thought, and feelings, bursting into vibrant colors before fading to nothingness. Senses went blank, one after another. First touch. Then smell. Taste was next. It was my hearing that went after that, leaving just my sight.
And oh, what a sight it was! In those moments, where time wasn't time, and space wasn't space, I saw it all. Everything. All of it opened up before me, every possibility filling my vision for one, glorious, infinitely long moment. Planets, stars, galaxies, universes. Realities passed me by, each and every single one fascinating me as they revealed things that I was sure would normally tear my mind asunder.
I can't really sight disappeared, as it felt more like a blink than anything. That blink was what ended everything, as the world snapped back in place. With the world came back my thoughts, and my senses.
As well as a flood of memories and disorientation.
Especially since they weren't all mine.
Oh, there was also pain, a quick bop to my head making me cry out. "Ow!" Rubbing my head, I winced as a raging migraine flared to life, memories reeling through my had, knowledge flowing in with it.
"Don't be a fool, Ben. Like Dad would ever let you take part of the tourney, you're too young!" The rough, yet jovial voice of my...my brother called out.
I paused at that thought. Since when did I have a brother? No, that was a dumb question, I'd always had one. Well, two, but not the point.
But that wasn't right. My only sibling was my annoying little sister.
Immediately, memories of two different people flashed through my mind. Who were those people again? They seemed familiar. Yet, I recognized neither.
Woozily, I stumbled, tripping down to my knee, my hands going out to catch myself. Landing roughly on my kneecap, I couldn't help but stare at my hands. Why was my skin so pale? Sure I'd never been the tannest of fellows, but I'd never been as pale as this. Except, I had always been this pale. Vision blurring, it was like I was looking at two different sets of hands, like I was in two different bodies.
A nauseous feeling filled my throat.
"Woah, Ben!" Hands pulled at my shoulder, keeping me steady as a worried voice called out. "Are you alright, brother?" It washed over me, my eyes unfocused. Who was Ben? I was.
No I wasn't.
I was...
Who am I?
My head pulsed, pain flaring up even worse than before, making me grunt. Blood rushed to my face, as it scrunched in pain, my breathing starting to become heavy. Through it all, I felt oddly disconnected. I couldn't bring my body to move.
Well then. If I couldn't do that, I might as well try and bring myself under control. It was hard, trying to think. Every thought seemed scattered, and frantic, slipping through my grasp the moment I lost focus even the slightest bit. I had to give each thought and memory my full attention.
There seemed to be two sets of conflicting memories, in my head. Trying to order them was difficult, but I was making progress. In one, I'd been 21 years old, a man from the state of Maine. That life had been full of ups and downs, but was mostly normal for the 21st century. There were more memories of that life, than the other, up until what felt like earlier that day when I had been in an unofficial boxing match. Things had gone well, up until that damn problem with my ankles had made me slip and drop my defenses.
The subsequent hit had knocked my head back, and I'd begun to fell. I'd felt something snap, painfully, before it had all gone dark.
My other set of memories...
I was 14 years old, and from the North. Winterfell, to be exact. I'd been given the name Benjen, and I was the third son of Rickard Stark. With two older brothers and one younger sister. Brandon, Eddard, and Lyanna.
Oh dear. More memories came to mind, of the world I lived in. The Seven Kingdom, of Westeros and Essos and all the noble families. History and lore, local beasts and fauna. A series of books, from one world, describing all of these things and events that would take place in the future.
No. No, no, no. Noooooooo.
Please, Gods, tell me it wasn't true? Tell me I hadn't gotten stuck in the body of Benjen Stark, and this cesspool of a world! Anywhere! Anywhere, but here!
While there were a lot more memories that still needed to be sorted, getting a hold of the basics had given me some clarity. Taking a deep breathe, I clasped the hand on my shoulder, and gave my brother, Brandon a weak smile. "I'm sorry brother. For a moment I felt a bit faint, but I'm fine now." No. No I wasn't. But damn If I'd say so out loud.
Taking the taller boy's proffered hand, I stood up, taking a moment to regain my balance. Brandon, with his larger bulk and broad shoulder towered imposingly as he looked down worriedly at me. A surge of light envy flowed through me and it took me a moment to locate why. Benjen had always been skinnier than his brothers, though from what I could recall I was currently the same height they had been at this age. He, or I or whatever had always been a bit envious of it.
Luckily, my other memories stomped that feeling down. What an odd situation. While old Benjen might not have been entirely satisfied, at the moment I was simply glad to have a body whose ankles had a full range of motion, and that didn't have flares of burning pain shooting down its nerves every 10 or 20 minutes. I was also quite well aware of how useful a more lithe body could be over a more top heavy and broadly built one.
Shaking my head, I refocused on the moment.
All around me there was the sound of people. Talking, cheering, walking, people passed by in droves. We were currently in Harrenhal, outside of an inn. Brandon and I had been sent out to take care of the horses, and we'd been conversing about the upcoming Tourney. At some point, I'd voiced aloud my desire to compete, like both of my brothers were doing.
That was when Brandon bopped me on the head, and my world turned upside down.
"Are you sure you're fine, Benjen? You're looking a bit of it." Blinking, I realized I'd been lost in thought again. Turning to the man, I smiled weakly at him once more.
"I just need some rest, I think. The journey was a long one, and I'm not used to this kind of heat." Which was true enough. This was my first time south of the neck, and it had been getting warmer recently. Many thought that it was the beginning of spring.
I knew better now, though.
Sighing, my brother shook his head. "Alright then, lets get back inside. Father should have gotten us a room by now. But if I see you acting oddly again, I'm telling Father and we'll take you to the nearest Maester."
Nodding my head gratefully, I followed him inside. Luckily for me, it seemed as if Rickard and Ned had both gone off. Father probably wished to speak to the other Lords, and Ned had gone to find Robert. That was fine with me, as it allowed me to slip into our rooms and lay on the bed. Not before fishing out some parchment and quill, however.
Brandon had gone out into the city, after he'd dropped me off here. Lyanna had her own room, across the hall, leaving me all alone.
Perfect.
Thing were still very muddled in my head, but it was getting clearer by the minute. Unsure of how much I'd remember, I grabbed something to write on, and began scrawling out what I knew.
First off, I had died. Then, my memories, or spirit, or soul or what have you, seems to have been thrown into the body of one Benjen Stark. Who I also was, because I had his memories two. Now, I wasn't entirely sure who I was. For now, I decided to go by Benjen, as that was whose body I inhabited. Also, it would be awkward if I accidentally referred to myself differently in front of others, because of how I mentally thought of myself.
Secondly...I simply know my personality has been affected. Inevitable, really, with two sets of completely different memories clashing and colliding. Of course, there was an extra seven years in one set, so I was probably taking a lot from those. Mentally, I dubbed them my Earth Memories. That said, my Westeros Memories were having an impact too. I felt real affection for my family, here, and there was a certain giddiness permeating my being.
Lastly, with my Earth Memories came information on a certain set of books. Thinking about them made me scowl, not because I disliked them, but because I now had to deal with the damn events, dammit!
And hells, what the fuck had even happened, when I died? Would that happen every time? If so, what was the damn point? Would I just eternally shift from one life to another? Part of me considered simply killing myself to find out, but it was small and luckily the larger part of me felt a lot of trepidation at the thought. Thinking about it logically, why risk it? I'll die one day all the same and find out then. No reason to hasten the process.
Still, that brought me back to the current problem. Right now, it was 281 AC and the Tourney of Harrenhall was going on. Something about that itched at the back of my mind, it tok me a moment to remember. It had been a long while since I'd read the books, and there wasn't enough good fanfiction out there for me to remember every single noteworthy event. However, this one was a damn huge one.
Namely, this was where everything went wrong, with Westeros.
"Shit." I cursed, as I paused with my scrawling.
Gods Dammit, Lyanna! It had never been confirmed in the books, of course, but it was clear she was the Knight of the Laughing Tree. It was that knight that set off everything, Aerys' paranoia, Rhaegar's search, the subsequent kidnapping of Lyanna, and the ensuing rebellion. To make matters worse, I remembered meeting the young Howland Reed earlier that day.
So, obviously, I needed to prevent all that.
...Or did I?
Groaning, I palmed my face as I remembered the onset of the Others.
And as I remembered Jon Snow.
Probellum
EX Ranked Luck
Never made much, if any, sense to me for Rickard to send all of his children down to the Tourney without him, so here, he is.
- Location
- Canada
It's that whole there must always be a Stark in Winterfell shtick.
Dark Ness
Rises Where Silence Dies
- Location
- The Primordial Soup
Isn't it, though? Winter is quite a long time off.
Probellum
EX Ranked Luck
281 is the Year of False Spring. Basically, the temperature started to warm up, making people think the last Winter was over, but it really it wasn't. Thus, Spring has yet to start.
Meh, I've never taken it all that literally. You can't tell me there hasn't been at least a single instance in their long and storied history where the whole family hasn't been gone for a few weeks.
If it makes you feel better, Lyarra, his wife, is still in winterfell.
- Location
- Canada
Lyyra died giving birth to Benjen, I'll just ignore the whole Stark in Winterfell thing then much easier.
- Location
- Canada
My bad that was fanon, I read so much fanfiction that it started to bleed into canon in my head.
End of Innocence
Probellum
EX Ranked Luck
I felt like hitting my head against a wall.
How the hell had the impending apocalypse slipped my mind? In just a couple of decades, the Others would be coming. With ice and cold, and the dead risen anew, they'd sweep down from The North and seek to destroy The Wall and bring about another Long Night.
And, as it had been hammered into our heads over and again, the only one who could prevent it was Azor Ahai, or the Prince Who Was Promised, or The Last Hero, or whatever. If there was one thing I knew about Planetos, it was that Prophecy was a fucking thing, and while it hadn't been confirmed...
Jon Snow was a really strong candidate for being the subject of the Prophecy. Sure, he'd died at the end of the last book, but there were plenty of ways for him to come back. That whole Waking Dragons From Stone theory had always seemed likely to me.
The thing was, of course, that Jon Snow may or may not have been the child of Rhaegar and Lyanna. It was so glaringly obvious that the only real doubt anyone had was from how obvious it was. If Jon was their child, which was extremely likely, and also The Prince Who Was Promised, did I want to meddle with things? Hell, could I even meddle with things? As a prophecy, his birth would basically have been decreed by fate.
Not to mention all of this was without going into whether or not Lyanna had been willing to go with Rhaegar. If she had, I had to wonder what in the hell she'd been thinking, and if she hadn't been complicit...the thought of it filled me with rage. That alone nearly sealed my decision then and there, but I struggled to regain a hold of myself. Truly, I could understand Brandon and Ned's reaction and anger, over the event.
At the same time, even if she had been against getting together with Rhaegar, if Jon was the Prince Who Was Promised, was her suffering worth it? Gritting my teeth, I couldn't help but think about how it always came back to that same dilemma. Damn one, to save a thousand.
It was always that same fucking problem.
Dammit. Could I do it? Could I sacrifice my sister, for the greater good? When it was someone you barely knew, a stranger picked from a crows, it was...not easy, exactly, but easier. But when it was someone you did know, someone close, that you cared about, things became a whole lot harder.
People decry those who actually make the choice to sacrifice the one. You see it all the time in movies, television and books. The uncompromising hero, who always finds the third way.
I scoffed.
This wasn't that kind of story. It was reality, and even if it had been written about in one world, those books had still been dark and bleak. Westeros was a hard place, and though I'd understood that before, with additional memories of a softer life, I could understand it just the littlest bit better. Here it was kill or be killed, with backstabbing around every corner.
To be honest...I don't know if I'm prepared for it. Rickard had taken me to see an execution, to see justice meted out by our own hands and learn what such a thing means. And I'd seen others die, in what few other tourneys I had attended. Usually with Brandon, or Ned. But for all that I'd seen it, and for all that I had fought in both lives, I'd never caused someones death.
Part of me recoiled from the thought of it, but I was realistic enough to know it was inevitable.
If I wanted to survive in this world, I'd need to harden my heart. I would need to be able to make the necessary sacrifices, if it comes down to that.
Sighing, I knew I couldn't come to a decision on the Lyanna thing right now. But...I would be.
My eyes drifted to the side, where my belongings sat in a trunk. I'd packed a blade, just a simple longsword, though it was well made. There was some armor in there, as well.
Harrenhall was a big place, with lots of people. Lots of people always meant there were a few bad seeds, and this was Westeros. There would definitely be more than a few, All I'd have to do is go looking for them. For a long moment, I just sat there, contemplating that course of action. Did I really want to go through with it? The answer to that was simple.
No, I didn't.
But I had to.
Face setting into a grim expression, I rose from the bed. Reaching into the trunk, I pulled out my leathers, and my blade, as well as a cloak. The armor, while tempting, would work against me for what I had in mind. Pulling on the leathers, and sheathing the blade at my side, the last bit I put on was the cloak. It felt heavy in my hands, and I knew there'd be no turning back. If father learned of what I planned to do he'd be furious, and Ned would be disappointed. Brandon would just laugh it off and Lyanna wouldn't care.
Breathing in deeply, I steeled my resolve and threw it over my shoulders. Their thoughts didn't matter. This was necessary, no matter how much i disliked it.
Dressed and prepared as I could be, I turned and walked out from the room, and out of the inn altogether.
If I had to harden my heart, that's exactly what I would do.
Honestly, it didn't take nearly as long as I thought. Or rather, as long as I hoped it would.
Benjen did not know how to sneak around, or blend in. Truthfully, it wasn't something I'd ever practiced much either, but a lifetime of watching TV and reading books, you picked up a few things. Well, that and the fact my dad from my former life had something of a storied history and was fond of dropping various tips on how to get away with crimes.
Like the time he'd told me the best time of day to pick a lock was actually midday, when everyone was at work. Or that if you were gonna steal a car, jack them from factory before they were processed, so they were harder to track. Things like that.
Anyway, everyone knew that if you were trying to avoid notice, the best way to go about it is to act like you belong there. That was in the 21st century, however, where most people wore clothes of the same quality, unless they were extremely poor or some kind of rich fashionista or something. I'd have to go a bit further, to blend in.
To that end, I stopped by a pub real quick, and ordered a thing of ale. This being Westeros, no one said a damn thing about my age, which was just fine with me. I wasn't here to drink, anyway. The moment I had my ale, I slipped outside with the tankard and behind the building. Taking off my cloak, I held it out and threw the ale right on there, staining it. Then I rolled it up and rubbed it into the ground, caking it with mud and dirt. Lastly, I grabbed parts of the fine cloth, and began pulling at it, creating tears and holes here and there. By the time I was done, it looked less like a noble's fine cloak, and more like a tattered rag.
Perfect.
After that, I swung the cloak around my shoulders once more and set off into the seedier parts of Harrenhall. Much smaller than I imagined it would be in a place like, say, King's Landing, it still wasn't a pretty sight. Thin and dirty people sat against the walls of ramshackle buildings, their eyes dead and hollow...it was depressing. There was an urge to hand out some money, nothing that would really hamper me, but would help these downtrodden folk.
I stomped down hard on that urge. Doing so would do the exact thing I wanted to avoid. Draw attention to myself.
So it was that my feet carried me silently through the filth filled streets of the Harrenhall slums. Putting on just the slightest of stumbles to my every step, I thought I pulled off the wasted drunkard fairly well. Certainly, no one seemed to call me out.
As I passed by the houses and people, I focused more on my hearing, rather than my eyes. Westeros may be filled with horrible people, but everyone liked to pretend that murder, rape and theft weren't all that common. Which was why most would try and keep their illicit activities out of sight, and to the shadows. It was sad, but unless someone pissed of someone important, if you put even the slightest effort in concealing your wrong doings, guards and the like were wont to simply ignore it.
And that's if the guards weren't in on it.
In the end, I wandered the streets for about an hour, before I heard it. Choked, and stifled, I'd almost missed it, but once I took notice, it was hard to ignore it. No that the three bastards sitting on the ground in front of the nearby pub weren't making a valiant effort. Scowling, I walked forward, taking cared to keep my blade hidden behind my cloak. I could feel the eyes of the three people sitting follow me as I walked to the edge of the alley, dark and shadowed.
There, the sounds were clear. Hiccuping sobs, trying to keep quiet, and low grunts of a male voice. Gritting my teeth I entered the alley, making it tot he corner of the building before an arm darted out, holding a knife to my throat. Pausing, I looked to the side, to see a ruddy faced man, with a crooked nose and stained teeth smiling down at me.
"Now wha' da we have here? An adventurous little brat lookin' ta play hero? Or maybe you're here ta play too?" In the shadows of the back of the pub, I could see two moving figures, on struggling, as the other pinned them down, rocking his hips back and forth.
Looking back to the man holding the knife to my throat, my eyes trailed his hand and arm. The hold was a bit awkward, and tight on the grip, exactly how you didn't want to hold a blade. On his part, the man himself was thin, probably emaciated. From the stench of his breath, he was drunk, too.
"Ooh, I know! How 'bout ya fork over all yer gold, and I'll let ya go free, eh?" To enunciate his point, his pressed the knife closer.
I was thoroughly unimpressed. At least the last time I'd been stabbed, the guy knew how to hold a knife. This guy? This guy was a chump.
Sighing, I made it seem as if I was going for my coin purse, moving my arm slowly...only to suddenly jerk my elbow up into his forearm, throwing his arm away and opening up his guard. Using the opening, I grabbed the back of his neck with one hand, his belt with the other, and, as I put my foot behind his own, I heaved with all my might and flipped him onto his back. This body may be young, but it was in shape and flipped someone was more about momentum and leverage.
The thud of his body hitting the ground and his subsequent groans drew the attention of the other thug in the alley, who paused in his activities to turn around. "Huh?"
Taking a second to stomp on the knife-wielders hand and kick away the knife, I didn't give the rapist a second more as I drew my blade from my sheathe and stuck him in the gut, ramming the blade up to the hilt. He gurgled, for a second, blood pooling from his mouth, before tarting to slump over onto the ground. With a few tugs, I pulled the blade from his stomach and turned to the man still lying on on the ground.
Eyes wide, he frantically held his hands up, pleading. "Please no, wait-!" And then he said no more as I lopped off his head. My own eyes tracked it, as it fell from his neck and onto the ground, tumbling through the alley.
I shuddered, a sick feeling working its way up my throat. Choking it down, I closed my eyes hard, blinking them as I turned to the woman who was huddled in the corner. She didn't look more than 18, and her clothes were torn and shredded and she glanced fearfully up at me. Shuddering once more, I threw my cloak at her, as it was better than nothing. Hell, if it ever got washed, the cloth itself may be worth something.
Turning around, I walked steadfastly out of the alley, ignoring the stares as I disappeared into the slums. When I was near the edge, and no one was around, I slumped against a nearby wooden wall, and vomited. In my mind's eye, the look of shock and frantic denial on their faces stared at me accusingly, and though I mentally knew they deserved it...
My shoulders began to shake, and I began dryheaving anew.
Somehow, I doubted I'd get much sleep tonight.
How the hell had the impending apocalypse slipped my mind? In just a couple of decades, the Others would be coming. With ice and cold, and the dead risen anew, they'd sweep down from The North and seek to destroy The Wall and bring about another Long Night.
And, as it had been hammered into our heads over and again, the only one who could prevent it was Azor Ahai, or the Prince Who Was Promised, or The Last Hero, or whatever. If there was one thing I knew about Planetos, it was that Prophecy was a fucking thing, and while it hadn't been confirmed...
Jon Snow was a really strong candidate for being the subject of the Prophecy. Sure, he'd died at the end of the last book, but there were plenty of ways for him to come back. That whole Waking Dragons From Stone theory had always seemed likely to me.
The thing was, of course, that Jon Snow may or may not have been the child of Rhaegar and Lyanna. It was so glaringly obvious that the only real doubt anyone had was from how obvious it was. If Jon was their child, which was extremely likely, and also The Prince Who Was Promised, did I want to meddle with things? Hell, could I even meddle with things? As a prophecy, his birth would basically have been decreed by fate.
Not to mention all of this was without going into whether or not Lyanna had been willing to go with Rhaegar. If she had, I had to wonder what in the hell she'd been thinking, and if she hadn't been complicit...the thought of it filled me with rage. That alone nearly sealed my decision then and there, but I struggled to regain a hold of myself. Truly, I could understand Brandon and Ned's reaction and anger, over the event.
At the same time, even if she had been against getting together with Rhaegar, if Jon was the Prince Who Was Promised, was her suffering worth it? Gritting my teeth, I couldn't help but think about how it always came back to that same dilemma. Damn one, to save a thousand.
It was always that same fucking problem.
Dammit. Could I do it? Could I sacrifice my sister, for the greater good? When it was someone you barely knew, a stranger picked from a crows, it was...not easy, exactly, but easier. But when it was someone you did know, someone close, that you cared about, things became a whole lot harder.
People decry those who actually make the choice to sacrifice the one. You see it all the time in movies, television and books. The uncompromising hero, who always finds the third way.
I scoffed.
This wasn't that kind of story. It was reality, and even if it had been written about in one world, those books had still been dark and bleak. Westeros was a hard place, and though I'd understood that before, with additional memories of a softer life, I could understand it just the littlest bit better. Here it was kill or be killed, with backstabbing around every corner.
To be honest...I don't know if I'm prepared for it. Rickard had taken me to see an execution, to see justice meted out by our own hands and learn what such a thing means. And I'd seen others die, in what few other tourneys I had attended. Usually with Brandon, or Ned. But for all that I'd seen it, and for all that I had fought in both lives, I'd never caused someones death.
Part of me recoiled from the thought of it, but I was realistic enough to know it was inevitable.
If I wanted to survive in this world, I'd need to harden my heart. I would need to be able to make the necessary sacrifices, if it comes down to that.
Sighing, I knew I couldn't come to a decision on the Lyanna thing right now. But...I would be.
My eyes drifted to the side, where my belongings sat in a trunk. I'd packed a blade, just a simple longsword, though it was well made. There was some armor in there, as well.
Harrenhall was a big place, with lots of people. Lots of people always meant there were a few bad seeds, and this was Westeros. There would definitely be more than a few, All I'd have to do is go looking for them. For a long moment, I just sat there, contemplating that course of action. Did I really want to go through with it? The answer to that was simple.
No, I didn't.
But I had to.
Face setting into a grim expression, I rose from the bed. Reaching into the trunk, I pulled out my leathers, and my blade, as well as a cloak. The armor, while tempting, would work against me for what I had in mind. Pulling on the leathers, and sheathing the blade at my side, the last bit I put on was the cloak. It felt heavy in my hands, and I knew there'd be no turning back. If father learned of what I planned to do he'd be furious, and Ned would be disappointed. Brandon would just laugh it off and Lyanna wouldn't care.
Breathing in deeply, I steeled my resolve and threw it over my shoulders. Their thoughts didn't matter. This was necessary, no matter how much i disliked it.
Dressed and prepared as I could be, I turned and walked out from the room, and out of the inn altogether.
If I had to harden my heart, that's exactly what I would do.
Honestly, it didn't take nearly as long as I thought. Or rather, as long as I hoped it would.
Benjen did not know how to sneak around, or blend in. Truthfully, it wasn't something I'd ever practiced much either, but a lifetime of watching TV and reading books, you picked up a few things. Well, that and the fact my dad from my former life had something of a storied history and was fond of dropping various tips on how to get away with crimes.
Like the time he'd told me the best time of day to pick a lock was actually midday, when everyone was at work. Or that if you were gonna steal a car, jack them from factory before they were processed, so they were harder to track. Things like that.
Anyway, everyone knew that if you were trying to avoid notice, the best way to go about it is to act like you belong there. That was in the 21st century, however, where most people wore clothes of the same quality, unless they were extremely poor or some kind of rich fashionista or something. I'd have to go a bit further, to blend in.
To that end, I stopped by a pub real quick, and ordered a thing of ale. This being Westeros, no one said a damn thing about my age, which was just fine with me. I wasn't here to drink, anyway. The moment I had my ale, I slipped outside with the tankard and behind the building. Taking off my cloak, I held it out and threw the ale right on there, staining it. Then I rolled it up and rubbed it into the ground, caking it with mud and dirt. Lastly, I grabbed parts of the fine cloth, and began pulling at it, creating tears and holes here and there. By the time I was done, it looked less like a noble's fine cloak, and more like a tattered rag.
Perfect.
After that, I swung the cloak around my shoulders once more and set off into the seedier parts of Harrenhall. Much smaller than I imagined it would be in a place like, say, King's Landing, it still wasn't a pretty sight. Thin and dirty people sat against the walls of ramshackle buildings, their eyes dead and hollow...it was depressing. There was an urge to hand out some money, nothing that would really hamper me, but would help these downtrodden folk.
I stomped down hard on that urge. Doing so would do the exact thing I wanted to avoid. Draw attention to myself.
So it was that my feet carried me silently through the filth filled streets of the Harrenhall slums. Putting on just the slightest of stumbles to my every step, I thought I pulled off the wasted drunkard fairly well. Certainly, no one seemed to call me out.
As I passed by the houses and people, I focused more on my hearing, rather than my eyes. Westeros may be filled with horrible people, but everyone liked to pretend that murder, rape and theft weren't all that common. Which was why most would try and keep their illicit activities out of sight, and to the shadows. It was sad, but unless someone pissed of someone important, if you put even the slightest effort in concealing your wrong doings, guards and the like were wont to simply ignore it.
And that's if the guards weren't in on it.
In the end, I wandered the streets for about an hour, before I heard it. Choked, and stifled, I'd almost missed it, but once I took notice, it was hard to ignore it. No that the three bastards sitting on the ground in front of the nearby pub weren't making a valiant effort. Scowling, I walked forward, taking cared to keep my blade hidden behind my cloak. I could feel the eyes of the three people sitting follow me as I walked to the edge of the alley, dark and shadowed.
There, the sounds were clear. Hiccuping sobs, trying to keep quiet, and low grunts of a male voice. Gritting my teeth I entered the alley, making it tot he corner of the building before an arm darted out, holding a knife to my throat. Pausing, I looked to the side, to see a ruddy faced man, with a crooked nose and stained teeth smiling down at me.
"Now wha' da we have here? An adventurous little brat lookin' ta play hero? Or maybe you're here ta play too?" In the shadows of the back of the pub, I could see two moving figures, on struggling, as the other pinned them down, rocking his hips back and forth.
Looking back to the man holding the knife to my throat, my eyes trailed his hand and arm. The hold was a bit awkward, and tight on the grip, exactly how you didn't want to hold a blade. On his part, the man himself was thin, probably emaciated. From the stench of his breath, he was drunk, too.
"Ooh, I know! How 'bout ya fork over all yer gold, and I'll let ya go free, eh?" To enunciate his point, his pressed the knife closer.
I was thoroughly unimpressed. At least the last time I'd been stabbed, the guy knew how to hold a knife. This guy? This guy was a chump.
Sighing, I made it seem as if I was going for my coin purse, moving my arm slowly...only to suddenly jerk my elbow up into his forearm, throwing his arm away and opening up his guard. Using the opening, I grabbed the back of his neck with one hand, his belt with the other, and, as I put my foot behind his own, I heaved with all my might and flipped him onto his back. This body may be young, but it was in shape and flipped someone was more about momentum and leverage.
The thud of his body hitting the ground and his subsequent groans drew the attention of the other thug in the alley, who paused in his activities to turn around. "Huh?"
Taking a second to stomp on the knife-wielders hand and kick away the knife, I didn't give the rapist a second more as I drew my blade from my sheathe and stuck him in the gut, ramming the blade up to the hilt. He gurgled, for a second, blood pooling from his mouth, before tarting to slump over onto the ground. With a few tugs, I pulled the blade from his stomach and turned to the man still lying on on the ground.
Eyes wide, he frantically held his hands up, pleading. "Please no, wait-!" And then he said no more as I lopped off his head. My own eyes tracked it, as it fell from his neck and onto the ground, tumbling through the alley.
I shuddered, a sick feeling working its way up my throat. Choking it down, I closed my eyes hard, blinking them as I turned to the woman who was huddled in the corner. She didn't look more than 18, and her clothes were torn and shredded and she glanced fearfully up at me. Shuddering once more, I threw my cloak at her, as it was better than nothing. Hell, if it ever got washed, the cloth itself may be worth something.
Turning around, I walked steadfastly out of the alley, ignoring the stares as I disappeared into the slums. When I was near the edge, and no one was around, I slumped against a nearby wooden wall, and vomited. In my mind's eye, the look of shock and frantic denial on their faces stared at me accusingly, and though I mentally knew they deserved it...
My shoulders began to shake, and I began dryheaving anew.
Somehow, I doubted I'd get much sleep tonight.
- Location
- Oklahoma
It seems to be an attempt to become "A Hard Man Who Can Do Hard Things". As someone who is a) a combination of an 'unblooded' young man and a 21st century person with modern morals and all that entails, and b) someone who knows exactly how crapsack Westeros can get he's trying to mentally make himself capable of going toe to toe with the worst he can think of. At least that's how I read it.
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I get that but how is randomly murdering 3 men rapping a woman a hard decision. Murdering say littlefinger now or Ramsay as a baby is a hard decision. Murder is easy any idiot can do it.
Probellum
EX Ranked Luck
...I...I don't....wha?
Murder is *never* easy. Or rather, it should never be. Not by our modern, 21st Century Standards. Also, it's been scientifically fucking proven that the human brain actively keeps us from thinking about killing our fellow man. Sure, people do it, but there's usually an underlying reason and motivation.
They have to actually train cops and soldiers and desensitize them so that they won't hesitate in the field. Your random, average person shooting a gun at another person will actually miss most shots, because their brain is subconsciously telling them not to do it. People who don't have that little voice telling them not to do it? We call them Psychopaths, or Sociopaths.
I am sorry but murder or killing someone is very easy, humans literally due it around the world all the time.
Also using 21st standards as a excuse to have Ben need to kill someone to be able to make hard decisions is not really a good excuse. People in the 21st century are literally killing each other around the world all the time. Here is a good article on how it feels to kill someone in Modern times in the US. What Does It Feel Like to Kill Someone? | VICE | United States
While there is hesitation to kill in people, when it comes down to it most people will kill to stay alive.
What I am getting at is the scene of murdering the rapist is not really a hard decision. They are peasents raping a woman. Ben is the son of a lord paramount. Literally there is nothing the families of the rapist can do to Ben. They have no recourse since Ben is a noble, stopping a heinous crime, and to reiterate a noble who's word is better than some filthy peasants. The only risk to Ben was that the peasents might get lucky. A hard decision would be to suffocate baby Ramsey. Is it wrong to murder a child that may grow up to be a monster? Murdeing some peasents that are raping a woman is not a hard decision. The scene is essentialy trying to desensitize the SI to killing people, not really a hard decision.
But a well written story so far, hope you keep at it.
Probellum
EX Ranked Luck
Are...are you serious? I vehemently disagree here. For a normal, average person, killing someone is not an easy decision. In that situation, Benjen could just as easily have knocked them out and called the guards.
The kind of killing and murder going on around in the world today is a hell of a lot more in depth and complex than you make it sound. Most of it has a lot of history too it, feuds going back centuries, with people raised to view their enemies as nothing more than animals. They dehumanize the enemy, and thus make it easier. It's essentially brainwashing from an early age. It's also usually in places where war, poverty, famine and disease are prevalent, leading to desperate people.
Desperate people do desperate things.
I'm lucky. I live in America, which doesn't have to deal with a lot of that. Furthermore, i live in a fairly rural state, where there isn't much going on. I've been raised on the idea that human life is precious, that no one deserves the right to judge that another must die, all by themselves. I'll be honest and admit I'm not the best of people, I've done a few things I'm not proud of, but never anything that bad.
I've fought, I've stolen, I've lied and I've cheated. But the idea of killing someone, while clear of mind and when it isn't needed, is abhorrent.
And ALL of that has been downloaded into 14 year old Benjen's head. Regular, canon Benjen probably could have killed without hesitation and only felt a slight bit of discomfort after. But this isn't regular Benjen. I have a full 7 years on him, the majority of our combined memories are mine. This I have had the larger influence on our new personality.
So this was all about making sure I could do it. That I wouldn't hesitate when I needed it.
Seriously, man. PTSD is a goddamn thing. If you really think killing is that easy, go find the nearest soldier and ask them what the fuck its like to kill someone. See how they react. Then take note of their personality, and the kind of person they are.
Well, he's a noble. Killing peasants is kind of how nobles spent their time before card and dice games came into vogue. And since this is Westeros, backgammon doesn't exist. I mean, I'm pretty sure. Maybe there's a similar game, but I'm not knowledgeable enough regarding the setting to say. All these scheming bastards could have been diverted by a healthy game of poker, instead of drenching the Seven Kingdoms in blood over and over again playing a game of thrones. Or Mahjong. Obviously, what OP needs to do is bring about an Akagi/Kaiji/The Legend of Koizumi-esque showdown between Varys, Baelish, a Targ, and a Lannister or two. If he invents Uno, he might be able to divert the coming white-walkalypse without killing any more barely-armed peasants. But where'd the fun be in that?
But really, life is cheap in Westeros, and the only moral issues other nobles would worry about might be his failure to offer them the opportunity to join the Night Watch, and him acting outside his jurisdiction (not his city) - and that's if the ruling lord decides to use his actions to hurt the Starks politically, instead of sending Probellum-Ben (ProBen?) a gift basket as thanks for cleaning up his shitty city (in a kind of confused way, because they're just smallfolk, but thnx 4 hlping neway m8 gg but y tho?).
This is a good soundbite - I'll have to try to remember it. Banality of Evil: the negative correlation between intelligence/education and incidence of violent crime (for both victims and perpetrators). Lennie might be sad he accidentally a fellow peasant, but a lot of individuals might lack his compassionate innate understanding of the worth of human life, having grown up at the bottom of the figurative shit-heap, atop which Westeros' nobility squats.
JoshieWoshie
Mister Doge
Hmm, looks like I have a new ASOIAF SI to follow.
On the topic of Murder and the Taking of lives:
On Killing - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
This would be an interesting read for anyone else interested in the topic.
On the topic of Murder and the Taking of lives:
On Killing - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
This would be an interesting read for anyone else interested in the topic.
