AN.: Hello everyone! This is my first actual story instead of an ill-conceived quest, so I'd...
The Path to Winter (GoT/Worm Multicross)
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AN.: Hello everyone! This is my first actual story instead of an ill-conceived quest, so I'd very much like some feedback to help me improve. While the outcome might be obvious, I hope I can make the journey there interesting enough for the audience to stick around. I freely admit to not having a complete in-depth knowledge of GoT, so if anyone would like to Beta, I'd really appreciate it. I do have several ideas how to continue the story, but I cut it off where I did because I really don't know if it's good or interesting enough to invest enough time to ensure quality writing.
Robb I
With strange calm I rose from kneeling by the corpse of my wife, staring at my red, red hands, as red as the lion of the Reynes, and with monumental effort I tore my gaze away to look around the chaos.
Tables were turned over, men – Stark men – taking refuge behind them if they could, but it was all but pointless; Frey crossbowmen were taking shots from the upper balconies, while the sellswords herded them out into the open, slaughtering them as if they were nothing but pigs in a crowded pen. Some, like the Smalljon were fighting fiercely despite resembling a porcupine more than the fearless warrior I knew him to be, yet others were laying in their own pools of blood, lifeless eyes staring into nothing, a mockery of the passion they held in life.
''Robb!''
The shout penetrated through the cacophony in the great hall, and I turned my head in it's direction slowly, as if I was underwater, and laid my eyes on the distressed face of my mother, standing in front of the left end of the high table. I wanted to shout at her, tell her to find cover, but my throat felt as if it was frozen solid, only a pathetic breath of air escaping my lips.
Of course, now that I was looking in her direction, I couldn't help but turn my gaze further right, towards the center of the table, and soon I beheld the "Late" Walder Frey, Lord of the Twins and my supposed ally against the Lannisters.
He is smiling – I noted with detached interest – and sipping from his cup, as if this was nothing but a mere mummer's farce or a knightly joust. He was looking at me, the lead actor of this macabre play, a cruel smile twisting his lips, with a glint in his eyes that sent chills down my spine even after all I've been through.
In that moment I understood Walder Frey in a way I haven't before; he cared nothing for the ideals of honor, of justice and any kindness he might have possessed in his heart once has long withered away along with his body. There would be no point in trying to strike a bargain for the life of my men or my mother – perhaps if I was anyone else but the grandson of Hoster Tully, I might have succeeded in convincing him, but I wasn't, and so I and everyone else would pay in blood for my slight of him.
Seeing me looking at him, his lips stretched even wider, and he raised his cup high in the air towards me.
''To the King in the North! May his life be as long as his reign, and blessed with just as many children!"
His reedy voice seemed to echo through the great hall without trouble, and his cackling sounded to me like someone started hewing the bark off a tree. It's clear he believes he told some great jape at my expense. Walder Frey, the Lord of Jesters – the world has truly gone mad.
My incredulous thoughts were reflected on the face of my mother, whom I could still see from the corner of my eyes. Anger, fear, disbelief and a myriad emotions I couldn't name warred for dominance on her face, as plain to see as if they were writings in a book.
Despite her inner turmoil, her voice was steady and confident, with only the barest edge of hysteria tinting it that none would notice who didn't know her well.
''Lord Frey, please, it's not yet too late to cease this madness. I'm certain we can put this... this folly- ''
Oh, mother, you never had much talent for diplomacy, did you?
My bleak thoughts proved true when Lord Walder's snickering abruptly cut off, and he whipped his head to stare at my mother, his surprised look quickly morphing into one of fury so great it seemed to choke the words in mother's throat.
''You! Even now you take that tone with me, you wench?!" he rose out of his chair, thumping on the table with his hands, the goblet he was drinking from rolling onto the stone floor, forgotten. ''You are truly the spawn of your damned father, may he rot in a shallow grave! I'm going to show you folly, you arrogant cunt.''
He shifted his gaze, looking past my mother, and gave a curt nod, a nasty smile forming on his face once again, but my attention was no longer on him – instead, I looked towards my mother, and with muted horror noticed someone – isn't that one of Walder's many sons? – sneaking up behind her.
I wanted to shout a warning, to scream in denial, to run up to her before it was too late, but I remained rooted to my spot, staring, my mouth moving with nary a sound escaping, as if I was nothing but a useless half-wit; just as I have done for the past several minutes – how could everything go wrong in such little time? Not long ago I was talking with Jeyne, and now my mother will join her and the rest of our family in death.
Everything seemed to slow down, and all noise was drowned out by the blood rushing in my ears, my heart beating a staccato rhythm in my chest. My entire world narrowed until only my mother and the man behind her were in it; I could see everything happening in slow motion, as if the Old Gods themselves decreed that this moment was to last forever.
The man, grabbing my mother with one hand and pulling her to his chest, a dagger in his other, being raised to her throat. My mother, looking at me, her eyes filled with shock, desperation, anger, regret. The flash of steel, a line of red, gurgling, choking, gasping, red everywhere, soaking her dress, spilling on the ground, the last of my family deaddeadea-
Destination. Agreement.
Two vast beings with bodies made of the stars themselves danced and twisted in an endless expanse of void, separating and reuniting, their very essences exposed to me even though I could scarcely comprehend what I was seeing.
Trajectory. Agreement.
A single point of light, an insignificant piece of these titanic gods yet brighter and larger than the sun itself detached from one of them and headed towards me, at a speed that defied everything I knew, growing until it completely filled my vision and-
I blinked rapidly, the strange vision fading yet I could recall every detail of it with crystal clarity. What was that? Some vision of the Old Gods? Or perhaps, I mused, I just went insane with the knowledge of my impending demise.
After all, how could I possibly survive this treachery, with half my men dead or dying?
4,376 steps.
My shock at receiving an answer was overshadowed by the queer feeling of my body moving without my consent; my right hand lashed out, grabbing Lord Bolton's arm - what was he doing- oh - and I flexed my fingers in a strange pattern, forcing him to drop the dagger he was wielding, which I grabbed out of the air with my left hand.
The eldritch force controlling my body didn't waste a second, using my grip on Bolton's arm to pull him towards me at an angle while twisting my body aside, a bewildering action that made sense when a crossbow bolt that would have no doubt hit me in the shoulder pierced his throat instead.
I didn't get to enjoy the look of absolute shock on his face too long, for I was already releasing my hold of him, letting him collapse on the floor in a bloody heap and turning fully towards the high table – in time to see Walder Frey slumping back in his seat, trying to stem the blood flowing from his neck, his eyes wide with panic, the dagger that was in my hand seconds ago still vibrating slightly, stuck in the back of his throne.
Every combatant seemed to pause for a second, and complete silence descended on the hall, except for the death throes of the soon to be very aptly titled Late Walder Frey.
A single word, a thought, a concept dominated my thoughts.
What.
The Path to Winter
Robb I
With strange calm I rose from kneeling by the corpse of my wife, staring at my red, red hands, as red as the lion of the Reynes, and with monumental effort I tore my gaze away to look around the chaos.
Tables were turned over, men – Stark men – taking refuge behind them if they could, but it was all but pointless; Frey crossbowmen were taking shots from the upper balconies, while the sellswords herded them out into the open, slaughtering them as if they were nothing but pigs in a crowded pen. Some, like the Smalljon were fighting fiercely despite resembling a porcupine more than the fearless warrior I knew him to be, yet others were laying in their own pools of blood, lifeless eyes staring into nothing, a mockery of the passion they held in life.
''Robb!''
The shout penetrated through the cacophony in the great hall, and I turned my head in it's direction slowly, as if I was underwater, and laid my eyes on the distressed face of my mother, standing in front of the left end of the high table. I wanted to shout at her, tell her to find cover, but my throat felt as if it was frozen solid, only a pathetic breath of air escaping my lips.
Of course, now that I was looking in her direction, I couldn't help but turn my gaze further right, towards the center of the table, and soon I beheld the "Late" Walder Frey, Lord of the Twins and my supposed ally against the Lannisters.
He is smiling – I noted with detached interest – and sipping from his cup, as if this was nothing but a mere mummer's farce or a knightly joust. He was looking at me, the lead actor of this macabre play, a cruel smile twisting his lips, with a glint in his eyes that sent chills down my spine even after all I've been through.
In that moment I understood Walder Frey in a way I haven't before; he cared nothing for the ideals of honor, of justice and any kindness he might have possessed in his heart once has long withered away along with his body. There would be no point in trying to strike a bargain for the life of my men or my mother – perhaps if I was anyone else but the grandson of Hoster Tully, I might have succeeded in convincing him, but I wasn't, and so I and everyone else would pay in blood for my slight of him.
Seeing me looking at him, his lips stretched even wider, and he raised his cup high in the air towards me.
''To the King in the North! May his life be as long as his reign, and blessed with just as many children!"
His reedy voice seemed to echo through the great hall without trouble, and his cackling sounded to me like someone started hewing the bark off a tree. It's clear he believes he told some great jape at my expense. Walder Frey, the Lord of Jesters – the world has truly gone mad.
My incredulous thoughts were reflected on the face of my mother, whom I could still see from the corner of my eyes. Anger, fear, disbelief and a myriad emotions I couldn't name warred for dominance on her face, as plain to see as if they were writings in a book.
Despite her inner turmoil, her voice was steady and confident, with only the barest edge of hysteria tinting it that none would notice who didn't know her well.
''Lord Frey, please, it's not yet too late to cease this madness. I'm certain we can put this... this folly- ''
Oh, mother, you never had much talent for diplomacy, did you?
My bleak thoughts proved true when Lord Walder's snickering abruptly cut off, and he whipped his head to stare at my mother, his surprised look quickly morphing into one of fury so great it seemed to choke the words in mother's throat.
''You! Even now you take that tone with me, you wench?!" he rose out of his chair, thumping on the table with his hands, the goblet he was drinking from rolling onto the stone floor, forgotten. ''You are truly the spawn of your damned father, may he rot in a shallow grave! I'm going to show you folly, you arrogant cunt.''
He shifted his gaze, looking past my mother, and gave a curt nod, a nasty smile forming on his face once again, but my attention was no longer on him – instead, I looked towards my mother, and with muted horror noticed someone – isn't that one of Walder's many sons? – sneaking up behind her.
I wanted to shout a warning, to scream in denial, to run up to her before it was too late, but I remained rooted to my spot, staring, my mouth moving with nary a sound escaping, as if I was nothing but a useless half-wit; just as I have done for the past several minutes – how could everything go wrong in such little time? Not long ago I was talking with Jeyne, and now my mother will join her and the rest of our family in death.
Everything seemed to slow down, and all noise was drowned out by the blood rushing in my ears, my heart beating a staccato rhythm in my chest. My entire world narrowed until only my mother and the man behind her were in it; I could see everything happening in slow motion, as if the Old Gods themselves decreed that this moment was to last forever.
The man, grabbing my mother with one hand and pulling her to his chest, a dagger in his other, being raised to her throat. My mother, looking at me, her eyes filled with shock, desperation, anger, regret. The flash of steel, a line of red, gurgling, choking, gasping, red everywhere, soaking her dress, spilling on the ground, the last of my family deaddeadea-
Destination. Agreement.
Two vast beings with bodies made of the stars themselves danced and twisted in an endless expanse of void, separating and reuniting, their very essences exposed to me even though I could scarcely comprehend what I was seeing.
Trajectory. Agreement.
A single point of light, an insignificant piece of these titanic gods yet brighter and larger than the sun itself detached from one of them and headed towards me, at a speed that defied everything I knew, growing until it completely filled my vision and-
I blinked rapidly, the strange vision fading yet I could recall every detail of it with crystal clarity. What was that? Some vision of the Old Gods? Or perhaps, I mused, I just went insane with the knowledge of my impending demise.
After all, how could I possibly survive this treachery, with half my men dead or dying?
4,376 steps.
My shock at receiving an answer was overshadowed by the queer feeling of my body moving without my consent; my right hand lashed out, grabbing Lord Bolton's arm - what was he doing- oh - and I flexed my fingers in a strange pattern, forcing him to drop the dagger he was wielding, which I grabbed out of the air with my left hand.
The eldritch force controlling my body didn't waste a second, using my grip on Bolton's arm to pull him towards me at an angle while twisting my body aside, a bewildering action that made sense when a crossbow bolt that would have no doubt hit me in the shoulder pierced his throat instead.
I didn't get to enjoy the look of absolute shock on his face too long, for I was already releasing my hold of him, letting him collapse on the floor in a bloody heap and turning fully towards the high table – in time to see Walder Frey slumping back in his seat, trying to stem the blood flowing from his neck, his eyes wide with panic, the dagger that was in my hand seconds ago still vibrating slightly, stuck in the back of his throne.
Every combatant seemed to pause for a second, and complete silence descended on the hall, except for the death throes of the soon to be very aptly titled Late Walder Frey.
A single word, a thought, a concept dominated my thoughts.
What.
StrangerDanger51
Novice Writer
- Location
- New Zealand
- Pronouns
- He/Him
pppppppppphhhhhhhhhhhHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH BWAHAHAHAA!%$!@%@$#
This is going to be EPIC.
This is going to be EPIC.
- Location
- Some park.
Oh...oh my.
Robb with PTV? Well that sure as hell is interesting. Eager to watch how this will go. Sure with PTV he shouldn't be able to lose but in a world with magic nothing needs to be set in stone.
Also I was wondering how long it would take for a Worm/GoT crossover to appear.
lol
Robb with PTV? Well that sure as hell is interesting. Eager to watch how this will go. Sure with PTV he shouldn't be able to lose but in a world with magic nothing needs to be set in stone.
Also I was wondering how long it would take for a Worm/GoT crossover to appear.
lol
NoisyMatchStar
Lord of all that is Purple
- Location
- Pittsburgh
When a character gets PtV, it's no longer if they win, it's a question of how and how entertaining it is.
- Location
- Down Under
Very interesting I love PtV crossover stories (like that one with Snape) I shall watch and hope that this continues for long period.
- Location
- The U.P.
Its nice to see a fix it fic that starts from somewhere beside the start of canon. This is a spot were the war could go either way for the Starks. Rob still has to win back the North while dealing with Stannis and at the same time defending his gains in the Riverlands from Tywin. Tywin has the downsides of almost being out of Lannister troops and has to secure an alliance with the Tyrells or they are done for. Robb is at least open for a new marriage if his wife dies at the Red Wedding and will have two new fiefs to gift to loyal men. On the plus side Sansa may get to marry Loras and be sent to Highgarden for her safety because the Tyrells will need a bigger bribe to join the Lannister side with Robb running around killing their armies.
Last edited:
hance1986
The One Above All.
(Crossposted from spacebattles.)
The only way this could be better is for Joffrey to trigger and get the Escalation shard.
Dany getting it would be far too cliche.
In fact, I think Dany should get Bitch's shard to use on her dragons and lesser reptiles, like serpents.
Oberyn gets Miss Militia's thousand weapons shard.
Arya gets Shadow Stalker's shard.
Tyrion gets the Siberian shard. (It looks like Tysha.)
The only way this could be better is for Joffrey to trigger and get the Escalation shard.
Dany getting it would be far too cliche.
In fact, I think Dany should get Bitch's shard to use on her dragons and lesser reptiles, like serpents.
Oberyn gets Miss Militia's thousand weapons shard.
Arya gets Shadow Stalker's shard.
Tyrion gets the Siberian shard. (It looks like Tysha.)
- Pronouns
- Yes
Nice concept and well written start, looking forward to more.
- Location
- Slovakia
Robb has to survive 2 weeks and Joffrey dies, another 3 weeks later Tywin shuffles off the mortal coil and enemies have suddenly lost their figurehead and their master intriguer and now they are being led by glorious examples of leadership like Cersei and Mace, another week later Euron is chosen as King and he attacks Shield Islands forcing Reachers to split their army.
OTOH, Robb has to still survive the rest of Red Wedding to see and use these fortunate events
OTOH, Robb has to still survive the rest of Red Wedding to see and use these fortunate events
- Pronouns
- Yes
Tinkers wouldn't actually break the setting any more than having a large number of super-powered people with other powers running around would.
A technologically uplifted game of thrones society would not be game of thrones anymore. Parahuman warlords are a much better fit. Just my opinion, though.
Or they would be so limited by a lack of materials, that their power would be limited the building steam engines, and guns, and radios and stuff like that, as unique tinkertech.
Aww snap.
Well, time to get the Lube, Westeros.
Well, time to get the Lube, Westeros.
- Pronouns
- Yes
Having Tinkers in the setting would not result in a technological uplifted setting, not at least in any sort of reasonable timeframe. Sure if you have "capes have been around for X decades" setting you won't have a GoT setting anymore - but that's true regardless of if You have Tinkers or not.
Tinkers will introduce a small number of magical weapons and will be limited not only by lack of resources and infrastructure, but also by their own lack of experience and knowledge and by their basic mindset.
Thinkers and Masters are much more effective than Tinkers at completely breaking a setting quickly.
- Location
- South Africa
Robb with ptv is a cool idea. Although I think Tyrion with ptv would have been funnier or is that just me?