FicWad

SAMWELL

An overly fat man stepped into the office of the King’s Gazette. It was the only newspaper in all of Westeros. A young apprentice was hard at work, using that miraculous invention: the printing press, to make pages for the next edition.

“Excuse me, could I have a word with the owner of this establishment?” asked the fat man, as he stroked his long beard.

“Mister Saunders!” called out the boy, “Someone wants to talk to you!”

A middle-aged man strode out of the back, his hands smeared in ink.

“Yes? May I help you, m’Lord?” asked Saunders.

“You mistake me, Thomas Payne,” said the fat man, turning back to the boy. “Or should I say: Lord Tarly?”

“I have abdicated my patrimony,” snarled Samwell Tarly. “To what do you inquire? . . . Varys.”

“Where can we speak privately?” asked Varys.

Samwell turned to his much older assistant. “Bring this edition to completion, I shall endeavor to assist you once I have completed my conversation with the Master of Whispers”

Samwell motioned Varys to follow him into the back office. Once he closed the door he turned on Varys. “Why have you come here?”

“I might ask you the same thing,” replied Varys. “I was at first puzzled to hear my little birds sing that you had relinquished your title. It expected you to go to Citadel, where you could study to become a Maester. Imagine my surprise when you turned up here, in Kings Landing. And when you started this newspaper, I expected you to fail in short order. After all, everyone knows that paper is very expensive. It has to be imported, as only the far off land of Wi-Ti possesses the secret of its’ making. Yet you seem to have an unending supply of it.”

“I manufacture my own supply,” replied Samwell.

“Yes. My little birds have sung to me about your little paper factory,” replied Varys. “They also sing of your plans to greatly expand your paper mill. They also sing of your inquires about purchasing sand from Dorn. This makes me wonder what other plans you have. What are your goals? What do you want?”

“What I want, O master of Whispers, is to help the common people, who the Lords of this land so denigratingly name: the Small Folk,” replied Samwell.

“Interesting . . . You and I have similar goals,” mused Varys. “And you have chosen an interesting way to achieve your goals. Your newspaper makes you a sort of rival Master of Whispers, one who works for the Small Folk. I have to tell you, some of the stories you have printed, have angered the High Lords. If the King did not find them so amusing, I might think your life in danger. Still, it was wise of you to hire someone to be your mummer boss.”

“My current age necessitated it,” replied Samwell.

“Well you should take great care,” warned Varys. “If word reaches Wi-Ti of your paper production, they may send the Sorrowful Men after you and if my guess about the Dornish sand is correct, Myr may be soon be sending a Faceless Man for you. Myr does not want the secret of Glass Making to get out.”

“You are indeed, correct” agreed Samwell. “If I attempted to be the exclusive provider of these wares. On the other hand, if I freely share my knowledge, they would find it rather more difficult to send assassins after dozens or hundreds factories in order to enforce their monopoly.”

“You really mean to share your knowledge freely?” asked Varys.

“Knowledge and learning should be free to all, not hoarded like the Maesters do,” replied Samwell.

“Then, I wish you much success, young Samwell.” said Varys, with a bow.


JON

“GET HIM!” yelled Theon as he lunged with his sword.

Jon parried him left, then parried Rob’s near simultaneous attack from the right. Then, he spun around to block Jory with a downward motion before leaping up and and flipping in mid-air before landing behind Jory and Malcolm. A push sent Jory into Theon, while Jon swept Malcolm’s legs out from under him. He lunged forward and swatted Rob’s sword hand, causing him to drop his sword.

“Yield!” “Yield!” “Yield!” “Yield!” called out the four boys, now that Jon had beaten them all.

Rob glanced up to the balcony where his parents were watching. His mother had a stormy expression, while his father was looking down at them, or more specifically Jon with pride.

“That was well fought, Jon,” called down Lord Stark. “Starting tomorrow, I think we’ll have you sparing with four grown men.”

“Thank you Father,” replied Jon. “But could you make it five? Four would not be enough of a challenge.”

“Aye, I think we could manage that,” agreed Ned Stark. “Rob, I think it’s time you started teaching the bow to Bran.”

“Yes Father,” replied Rob.


JOFFREY

Joffrey was on his way to ask the Hand why he was sending his son away. Robin Aryn had begged him to help, and he found he just couldn’t say “no” to that sickly little boy. Just outside the Hand’s door, he spotted a boy waiting outside. The boy had black hair and blue eyes. His clothes revealed he was nobility, but very low ranked.

“Hi, I’m Joffrey”

“Prince Joffrey?” asked the boy.

“The one and only,” replied Joffrey. “And you are?”

“Storm, Edric Storm.” replied Edric in the closest he could come to a Scottish accent while speaking in Westrosi. “I’m your brother. Well, half brother, actually. Uncle Renly brought me here to meet Lord Aryn.”

“Are you going to fostered with him?” asked Joffrey. “That would make sense. After all he’s sending his son away to be fostered. I wish could be fostered with Lord Edmure. But my mother would never allow it.”

“I hadn’t considered that I might be here to be fostered,” mused Edric. “Uncle Renly told me I shouldn’t be seen. Probably because the King didn’t marry my mother.”

“Well I can help you hide,” offered Joffrey. “Ya know, I never considered the possibility that I might had other brothers besides Tomen. Considering how Father acts, I guess I should of thought of that. You wouldn’t like Tomen, he’s really boring, all he likes is playing with his cats.”

“I am more of an owl man, myself,” replied Edric. “They are much better than Ravens.”

Edric had been following Joffrey as they talked and presently, they came to his room. Edric was amazed at the opulence, it was even more elegant than Renly’s room at Storm’s End.

“Can you play it?” asked Edric, as he pointed to the lute.

“Sure!” replied Joffrey, as he picked up the lute and leaned into a song. Since that time he met Edmure, he had been solely playing original songs that he had written in this life. But now he was playing an old one, from from a previous life that he had written on piano. But to his great surprise Edric started singing along with him. Joffrey was so surprised that he stopped in mid-verse, with Edric continuing the rest of the line before he too stopped.

“How do you know that song?” asked Joffrey

“Are you kidding? Everybody in the world knows that song!” exclaimed Edric, before he realized what he had said. “Everybody in the old world that is . . . . How do you know that song?”

“I wrote it,” replied Joffrey.

“Really? I am a huge fan!” gushed Edric, before he caught him self. “Sorry. I know famous people don’t like people fanning on them.”

“So you’re from Earth too?” asked Edric.

“Yes. And Lord Edmure Tully of the Riverlands is too,” replied Joffrey. “Though he is from an earlier time. We have trouble talking about anything but music. When were you born?”

“1980” answered Edric.

“Hmm. So you’re a little from after my time,” realized Joffrey. “Still, we’ll have more in common than we do with Edmure.”

“There you are!” said Renly, as he stuck his head in the door. “I’m sorry, my Prince, was this boy bothering you?”

“Not at all,” replied Joffrey. “It was nice to meet my brother!”

“Yes, well, I think we should be going now,” said Renly.

“Alright, bye Joffrey,” said Edric. “I’ll send you an owl.”


EDRIC

After my meeting with my brother, the Prince, I would need to tame an owl. I had, after all, promised him that I would send him one. This turned out to be the work of a few weeks. Soon, I was regularly corresponding with my new brother. I also sent a few letters to Lord Edmure. But we didn’t have much in common and the stigma of my birth status put pressure on him not to trade letters with me. As it turned out, I was not brought to meet Lord Aryn so I could foster with him. My fosterage would be at Storm’s End. Still, I was sad when Jon Aryn died. He seemed like a nice man. His spirit was unsure whether or not he had died from poison or illness. But if it was poison, he expected it was the Lannisters. When he told me why, I sent him back immediately. I refused to let him take my brother away from me!

Between sessions in the training yard and being taught by the maester, I spent my time trying to make a broom. The end result flew, if only erratically.


TORMUND

When Mance Rayder told me stories of the return of the Others, I insisted on him showing me. So we trekked North, Mance, myself and my followers. Seems like everywhere I go, no matter which galaxy, I always end up leading a Band of warriors, each with a different skill. In this world, I had: Ygrette, who was the best archer I had ever seen. Wun-Wun, a giant who is almost as strong as me, and Orys, a warg who can see through the eyes of his eagle. Together, the four of us were following Mance North, to the villages that had not been heard from in a while. The terrain was a Taiga, a Northern Forest of evergreen and these strange red leafed trees that are unique to this world.

“There’s a storm coming from the North,” announced Oryse, his eyes a milky white.

“We’d better make shelter,” I replied.

“It’s too late for that,” said Mance. “We need to build a fire! This is no ordinary storm. This Storm is brought by the Wight Walkers!”

We scrambled to gather wood and light a fire. His size allowed Wun-Wun to better take advantage to his strength and carry more wood than any of the rest of us. We had just gotten the fire roaring when the blizzard rolled in. With the biting wind blowing through our furs and the blinding snow, I was starting to think Mance had lost his mind until the first dark shape came at me from out of the haze. It was close enough to grab me before I realised that he was a walking corpse! And his eyes had an erie blue glow to them! He’d grabbed my forearm and pulled it towards his mouth before I used his grip on me to fling him to the side. There was a deep pitched scream and something large was moving on my right. It was probably Wun-Wun. I hoped he remembered to use the sword I had the Thenns make for him. For someone so big, he was too gentle for his own good. Willing it appear, the Sword of Icy Fire appeared in my hand and I cut my opponent in two. I could see flashes of light from behind me. I hoped that it was the others using the fire to fight them with. But I didn’t have time to think as three more came out of the blizzard at me. My Sword made short work of them, but I could see more dark shapes in the storm. I realised that just like Doctor Mezlo’s trap, this could easily overwhelm us. I needed to take out the Master of this particular trap. So I charged into the mass of wights, swinging my Sword as I cut through them until, near the back, I found someone who looked different.

It appeared to be humanoid, but seemed to be made out of ice. In his hands, he wielded a sword-like weapon made out of clear ice. I knew I had better not let that sword touch me, so I dodged and rolled as he swung at me. My roll had taken me behind him, so I tried to stab him in the back. But he was too fast, and was already half-way turned around when my Sword of Icy Fire plunged into him. I was shocked when he shattered into a million shards and was even more shocked that the storm stopped like someone had flipped a switch!

When my sight cleared, I saw my companions standing around with blazing torches in their hands, surrounded by corpses.

“Now, do you believe me?” asked Mance.

“Aye,” replied Ygrette. “‘tis like you said. We’d better fuckin’ get on the other side of The Wall or we’ll all be dead by the end of winter.”

“The Crows aren’t just going to let us walk though their gate,” replied Orys.

“We’ll need proof,” said I. “When need to capture one of these wights while they are still alive, or moving or whatever. . . Do we have any weapons? Ygrette, did those iron arrowheads work?”

“Nay, I got several of them in the eye, it didn’t even slow them down,” replied Ygrette.

“What about your sword?” I asked Wun-Wun. He shook his head and pointed at several that he had bisected that had still come after him.

“Sword not stop them” boomed the giant.

“Mine did, but it’s magic,” I said, as I prodded one of the corpses. “We’ll need some way to hold them.”

“The Thenns . . . the Thenns have a forge. They could make us some shackles,” offered Mance.

“Guess that’s our next destination,” I said.


JON

Even after all these years I was still no closer to figuring out this weird anti-Force that pervaded my new family and our Heart Tree. But when we found the dire-wolf pups, I could feel it forming a link between me and Ghost. I could also feel the same anti-Force link forming between my siblings and their dire-wolves, especially in my brother, Bran. It was painful to use this power. Everything about it seemed the antithesis of all I had learned from both the Jedi and the Sith. But although it seemed like this power was the opposite of the Force, it didn’t feel like the Dark Side of the Force either. But my years of pain as a Sith helped me push through the pain of learning to use this power, as I learned, I shared my new knowledge with my siblings. Well, all of them but Sansa. She wanted nothing to do with knowledge that came from me. But we were all becoming proficient at training our dire-wolves to obey commands. And we could sometimes look through the eyes of our pets in our dreams. Bran could do it at will.

“Jon, I have another letter for you,” said Maester Luwin, as he handed it to me.

It was from my friend Samwell in King’s Landing. He always wanted to know the gossip about what the Northern Houses were doing. I might think he had recruited me to me his spy if it weren’t for the fact that he was publishing the things I told him in his newspaper for all the world to read. If I am a spy, I’m spying everyone in the world. Occasionally I would have to ask my father if it was okay to share a bit of information. I would also send him bits of basic science to see what he would do with them. Last time I sent him the periodic table with all 234 elements. But I couldn’t find the Westrosi names for most of them. In his latest letter Sam told me the Westrosi names of a few that he knew and I didn’t. He also warned me that . . .

“Lady Stark, the King is on his way here,” I announced, when I cornered her in the hallway.

“How did you know, I only now received the raven,” said Lady Stark as she held up the message.

“My friend in King’s Landing sent me a letter,” I replied, holding it up.