personal3

Chapter 1: Welcome to Westeros

Created: 9.8.16, Edited: 12.18.20

Circa 289 AC

I woke up with a gasp of pain, the last thing I remembered was falling from a relatively steep rock incline somewhere around Virginia along the Appalachian Trail.

A good friend of mine, Kevin Stahl and I had been hiking, climbing, and camping up the Appalachian Trail for the better part of the last month as we both continued to put off deciding what to do with our lives now that we were both done with graduate school.

We had been hiking and camping for weeks now as we slowly made our way up the Appalachian Trail, stopping along the way at several places to explore and do some rock climbing. Apparently well above my ameteur level.

It took a moment for the pain in my side to fade enough to concentrate on something else, my breath to slow down, and my eyes and head to clear enough to see the canopy of a very large tree above me that I couldn't really make out. If it wasn't for the loud noises of seemingly dozens of other men banging things together nearby, I would have simply thought I had come to, after getting knocked out from my fall from the rock ledge.

But those noises were unlike anything I had ever heard before, except maybe from movies. I knew it sounded like a medieval battle had broken out right above me, but my head hurt and my brain was fuzzy beyond anything I had ever experienced, and just couldn't seem to process or understand what the hell was happening.

"Donnel!" and all of a sudden a young face covered with dirt, sweat, and blood was leaning over me, shaking my shoulder, and trying to get my attention as he called a name that resonated with a part of me I didn't truly understand. "Donnel, can you hear me?" "It's me Tristifer, can you see me?"

Before I could do more than simply stare up dumbly at the seemingly young college age guy above me, wearing a hard leather breastplate with a few metal patches sewn in throughout it, a man fell next to us, bleeding profusely and having knocked Tristifer over before slamming into me as his metal breastplate lands a solid hit in my extremely sore side causing my pain to flare and me to black out instantly in utter confusion.

Suddenly, what seemed like a movie montage with no end in sight began, and had me watching the life of a young man named Donnel Locke, from shortly after his birth at a place called Oldcastle located in the North of Westeros, until now at the age of 17. He was the first grandson of the Lord Ondrew of House Locke, his father Onython Locke was the heir and an able administrator of their household. He often helped the Lord Ondrew who was in his seventies, and starting to really show his years.

His mother, Lady Drendylia Locke, born of House Hornwood was the oldest Lady of the House, and the younger of Lord Halys Hornwood's two sisters. He (Donnel) himself had a pair of younger sisters, Sybelle was 14, Haylia was 11, and originally had another sister Marna who died as an infant a year after Haylia was born. He also had two younger brothers, Dobett was five, and Ondry was two.

And currently he was with the Manderly levies, as King Robert Baratheon had called all the banners to fight against House Greyjoy which had rebelled against the relatively new king of five years. The travelling armies of the Crownlands, Stormlands, Westerlands, the Vale, and the North had all descended upon the Iron Islands over the last few months and were most recently at the town of Lordsport, making their way towards Castle Pyke and the Seat of House Greyjoy. The collapse of the wall next to me was my last thought, before my whole body and head especially, simply exploded with energy, pain, and memories of another life as Charles Green, a 24 year old American from a small town in the suburbs of Buffalo, NY who just finished graduate school in the year 2016 with a Masters in Mechanical Engineering from Cornell University...

When I opened my eyes next, there was a Maester I (Donnel) recognised as one of the two that travels with Lord Manderly's levies as we marched towards and fought our way through the defenses of the Iron Islands on our way to the Island of Pyke. Last I remember, we had just recently deployed our ship at the Island at dawn. Judging by the now late afternoon sun shining through holes in the tent above me, it was some time since I last remember getting here and my whole life being turned upside down.

I was a fan of the Game of Thrones series on HBO, and had tried to read the actual book A Song of Ice and Fire but could never get too far past the large information dump at the beginning. I did watch a few video blogs, did some chatting on message boards, and even read quite a few fanfiction stories as well, since that was a favorite escape for me. But I was by no means an expert on the series or every single thing that happened throughout it.

I did however remember the basics from the TV show, and had a pretty good timeline of major events and major characters at least through the first few seasons which I always thought were rather closely related to the books at least in the beginning. I knew that there were several years from the Greyjoy Rebellion until the series truly started with the Stark children finding their direwolf pups, I think around nine years if memory serves. Then the whole Eddard becoming Hand of the King, the Lannister treachery and incestuous offspring, the battle of the Five Kings, the Red Wedding, and eventually the White Walkers and Targaryen Dragons bringing the Ice and Fire elements, even if I never actually saw enough to see the Mother of Dragons arrive at Westeros, I knew it had to happen eventually if the TV show was representative of the books.

At the moment however, I was still trying to reconcile and comprehend the lifetime of memories from Donnel Locke that had appeared when we seemingly merged into one being at a moment where either or both of us seemed to have died. As Charles, last I knew was falling to my death from an ill-conceived rock climbing experience, and as Donnel had a wall of a wood building collapsed above me almost crushing me completely. My mind was a jumble of thoughts and memories of both men, which left me fairly disoriented in my current situation, and wondering what version of the current world was I even in, and how would I know how close to either canon source my new story was going to be...

"Can you hear me?" asked the old Maester after waiving a strong scented piece of cloth in my face, that was probably responsible for my regaining consciousness as the perfumed smell was quite pungent.

"Yes sir," I answered automatically, and then cringed slightly as he gave me a peculiar look at my formal address before ensuring he was no ser, but a maester here to help me.

He asked me where my pain was, and after cutting the straps that kept my hardened leather breastplate on, he examined my heavily bruised and slightly bleeding side that was causing me no end of pain. Having broken a few ribs years ago when I tried my hand at MMA fighting, I knew that I hadn't broken the ribs at least, but they still hurt something fierce. His poking and prodding fingers assured me that my initial assessment was correct, not broken, just heavily bruised, with some wood splinters and sharp edges that left a fairly nice sized cut in my side.

Luckily, the maester was pretty efficient at cleaning the wound to see it wasn't life threateningly deep, but still left me rather worried as the health care in this world paled in comparison to what I remembered from my old one. He smeared some foul looking paste from a bowl he had a young boy who followed him around carrying. He then took a long strip of a coarse linen and tied it tightly around my torso.

"Just try to keep that tied tight around you," began the maester as he put a hand on my shoulder in a comforting gesture, and then used it to help him get back to his feet. "But, you should be good to continue on. Just come see me if the cut reopens on the morrow."

"Aye," I responded almost automatically, as I watched the man hobble over to the patient next to me.

Once he left me, I looked around and found myself inside a makeshift infirmary tent, with thankfully only about two dozen others inside. Several were either unconscious or dead in the nearest corner to my left as they made almost no sound, and laid in cots unmoving with various degrees of bloody wounds. Those to the right of me, where the Maester had headed towards were all alive at least, though several missing limbs with fresh cauterized bloody stumps wrapped in linen spoke to recent healing.

Luckily, I soon noticed that the maester was moving on from the bed to my immediate right, and smiling stupidly back at me was Donnel's (now my) best friend and fellow soldier, Tristifer Greenhands. The boy of 19, from a small family of smallfolk farmers north of White Harbor along the White Knife River, was sporting a linen wrapped headband that covered a rather nasty head wound, if the blood over his face and front of his clothes was any indication.

"You alright, Locke?" he asked in his usual smiling faced self, with his light brown hair half covered behind the head wrap, and his short stubbly brown beard currently tinted red with blood.

"Aye," I answered slowly, my head still swimming a bit with too many thoughts and feelings going on in my head, "...and you, Greenhands?"

"I have a splitting headache from some Ironborn cunt whose hammer almost cracked open my skull even with the damn helmet," he laughed in his good-natured way, never too down. "Though, I managed to gut the fucker with a knife when he tried finishing me off."

"Good, how did the rest of the boys manage? And what happened here?" I asked, needing to know what and where in the timeline of events we were, and hoping to get answers quickly from my friend who obviously fought more than I did today, though that probably wasn't hard as the wall came down pretty early in the fighting.

"We lost a couple of the Cerwyn group in the wall collapse that got you," he started with a sympathetic nod to his friend, "but the King and Lord Stark took control over Lordsport a little over an hour ago. We are in a makeshift infirmary tent now camped outside Botley Castle. They are trying to scout out the best way through to Pyke, not wanting to have a long drawn out siege. I haven't heard anything about the rest of the Manderly levies we came with, but not seeing them in here is probably a good sign."

"That it is," I responded as my brain was coming to terms with what had just happened, and wondering if I would be asked to fight right away as I didn't think I would be of much use right now, nor how well I would fare actually wielding a sword.

I was still trying to understand and process everything, and thought it would be better to not do that while fighting for my life. Luckily, Tristifer seemed relatively quiet for a change and allowed me to at least come to the realization that we were in the middle of the Siege of Pyke, and I would be forced to fight soon regardless of whether I was ready or not. Hoping to use my recent injury as an excuse, I asked Tristifer if he wanted to return to our tent and get some practice gear to test my side and new injury.

His head still was sore and he said he still had a little ringing in his ears, but promised he could at least test me out quickly, or find someone else who would. The camp had a pretty excited feel to it, as some were already celebrating or boasting a little over the early victory at Lordsport, while others were preparing for another round of battle thinking the taking of Botley Castle to be imminent. We found our tent, where six of us from around White Harbor had bunked together, and were glad everyone was still alive if not a little banged up.

For the next hour, Tristifer, and then Raymar, one of our fellow comrades, took turns fighting against me with practice swords in order to "test" my injury. In reality, I was trying to get a quick crash course in sword fighting, as I had almost no experience even holding one and only a few memories of Donnel trying to learn years previously stuck out in the mess that was my confused head and thoughts. Luckily, I had a pretty substantial background in Jiu Jitsu and other various forms of martial arts from my younger years of karate and the year and a half interest in MMA along with a body that was at least used to it.

My first few rounds were atrocious, my movements slow and jerky and the others watching all had a good laugh at my diminished skills due to my injury. Luckily, neither I nor them were the best fighters around, and my original skill level wasn't leagues better than where I was now. It was a noticeable decrease for sure, but by the end of the hour, I was able to pass it off as simply being slow and unsteady due to my injured side, and nobody thought too differently as I wasn't fighting at a level too far below Donnel's usual healthy proficiency, which was rather sad for an heir of a minor noble house in the North.

It helped that I now had years of martial arts and hand to hand fighting experience to draw on, helping greatly with my footwork and balance, but my total lack of sword forms was a shock that I quickly had to concentrate on fully if I was hoping to pick up enough skill with a sword to survive. I also had to quickly realise that if I wanted to survive, I would probably have to fight dirty and take any advantages I could. While having honor was definitely important to me, having my head attached was WAY more important.

After we finished practicing, Tristifer returned with some salted meat, bread and a pitcher of flat watered down ale which was as good as it sounds. He said we were being told to eat up, and get some rest, as our group of Manderly levies would be scaling the northeast wall of Botley Castle at first light in the morning. I ate quickly, and talked with Tristifer about getting another dagger to keep in my boot which he said he would ask around for me as we were pretty short on useful weapons.

I then went through my bag of gear to make sure I had everything I would need to feel somewhat safe tomorrow as I went to war. Donnel was a pretty normal minor noble of the North with little martial skill and a strong sense of honor, but little money or true fighting supplies. I had a well-made boiled leather breastplate now with a pretty large gash in its side, and a pair of greaves that were given to me by my local lord, Wylis Manderly from their household Man-at-Arms stock and nothing truly special. Due to my thinner stature and younger age, I could only really use a standard bastard sword which was also common castle forged steel from White Harbor. Though it was better than most in my group, who were former farmers and laborers, or smallfolk from in and around White Harbor with little in the way of quality weapons.

Once I was sure I had everything I needed, I laid down under my single fur, and tried in vain to quickly fall asleep. My mind was too nervous over what tomorrow would bring, and my new reality as it was. And that is the only truth I could comprehend, I had somehow been reborn into the world of Westeros as a minor character I had never even heard of. The modern world I had lived in was gone, along with all the many conveniences and technologies that world had created, and my family and friends. I wasn't extremely close to my parents as they were both very busy and work oriented, had no siblings, and only a handful of friends so I didn't immediately break down.

I was a loner for the most part, got along with others easily enough, but never too emotionally involved. More of an introvert who loved studying the way machines and mechanics worked, practicing Jiu Jitsu, and going on the semi-regular survival weekends. My father was a career Army man, and had tried to push me into the Reserves after I refused to enlist at the age of 18 like he had, but I had somehow resisted again. He had pushed me to become an eagle scout while growing up, and I really did enjoy the outdoors and did almost monthly survival weekends since I seemed more comfortable alone rather than in a larger group setting.

Which is somewhat ironic now, as I was uncomfortable with about twenty or so adolescents and maybe five or six adults while in the cub, boy & eagle scouts. And now I was with a traveling army of tens of thousands combined, living in a tent with five other men in way worse conditions than anything I remember from my worst scouting nightmares. And, I wasn't even freaking out about it, or at least not yet anyway.

At least here, I was born to a minor noble house of the North under the banner of the Great House of Stark, and not as a no name smallfolk with absolutely no future or prospects. Nor as a part of some treacherous family in the South that played political games and schemes all the time. But still, it would be an enormous change from what I was used to, and damn near impossible to try and survive in a world where the power of your sword and Feudal Lords reigned.

Add in the unknown since I hadn't read the books, and I didn't think I was in the TV show world, nor had I ever seen the end of, and I was pretty much going blind into the unknown. I could make some pretty good guesses about the Ice and Fire elements based on the TV's foreshadowing, and my knowledge that the story definitely fell into the paranormal and unusual with dragons, shadow magic, skin changers, and White Walkers. With that in mind, I knew that I would need to get stronger both physically and financially if I wanted to survive and find a role for myself inside this crazy new world I found myself in.

The Locke House manned Oldcastle, a larger Northern town of less than 10,000 just south of White Harbor, and a port town on the Bite near the mouth of the White Knife River. Our House Flag consisted of two bronze keys crossed on a pale purple background, and our Family words were "The Keys to Defence" as we specialized in the defence of castles and harbors. As a family they were instrumental in the development of the famous White Harbor defences of House Manderly, as well as their own harbor at Oldcastle back before Aegon's Conquest of Westeros, and were a smaller vassal house to House Manderly, even though we had been part of the North longer than our Seven worshiping neighbors.

They were known more for their brains and knowledge of defences rather than their physical aptitude as fighters, though they were still of the North and stronger than most of those throughout the other Seven Kingdoms. Donnel was a pretty fit lad of 17, having squired for Ser Wylis Manderly for over seven years, I was average to above average in most ways. Height, weight, and strength were all average for my age, just becoming a man physically, even if I had been practically considered one for two years already in this medieval society.

I was adequate with a sword, nothing special for sure, but definitely knew what I was doing although I had probably spent more time running errands and cleaning his Ser's armor than actually practicing or pushing myself to be a truly great warrior. Going over the memories of Donnel, I knew that with just a bit of training, I could really improve my fitness, speed, and skill levels if only I could survive the rest of this war. But that brought about a whole other host of problems, as I was seemingly stuck in the world of the Game of Thrones or Ice and Fire, depending on whether this world followed the show or the books.

If everything happened as I remembered from the show and my little bit of extra knowledge, then Balon Greyjoy will soon be bending the knee to King Robert, and his only remaining son, Theon will become a ward of Lord Eddard Stark at Winterfell to help keep his father in line with the Crown. And then there was nine years of relative peace until the Game of Thrones series really began and I hoped the book world was the same, as my brain was already going through a variety of plans I had to make if I was to be stuck in this medieval type world.

But at least I was still alive somehow, and that was always a positive in my book. At least for now anyway.