I arrived in a purple made out of purple fire. As I get out of the portal I look around what looks like to be a place in Europe.
"System," I muttered. "Where the hell am I?"
[Location Identified: Westeros, Crownlands. Year: 298 AC.]
Ah. Game of Thrones.
I stood, brushing mud off my robes. Lightning split the sky, illuminating a road ahead and the carcass of a stag, its throat torn open.
A party of riders burst from the treeline, torches guttering in the storm. At their head rode a massive man, his black beard soaked with rain, a warhammer strapped to his saddle.
Robert Baratheon and his eyes locked onto me.
"You!" he bellowed. "What in the Seven Hells are you doing out here?"
I smirked. "Taking a stroll."
His men tensed one a golden-haired prick with emerald eyes reached for his sword. "He's no peasant, Your Grace. Look at his clothes."
Jaime Lannister if he wasn't as handsome, if he was, he would probably be jealous of the inferior man. Robert scowled "What house are you from?"
I sighed. "Let's skip the posturing."
With a thought, I activated [Royal Presence].
The horses reared. Men gasped, clutching their chests as if an invisible hand had seized their hearts. Robert's face paled. Only Jaime kept his nerve, though his knuckles whitened around his hilt.
Then I unleashed [Dragon's Roar].
The sound shattered the storm itself. Men collapsed, bleeding from their ears. Horses bolted. Robert hit his knees, vomiting. Only Jaime remained standing barely.
I knelt beside the king. "Here's how this will go. You'll name me Hand. You'll give me land, gold, and authority. And in return, I won't reduce your kingdom to ash." I said using mind magic to mess with his head, including the rest.
-Cersei-
Cersei looked up from her mirror, golden curls tumbling over her bare shoulders, a goblet of strongwine in hand. The firelight reflected in her green eyes fierce, guarded.
"You shouldn't be here," she said coldly.
"I'm the Hand of the King," Lucas replied smoothly, stepping inside, his violet gaze glowing faintly. "I go wherever I please."
"You don't know me." Her tone was defensive now. "You think you can intimidate everyone with that trick of yours. With your magic."
He chuckled darkly. "I don't need to trick anyone, Cersei. You're smarter than that. You see power real power and it excites you."
She turned sharply, opening her mouth to command this fool to leave. But the words died in her throat when she saw the look in his eyes. for some reason, she could feel herself getting aroused for that expression of his.
Lucas stepped closer and stuff led to the other were the both of them were on a bed.
-later-
Cersei lay breathless, feeling the aftershock of their session of sex as she felt his seed dripping out of her.
Lucas stood beside the fire, still half-clothed, swirling wine in a goblet.
She had gained a new appreciation for the new hand.
-Lucas-
Lucas Black sat at the head of the Small Council table, draped in violet and black robes embroidered with the sigil of House Black a coiled dragon wreathed in flame. The flickering torchlight reflected in his deep purple eyes as he lazily sipped wine.
Around him sat the rats who called themselves "advisors."
Petyr Baelish, and Varys.
"Do you know what the difference is between a schemer and a king?" I asked both men as I prepare some bullshit line before ending them both just for the dramatics.
I only signed as none of the both of them said anything.
With a flick of my hand, mana crackled through the room a pulse of draconic energy. The doors sealed themselves with a loud slam. Baelish leapt to his feet, hand going for a dagger hidden in his sleeve. Varys froze, already pale.
Purple chains erupted from the walls, binding Baelish and Varys where they stood, their mouths gagged with glowing runes.
Both men immediately were covered in purple flames immediately burning both men to ashes and making them unable to scream as they died instantly.
-later-
I entered without knocking.
The guards outside her chamber were mine now they didn't question me. Inside, the room was quiet, save for the crackle of the hearth and the faint rustle of fabric as Cersei turned to face me.
She was in a loose silk robe, hair down, wine untouched on the table beside her.
"You've been avoiding me," I said, closing the door behind me.
"I've been thinking," she replied, voice tight.
I stepped closer. The air in the room carried a scent I hadn't noticed before. I stared at her, scanning the shape of her body, the way her arms had curled around herself.
She was pregnant.
I didn't need confirmation my senses were too sharp now to miss something that obvious. Still, I wanted to hear her say it.
"When were you planning to tell me?" She didn't look away. "I wasn't."
"Whose is it?" I asked, even though I already knew. Her silence lasted only a breath. "It's yours," she said honesty.
I could only sigh at that.
-later-
The summer heat in Essos clung to everything like oil. I arrived through a flame-ringed portal just outside Illyrio's mansion, shrouded in illusion. The smells of spiced wine and roasted lamb drifted on the air, but I ignored them.
My eyes were fixed on the balcony above.
Daenerys.
Younger than I'd expected. Barefoot. Dressed in pale silks.
Even from here, I could feel the slight essence of draconic blood in her quiet, still dormant, but there.
Behind her, a voice barked orders and complaints. Viserys.
Gods, I hated him already.
I scaled the garden wall silently and stepped inside. Servants didn't see me my aura erased my presence from lesser minds. The estate was large, but not confusing. I found Viserys first.
He was in a room lined with scrolls and furs, yelling at a servant girl and throwing a goblet at her head when she didn't move fast enough.
"That's a little rude. Don't you think Burger King" I said, stepping into the room.
He spun, pale and startled, his hand instinctively going to the rusted sword at his hip.
"Who the fuck are you?"
I didn't answer.
I let [Royal Presence] leak out slowly, watching his knees shake. Then I stepped forward.
"You're not a dragon," I said. "You're a child playing dress-up in your dead father's crown."
I was already in front of him.
One hand on his throat. The other igniting with a slow, steady glow of violet fire.
His mouth opened in shock, but no sound came. He tried to scream when I pressed my burning palm to his chest. But all that came out was smoke.
Viserys Targaryen died without glory. Without even a crown.
-Daenerys's-
As she mounted her husband's cock moving her hips rapidly to try to take out as much of his seed as possible.
Thankfully her husband awaken the true power of her line after he killed that waste.
They have been procreating for the past couple of days or months she didn't know she enjoyed it the same.
As her black dragon wings he did the same that they both started flying on the sky, her hips moving faster as they kept going.
And as they did, she felt his climax coming as his seed filled her up to the brim.
She love her life.
-Lucas-
Dragon blood increases your libido, which is why he isn't surprised by the information I got from my multiform.
As currently I had to do with a grieving lover and an angry idiot after they heard the news of the "accidental" death of Crown Prince Joffrey.
A jousting lance snapped wrong, splinters puncturing his throat after he'd insisted on riding without a gorget "to look more princely." The maesters said it was fast, painful, but quick. The smallfolk said it was the will of the gods.
I knew better. Because I arranged it. I paid the squire under him to mess up his armor and add stuff to put more weight on him that he could handle.
-later-
The scent of rot and blood hung thick in the royal chamber. I stood near the foot of the bed, watching the once-mighty king wheeze and twitch, barely able to lift the goblet of water the maester pressed to his lips.
They said it was a hunting accident that he was gored by a boar. That it was no one's fault.
But I had made sure the wine he brought with him was far stronger than usual. And I had made sure his squire filled it again and again. At least he got lucky now since this was a monthly occurrence.
Robert's final will, naming me Lord Protector.
The room was silent. The maester clutched his chain and stepped forward, but I raised a hand.
"Let him rest."
I turned and left the chamber without another word. Outside, the hall was already shifting eyes turning toward me, bows lowering, voices dropping to whispers.
-later-
The Great Sept of Baelor was completely full packed of people trying to see the new king being crown.
Sunlight poured through the stained glass, casting patterns of gold, green, and crimson across the marble floor. The high lords of Westeros sat in silence. Not a soul dared whisper. Even the High Septon looked nervous as he stood near the altar, robes trailing behind him.
Tommen Baratheon the boy, quiet and far too gentle only a boy 8 stood before me. His blond hair was neatly combed, his posture tense, but his blue eyes… they held trust.
Good.
I reached for the crown. Not Robert's crown that heavy, war-forged monstrosity but one I had commissioned myself.
It was a golden Crown with two horns, similar to anchors, made out of gold with red details and in the middle the symbol of house Baratheon.
I lifted it with both hands, feeling the silent weight of every gaze in the Sept.
"In the name of the Seven… and by the will of the people, the nobility, and the gods," I said, "I crown Tommen of House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Protector of the Realm."
I placed the crown upon his head.
It fit perfectly.
The crowd began to cheer polite at first, then louder. Lords stood and bowed. Ladies curtsied. The High Septon gave his blessing, though his voice cracked halfway through.
I stood beside Tommen as the crowd knelt before him… and kept my hand lightly on his shoulder.
– Eddard Stark –
The bells tolled across King's Landing.
I stood in the courtyard of the Red Keep, the wind from Blackwater Bay cutting through my cloak as I stared up at the Sept. The sky above was clear, too clear for the weight pressing down on my chest.
Robert was dead.
And I had not been there to say goodbye.
He died on a hunt, they said. Gored by a boar. But I knew Robert. He had hunted bigger beasts in his youth and come back laughing, half-drunk, covered in blood and boasting about how he killed the beast.
Gods forgive me… I should have tried to pulled him away from it all. Forced him back north.
Now he was gone.
And Lucas Black had taken his place.
Not as king. That seat now belonged to young Tommen, a boy still wet behind the ears.
Lord black and Dager queen Cersei being the only regions?
He had placed the crown on the boy's head.
The man from what he could gather is the founder of a new house gaining some land close around Kings Landing owning a castle.
He hope the man was humble enough to not overstay his power.
-later-
The chamber was warm, the fire crackling softly behind us.
Lucas Black sat across from me at the long table, sipping wine from a silver cup far too ornate for a man his age.
"You asked for this meeting," I said quietly. "Speak your piece."
He didn't look offended by my bluntness. In fact, he smiled. "Straightforward as always, Lord Stark. That's why I value you."
"A marriage pact. Between your daughter, Sansa, and King Tommen."
I stiffened. "He's a boy. They're both children."
"A betrothal only," he said. "They'd wed when they come of age. But the alliance? That would begin today. House Stark and House Baratheon joined. As Robert always wanted."
I narrowed my eyes. "Robert said nothing of this."
He didn't flinch. Instead, he reached into his cloak and pulled out a folded parchment, worn and sealed with wax. The seal had been broken, but the crest was unmistakable: a crowned stag.
He slid it across the table.
I hesitated, then opened it.
Robert's handwriting. Sloppy but familiar.
"If I don't make it back from the hunt, tell Ned this: I always dreamed our houses would join one day. His daughter, my son a better union than anything we ever had here."
My throat tightened.
Lucas said nothing. He didn't need to. The letter spoke louder than either of us.
I read it again, slower this time.
When I finally looked up, Lucas was watching me with something that almost resembled empathy. But only almost.
"You forged this?"
He shook his head once. "I found it among the king's belongings. I brought it to you because it aligns with what I intend. And because I know you, Lord Stark. You loved him."
I stood slowly. My hands curled into fists at my side.
I looked back at the parchment in my hands.
Robert's last wish. Our houses united.
-Lucas-
I sat alone in my solar, quill in hand, the scent of fresh parchment and fire wax lingering in the air. Eddard had accepted the pact. Sansa Stark was now betrothed to King Tommen.
Stabilizing the North was only the beginning. The Reach came next.
I dipped my quill in ink and began to write.
{To Lord Mace Tyrell, Defender of the Marches, Lord of Highgarden, and Warden of the South,
I write to you not only as Lord Hand of the King, but as a man who values vision. The war has ended before it ever began. The realm is quiet, and the crown rests securely on King Tommen's brow.
What the realm needs now is unity. And in that spirit, I extend my hand in betrothal to your daughter, Lady Margaery Tyrell a rose that should bloom at the heart of the realm.
I offer not empty promises or flowery words, but power.
As Hand, I will serve as regent until King Tommen comes of age and perhaps longer, should the lords of the realm deem it necessary. The king trusts me. The crown's armies answer to me. And so do the Goldcloaks. My house, once new, is now firmly established in the capital with extensive lands expanding from the Crownlands into Blackwater Bay and control over the shipping lanes to Essos.
Gold flows freely into my vaults. Trade has never been more alive. And my influence with the North and the Vale is secured through marriage ties and political trust. With your alliance, I offer the Reach a seat at the true center of power not behind a boy-king, but beside the man shaping the future of Westeros.
Signed,
Lord Lucas Black, Hand of the King, Protector of the Realm, Arch-Alchemist of the Circle}
I let the ink dry before folding the parchment and sealing it with my crest.
Then I handed the letter to my steward and whispered, "Make sure it arrives in Mace's hands only."
He nodded and disappeared through the doorway.
-later-
The snow bit into my skin but I barely felt it. My draconic blood kept my core temperature steady, even as the wind howled across the haunted forest.
The Weirwoods began to grow closer together. The bark was twisted with faces, and their red sap tears almost seemed to bleed as I passed.
The cave wasn't hard to find. The entrance was half-concealed under twisted roots and frozen stone, but I could feel it calling to me the pull of old magic.
Entering it did not take me long to find the figure I was looking for as I saw a certain man infuse with the Weirwoods tree.
I drew Excalibur a golden light covering the inside of the cave. The Children of the Forest stirred in the dark corners of the cave. A few tiny figures emerged.
"I've come for your knowledge," I said bluntly. "And your power."
I raised my hand. Purple fire surged through the cave.
[Dragon's Roar.]
The Children screamed. Roots burned. The cave trembled.
I pressed my hand against the roots binding him.
[Devourer of Knowledge] activated.
Images flooded my mind visions of old Valyria, the doom, the Long Night, and the truth of the White Walkers.....
I turned and walked back through the forest, the snow parting around me.
-later-
The wind howled like the cries of ancient gods, but I walked unfazed, each step burning violet in the snow. Behind me, the corpses of wights melted into steaming puddles.
[White Walkers: Eliminated]
[Global Threat Nullified]
[World completed]
-later-
The Wildlings, those free folk who had survived generations of winter, had gathered in desperation. A thousand of them stood on the cliffs, watching.
I saw the fear in their eyes as I rose above them, floating with wings of ethereal fire and draconic energy.
I open my mouth as a large scream came out being enhance with magic.
The sound alone shattered the cliff face.
The avalanche that followed swallowed hundreds.
A few leaders tried to run. I raised my hand. As I created a large fireball shooting at them with these burning them.
I continue this for a couple of weeks going around and killing any Wildlings.
-later-
As I sat on my chair on the tower of the hand I gained the memories of my multiform has been doing.
[World completed]
"My lord… news from the Stormlands. Lord Renly Baratheon was found dead outside a brothel in Felwood". One of my man came to inform me.
I gave a long sigh. "Tragic," I said with a smile I didn't bother hiding.
"Have the Master of Whispers 'confirm' that the culprits were rogue mercenaries from Lys, hired by unknown bidders. Make it sound convincing."
"As you command."
With Renly dead, the Stormlands defaulted to his elder brother Stannis Baratheon, Prince of Dragonstone.
-later-
I stood at the center of the pavilion Margaery sat just ahead of me beneath the shaded alcove, one hand resting on her rounded stomach, the other gently brushing the golden curls of our eldest daughter, Leona. At her feet, our son, Daeron, chased a jeweled butterfly conjured by me.
Margaery was a good girl good in bad and can a man ask for anything else.
I turned my gaze to the scroll I held.
"The royal wedding of King Tommen of House Baratheon and Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell shall be held beneath the Light of the Seven, in the Great Sept, this coming spring."
The Lords of the North had hesitated, but with Eddard's reluctant blessing and enough gold to drown any man, Sansa was now Crown Princess.
"Have the white roses arrived from Highgarden?" I asked one of the servants who bowed low.
"Yes, my lord. They're being arranged on the sept steps now."
Good.
Unfortunately, as the designated region he would have to plant this entire thing.
-Great Sept of Baelor-
Thankfully, the process went completely fine as I saw the ceremony start.
The party went well currently the two new husband and wife were enjoying the consummation of their marriage.
Not much to say.
-in a huge mansion in lys-
As I looked as my seven children ran around my home. I can only smile as my wife entered the living room, clearly her stomach larger, with another child coming.
Daenerys hasn't changed since her awakening, but her figure has improved. Sometimes he wondered how his other multiform was doing in Westeros, but it didn't really matter to him.
XxX
Got really bored at the end, which is the reason why the lack of detail.