Chapter 1: Awakening in Chaos
The dying servant's body convulsed against cold stone, and suddenly I was him.
Not dreaming. Not imagining. Being.
The consciousness that had been watching Netflix ten seconds ago now occupied failing lungs, a racing heart, and muscles that screamed with exhaustion. My—his—eyes snapped open to the blurred reality of King's Landing's Sept of Baelor, where ten thousand voices roared like a breaking sea.
"Lord Eddard Stark, by command of His Grace Joffrey of Houses Baratheon and Lannister, you are sentenced to die."
The words hit me like a physical blow. This was real. This was happening.
I knew this scene. Had watched it unfold in a warm living room with a bowl of popcorn, safe behind a screen where fictional characters died for entertainment. But now the stench of unwashed bodies pressed against me, now the September sun blazed overhead with Mediterranean heat, now Ned Stark knelt thirty feet away with his hands bound and his honor intact.
And now a translucent blue window materialized in my peripheral vision, cheerful and impossible.
[AVATAR SYSTEM INITIALIZED]
[Welcome, Host! You've been selected for an exciting adventure!]
[Current Status: Dying Servant (HP: 12/100)]
[Emergency Stabilization Protocols Activated!]
"Not now," I hissed under my breath, struggling to sit upright. The servant's body—my body—felt like it was held together with spit and stubbornness. My legs shook with fever, my lungs burned with each shallow breath, but somehow I was no longer actively dying.
The crowd's bloodlust was palpable. Cersei Lannister sat on the viewing platform like a golden spider, her green eyes bright with satisfaction. Beside her, Joffrey bounced in his seat like a child at a puppet show, his crown slightly askew.
"Do it! Do it!" the boy-king shrieked, his voice cracking with pubescent glee.
Ser Ilyn Payne stepped forward, Ice catching the light. Ned's own greatsword, turned against him. The symbolism was so heavy-handed it hurt.
[Quest Activated: "Chaos is a Ladder"]
[Objective: Create three major distractions during current event]
[Bonus Objective: Preserve Stark loyalist lives]
[Time Limit: 8 minutes]
[Rewards: Enhanced Reflexes, Appa Summoning, Prankster's Luck]
Eight minutes. Ned was eight minutes from losing his head, and here I was getting tutorial quests like this was some twisted video game.
But if this was real—and the very specific smell of horse shit and human sweat suggested it was—then I could change things. Had to change things.
I forced myself to my feet, swaying like a drunk. The servant's livery was filthy brown wool, perfect camouflage among the crowd. Nobody looked at servants. Nobody saw servants. In Westeros, that made them invisible, and invisibility was power.
The execution platform dominated the sept's steps, but I knew the Red Keep's layout from the show. Servants' passages ran everywhere, connecting kitchens to chambers, stables to throne rooms. Passages that were perfect for moving quickly without being seen.
Perfect for sabotage.
I pushed through the crowd, each step steadying as whatever the system had done to heal me took hold. My destination was clear: the Red Keep's service entrance, less than two hundred yards away. From there, the throne room was a maze of corridors I could navigate.
The throne room where, according to the episode I'd watched a dozen times, certain imported goods were stored.
Imported goods from Dorne.
"Pardon, m'lord, pardon," I mumbled, slipping between a merchant and his wife. The servant's voice came naturally, all deference and invisibility. It was a role this body knew by heart.
Behind me, Ser Ilyn raised the sword. The crowd held its breath.
I broke into a stumbling run.
The service entrance was guarded by a single Lannister guardsman who barely glanced at me as I approached. "Emergency in the kitchens," I gasped, putting a hand to my chest. "Cook's fallen in the fire, needs help moving him."
The guard waved me through without interest. Why would a dying servant be suspicious?
The Red Keep's service corridors were a warren of stone and shadow. I navigated by instinct and half-remembered floor plans, taking stairs two at a time despite my body's protests. Somewhere above, the crowd was still baying for blood, their roar echoing through the walls.
The throne room's service entrance was hidden behind a tapestry depicting Aegon's conquest. I slipped through, finding myself in the vast chamber where kings had held court for three centuries. The Iron Throne loomed in the middle distance, an ugly amalgamation of melted swords and twisted metal.
But I wasn't here for the throne.
Wooden crates were stacked against the eastern wall, stamped with Dornish seals. Trade goods that had arrived that morning and hadn't been properly stored yet. Among them, if I was right, would be crates containing scorpions—not the siege weapons, but the actual arachnids, imported for some lord's exotic garden or perhaps Prince Oberyn's eventual entertainment.
I found the right crate by the soft skittering sounds within.
[Ability Unlocked: Enhanced Reflexes]
[Your reaction time is now 3x normal human baseline]
[Perfect for avoiding consequences of your own pranks!]
The system's cheerful tone would have been annoying if it wasn't so useful. I pried open the crate with a kitchen knife liberated from the kitchens, revealing dozens of sand-colored scorpions in individual compartments. Each one was the size of my thumb, their stingers already glistening with venom.
Desert hunters. Aggressive when disturbed. Absolutely terrifying to anyone who wasn't expecting them.
"Sorry, little friends," I whispered, upending the first compartment. "But I need you to cause some chaos."
I scattered them throughout the throne room—under chairs, behind pillars, in the spaces where courtiers would stand. They scuttled away eagerly, seeking dark places to hide until something disturbed them.
By the time I emptied the third crate, the room was thoroughly infested.
[Distraction 1 Complete: Scorpion Infestation Protocol Activated]
[Chaos Potential: Maximum]
[Estimated Panic Duration: 15-20 minutes]
Outside, the crowd's roar shifted tone. Cheers mixed with screams. Execution complete.
I was too late to save Ned.
But I wasn't too late to save others.
I raced back through the corridors, my Enhanced Reflexes making navigation effortless. The system had been right—I could feel the difference in my reaction time, like the world had slowed down just enough for me to think clearly.
The sept steps were chaos when I emerged. Ned's headless body lay in a spreading pool of blood while Joffrey giggled on his platform. But in the crowd, people were moving. Running.
Stark loyalists, fleeing before they could be identified and arrested.
And there—a flash of brown hair and a face I'd seen on screen a hundred times.
Arya Stark, frozen in shock, surrounded by City Watch guards who hadn't noticed her yet.
Yoren of the Night's Watch was pushing through the crowd twenty feet to her left, his black cloak unmistakable. He was supposed to find her, grab her, cut her hair, and smuggle her north. But in the chaos, he was looking in the wrong direction.
Time for distraction number two.
I palmed a copper coin from the servant's purse and flicked it with system-enhanced accuracy. It struck a City Watch sergeant in the temple, hard enough to stagger him into his companion. Both men cursed and looked around for the source.
"Stark loyalists!" I shouted in a voice that would blend with the crowd. "There! Running that way!"
I pointed away from both Arya and Yoren, toward a group of merchants heading for the docks. Half the guards broke off in pursuit, creating a gap in their formation.
Yoren's head snapped toward the disturbance, and his eyes found Arya immediately.
"Boy!" he called out, using the voice of authority that had intimidated criminals across the Seven Kingdoms. "Boy, with me! Now!"
Arya looked up, recognition flickering in her gray eyes. She'd seen Yoren at Winterfell, knew he was a friend to House Stark. When he gestured urgently, she pushed through the crowd toward him.
[Distraction 2 Complete: Misdirection Protocol Successful]
[Target Acquired: Arya Stark]
[Extraction Route: Optimal]
As they moved away from the sept, I scratched a quick symbol in the dirt with my boot—a running wolf beneath a crown of stars. A symbol I'd invented on the spot, but one that looked northern enough to be meaningful. Arya glanced back just as I finished it, her eyes widening slightly.
The symbol would do nothing by itself, but it would plant a seed: the idea that someone was watching, someone was helping, someone was planning.
In a world where paranoia was survival, hope was a weapon.
The third distraction announced itself with distant screaming from the direction of the Red Keep.
The throne room scorpions had found their first victims.
I grinned, tasting blood from where I'd bitten my own tongue in the servant's death throes. It hurt, but pain meant I was alive. Pain meant this was real.
Pain meant I could make a difference.
[Quest Complete: "Chaos is a Ladder"]
[All objectives achieved!]
[Rewards distributed!]
[New Ability: Appa Summoning (Weekly)]
[New Trait: Prankster's Luck]
[Reputation Change: Stark Loyalty +10, Crown Suspicion +5]
[Level Up! You are now Level 2!]
The crowd was scattering now, fear overtaking bloodlust as word spread of "something wrong" in the Red Keep. Guards were being pulled away from the sept to deal with whatever emergency was unfolding in the throne room.
In the chaos, I caught one last glimpse of Arya as Yoren led her toward the Dragon Gate. She was alive. She was escaping.
One tragedy prevented, even if the biggest one remained unchanged.
But as I watched her disappear into the crowd, I felt something shift in my chest. The servant's body was still weak, still fighting infection and exhaustion, but the system had stabilized it. Given me a chance.
And I was going to use every second of that chance.
Because if this was Game of Thrones—if this was real—then winter was coming. The real war hadn't even started yet. Dragons were stirring across the Narrow Sea, ice demons were marching beyond the Wall, and every major character I'd grown to love was walking toward their doom.
But I knew their stories now. Knew their mistakes, their blind spots, their fatal flaws.
Time to start changing them.
[Tutorial Complete]
[Advanced System Functions Now Available]
[Primary Objective Updated: Survive and Influence]
[Warning: Timeline alterations may have unexpected consequences]
[Good luck, Host. Try not to die.]
I melted back into the crowd, just another anonymous servant in a city full of them. But as I walked away from Ned Stark's execution, I carried with me the knowledge that I'd already changed history.
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