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Game of Thrones story idea Chapter 1
🕑 Added 2024-08-30 02:00:03 +0000 UTCAN: You've been waiting for this for a long time. Sorry. Hope you like it haha
-/-
There had been many instances in his previous life when John had regretted his choice of career. Having studied philosophy out of a deep personal interest rather than thinking of future job prospects, he had ended up as a high school teacher of Ethics in Germany of all places.
He scraped by, saved and lived a decent if not extravagant life. However, those friends in the states who had gone on to study things like Chemistry and Immunology had all attained high career gains and become decently wealthy while he was still living in his rented two room apartment wondering if his pension was really going to keep up with the rising living costs (the answer he was too worried to admit to was that no it wasn’t).
Had he studied engineering, as his parents had told him he should, he could have perhaps already been a successful civil engineer by now, or maybe even an inventor.
Regardless, when at the age of 35 he died in a car accident caused by an American tourist trying to go 230 km/h on the Autobahn, he thought that these worries and regrets would stop hunting him.
Unfortunately, or rather fortunately rather than simply dying he was reborn into a medieval fantasy world. Westeros to be more specific, a shithole famously known for its crappy feudalism, annoying politics, barely perceptible magical elements and an ice-aligned zombie horde coming from the north. Something that John didn't even know how to defeat, considering that the books, the only true source of canon material, had not even resolved that conflict yet.
One did not talk about the last season of the series.
He had once regretted his choice of major because it barred him from having what he perceived to be an easy and relatively lucrative career.
Now he regretted it because he had been reborn into a medieval world where just some of the scientific basics would have already paved the way for his success and survival.
However, the only really applicable things he knew were that no wounds should be treated with cow dung, gunpowder was made with sulfur or something and glass with sand or whatever.
He knew the basics of military history, namely that in Europe the halberd had ruled the pre-gun era and that when transportation became mechanized one should not ride horses into battle. Also, crossbows were awesome and a great equalizer between peasantry and the warrior caste, however that didn't help him overly much considering he didn't know how to build one or to improve upon the local designs.
Sure, he knew that he would have to at some point gather obsidian to make arrow tips for when the conflict with the frozen zombies had advanced further, but any child could have figured that one out.
His mind was full of how Socrates had primarily been revolutionary due to his ability to discern the illogical reasonings behind some of society's widely held beliefs at the time, even if this method of thinking that had not even been adapted globally in the 21st century and had even been bastardized primarily into the idiotic idea that he’d invented the question “why” and simply repeated it ad infinitum.
He knew several arguments for convincing people that they did not in fact have the objective capacity to perceive the world around them, but also definitive answers as to why this did not matter and how thinking about it actually a waste of time.
Neither of these things were likely to gain any particular aplomb from his brutal surroundings, and some of the things and beliefs in his head were just as likely to get and killed as they were to see him rewarded.
At a lack of any immediately usable knowledge from his last life, other than perhaps the advantages granted by a general education and a broader net of understanding, the only thing that John, now Harrion could rely on was his life experience, which he could use to progress faster down the road that this world in particular valued.
That was why he was currently swinging a wooden sword at the break of dawn in the courtyard of the castle that he had so gracefully been born into.
He already had several issues with his reincarnation setting, however, if he had not even been born a noble then he would have really just jumped headfirst from his crib at the soonest opportunity.
Just, did he really have to be reborn so far north?
-/-
“Up early as usual young lord?” the master of arms asked as he strode into the courtyard with his large stomach leading the way. He was a jolly man aged around 50 who had gone to seed, but still held all the knowledge needed to teach the next generation in his mind, if not necessarily his body.
Not that Harrion would ever say that out loud considering that he didn't have any particular fetish for having his ass beat by older men. He was very unlike Hungarian politicians in that way.
Harrion nodded, not stopping in his mind numbing practice. Considering that he didn't truly have that much applicable scientific knowledge and that his only advantage was knowing bits and bobs of the future, the decision that he had made once reborn into this life had been as simple as it had been necessary.
If he could not revolutionize the world with some applications of science, to assure his own wealth and survival, then the only thing left was to use his foreknowledge and comparable wisdom to become the epitome of what was considered a respectable lord. Although, to be fair, being respected or not had never stopped someone from getting killed in the books. What was the best answer for surviving in such a world? Probably living as a hermit somewhere in the south and hoping that things would turn out fine.
However, that was not a life he wanted to live and if nothing else, being born into nobility provided him with the life of comparable riches that he'd always desired. Even if a noble in this day and age lived more poorly than the average wage-slave back in America. He just wanted to be richer than others though, not rich in itself, so he was fine with that...
But, no matter, in his opinion it was still better to train all his skills and to gain respect and allies so that whenever a situation arose in which he needed to protect himself, he at least had a skill-set applicable to the situation.
This was why he had crafted a very particular persona that he had been working on ever since he had first began speaking. His plan was to become proficient in the respected skill sets of this age such as horse riding and sword swinging, while cultivating the image of a wise and intelligent child who would later grow up to be a wise and intelligent Lord.
This was why his answers to things were sparse, already as a practice, because whenever the quantity of words was reduced, people assumed that the quality of what remained was higher.
“A sword can certainly be sharpened for too long, but most people never attempt to reach that limit,” was thus his reply to Magnus.
The man simply nodded at his words and stoic demeanor and went up to pick a practice sword of his own.
“Well, lad, let it not be sad that I shall not reward the hard-working with a bit of personal instruction before all the other rascals make their way out of their beds and out of the tits of their wetnurses,” he said, referring to Harrion’s two younger brothers, Eddard and Torrhen who in consideration of being respectively five and four years old, were not particularly good at time-management, waking up early or swinging around a heavy wooden stick for hours on end.
Harrion closed his eyes and nodded seriously in lieu of having anything to say about the matter. The personal instruction was appreciated, and considering that physically exerting his body to this level was the thing that he enjoyed least about his day, he always tried to get it out of the way faster rather than later.
He raised his sword and the clack of wooden sticks meeting started resounding through the courtyard.
So early had Harrion on started his training, that by the time his younger brothers actually showed up he was already done.
His eyes glinted as he looked at the two miniature versions of himself and their father, Rickard, the man executed in the future by Robb Stark for killing Lannister prisoners in anger due to the fact that Caitlyn Stark had released Jamie from captivity in return for him trying to free her daughters.
Rickard was idiotic in the sense that he forgot that in this feudalistic shitholes such as these, even if one's Lord was essentially functioning of the cognitive level of a three-year old, one still had to be very careful with one's actions lest it be you being executed for treason rather than them being executed for stupidity.
He nodded seriously with closed eyes as he let the lessons of the past wash over. The best solution in that case would have been to try to raise discontent with the other Lords potentially also unhappy with the decision and gain some favorable conditions from Robb Stark who would try to placate his bannerman as an apology for the stupidity of his mother.
“He's doing the thing again,” a tiny squeaky voice said, causing Harrion to open his eyes and to glare at his younger brother Eddard.
“Are you going to help us today as well brother?” Torrhen, the younger, asked.
Harrion grunted in acquiescence. One thing that was important in a feudalistic setting was to take care of one's family to create a feeling of love and indebtedness. Too many lords had been felled by their own younger siblings because their greed for power surmounted their filial piety.
Thus, despite the fact that he was done with his training for the day he would stay on the field for another half an hour to help his brothers with the start of their journey to becoming competent warriors. The fact that it would be him teaching them would create in their minds the reliable figure of an older sibling, but also, make sure that he was always kept abreast of their advancement and that he always knew their moves at least with a sword in case they ever turned against him.
“Coming or not, lad?” Magnus asked in his loud fat person voice, causing Harrion to open his eyes which had inadvertently closed as he planned and thought about his future. He looked to the side to see that his brother had already picked up wooden swords and we're starting to swing them.
He nodded seriously, a gesture that he thought probably looked like from the outside, philosophical.
He went over and started helping his younger brother with what he thought to be a wise facial expression, but which he didn't know only made him look constipated due to his relatively young age.
Such was the morning of Harrion Karstark.
-/-
Harrion had known in his previous life that before a day of learning an ounce of exercise would improve the results.
Of course knowing was different than doing and he'd never implemented the practice, but in a world like this where there was no convenient distraction such as the internet, or modern entertainment, he had no choice but to live a healthy and holistic lifestyle.
Thus after his morning training was done, a full three hours of it, only two of which had actually been spent on himself, the last hour falling victim to his potentially treacherous younger brothers, the first thing he did was go to the kitchens.
“A healthy soul lives within a healthy mind which lives in equilibrium with its healthy body,” he said to himself as he wandered through the large corridors of the castle he inhabited towards the sound of clattering pots and screaming staff.
“Young lord,” a soldier standing guard saluted him with a small smile on his rugged bearded face. He was wearing the black and white livery of the Karstarks.
“The work you do is indispensable and your service valued,” Harrion replied seriously to the man as he passed by. He already crossed the bend by the time the guard couldn't hold his laughter anymore and thus got the impression that his serious demeanor had strengthened the loyalty of his family's troops.
The loyalty had of course been strengthened, but that feat had been achieved more by cuteness rather than seriousness.
“Already set it out for you,” the head of the kitchen said when Harrion dragged his slightly fatigued body inside one of the warmest rooms in the Castle. It was going to be winter soon, likely the last one before the Long Night, so it was good to enjoy the cold and the accompanying joy of heat that it brought in such conditions while one could. Crazy how winters could last for 14 years and such in this world he thought to himself as he picked up the bowl of food that had been prepared specifically for him.
The head of the kitchen, a large and rotund woman named Bertha patted him on the head as he made his way to the large fireplace where her loyal servants were stirring at a large part of stew which would be served this evening for dinner.
He ignored that disrespectful gesture, knowing that her relatively straightforward manner of treating children as children and not as the powerful and respected Lords they would one day be was not something he could change. She was one of the few people who actually treated him in such a way so he appreciated the gesture at least. Even if it worked contrary to his cool and collected image.
He sat down close to the fireplace and picked up a dried apple from the pile of food he'd gotten. He bit into it as he looked into the curling flames and breathed the very unhealthy air. Next to disappear down his gullet was a chicken leg followed by a piece of cheese and last but not least came a large piece of bread with butter and jam.
He wasn't as crazy as some fitness people from his last life who tried to eat the proteins they needed to grow their muscles literally the second after the exercise ended, but he still made it a priority to get here as fast as possible to promote growth.
Many people didn't notice, thinking themselves too rational, but the trend of democratic leaders in modern countries still followed the fact that they got taller as the terms passed because being taller than one's opponent was an indispensable psychological advantage in debates and made them seem more imposing.
Thus one of his goals was to utilize every single bit of nutrition that he needed to to reach his maximum height as determined by his genetics.
The next thing on today's agenda, now that he’d trained his body and provided it sustenance was to go to the maester of their household and demand as much tutelage as he could scrounge from the lazy lug who avoided him whenever he could so as not to be asked questions about the current state of the church and how their religious doctrine ended up being reflected in the political decision making of the fiefs in the Kingdom which conformed more strongly to the teachings of the Seven.
‘Ah, but how is one to determine such an effect, young Lord, this is not truly a question that I am qualified to answer,’ the maester would beg off.
‘But as a learned man you should at least have a hypothesis my dear Bish,’ Harrion would reply before continuing with the, ‘and regardless of any clear consensus on the matter, surely a dialogue between the two of us will provide us with a better idea of what could be rather than simply avoiding the question altogether in fear of proliferating false data.’
‘The young Lord is as cruel as he is intelligent,’ the maester would say, ‘but please, is there no way to back out of this intellectual exchange so that I may tend to the ravens and to the sick,’ he would argue.
Harrion would then reply, ‘Are there any tasks and responsibilities that can be weighed against the future decisions that an educated Lord might make to improve the realm and debate topics of faith with those who have influence on the happenings of our nation?’
The maester would then defeatedly sit down with Harrion for approximately two hours to discuss such topics after which both of them would leave smarter, but only one of them happier for it.
Harrion nodded to himself and noticed that he had spent the last 15 minutes staring at the flames with a blank gaze thinking about hypothetical scenarios and conversations.
He coughed into his fist as he stood up, noting that everyone in the kitchen was still at work and that no one had noticed his short burst of distraction.
He made to leave, patting himself off and going to the big wash bucket to clean the bowl that he had used himself, refusing the help of a female kitchen hand whose offering at this point was more symbolic than real since they knew very well that he would refuse it.
Doing his own dishes would surely raise the status of his presence in the eyes of the smallfolk as it was clear that he did not shy away from the tasks they themselves had to complete every day. The biggest strength that a politician/lord could have was to be seen as one of the people by those he governed.
He left the kitchen with his head held high after having done his due and left behind an amused kitchen staff who commented to each other once he was out of hearing range.
“He does know that that’s a woman’s job, right?” a newly hired staff-member asked.
-/-
It was as he was walking up the steps of the tower in which the maester resided with his crows, that Harrion considered the variety of the topics that he could bring up to make himself seem smart.
Perhaps he could talk about the potential expansion of Mathematics to include the numbers 0 and the negative numbers which would help create a class of equations to figure out missing pieces… Even if, after all of these years of not having studied Mathematics, he didn't know what equations were actually useful for. Had he ever known, actually?
The maester would obviously brush off his attempts to enlighten him as he had always done so in the past and because Harrion was a young boy, however it would continue building his reputation as an intelligent strapping lad with a bright future ahead of him.
In addition to being the perfect young Lord, Harrion also had a secondary goal and that was to perhaps go study at the citadel to see at what exact level the knowledge this world was truly at. If he managed to attain a scholarly enough image, he might even be able to dip out of future conflicts.
Harrion, as the oldest son of the House of Karstark, was actually eight years older than Robb Stark, who was not yet to be born for another two years. Considering that from Harrion's memories Robert's rebellion lasted around one to two years, this meant that considering himself a six years old, it was going to happen very soon.
Of course Harrion would really not be involved either way, he was too young to even squire. However, in the future, despite being a good swordsman, by then perhaps Harrion could dodge various conflicts with the phrase. “I am but a frail scholar, tehehe,” while awkwardly holding up a hand to cover his mouth and blushing like a maiden. For that he would of course have to be clean shaven rather than have the canonically long beard that his body had had in the books, as weird as that sounded. Like that he might avoid the Greyjoy rebellion, for which he would be old enough to actually participate.
It was thus as he was considering also the topic of germ theory, that Harrion made his way to the top of the tower where he found a large wooden door on which he promptly knocked.
Rather than the usual lethargy that the maester Bish greeted him with, the doors opened wide the second after the knock, startling the young boy enough to almost fall to his behind.
The maester, an older man with a bald head and not too many chains around his neck, seemed to frantically want to rush down the stairs but stopped when he beheld Harrion waiting there for him.
Harrion for his part grinned broadly, he didn't know that the maester would after all of his attempts finally gain enough academic interest in his musings and memories of the past life that he would get so excited for their regular learning sessions.
“Maester Bish, truly it is an aspiring day to see you so excited to discuss matters of academic interest,” he thus said.
Maester Bish for his part simply looked confused for a few seconds, before shaking his head.
“Come with me young lord,” he said, hurriedly grabbing Harrion by the shoulder and pulling him to rush down the steps.
“Important news from Winterfell, we must find your father,” the man said in an urgent tone of voice.
“He should be in his solar at this time of day, he likes to take his breakfast late and alone,” Harrion said, this time more seriously. “What seems to be the news?” he then asked, curious as to the content of the role of parchment the maester was gripping tightly in his fist, likely crushing the paper and damaging some of the words written on it.
Maester Bish hesitated in answering the question as they continued rushing through the corridors, past surprised guards, startled small folk and confused servants.
“You’re old enough I guess,” the man determined as they ran. “I don't know if you heard the tales, but recently Lord Stark went to King's Landing to discuss the abduction of Lyanna Stark and his heir’s efforts to release her which had gotten him captured by the King. They both died in some matter which is not yet clear, forcing Eddard Stark who had been on his way to the wedding of his now deceased eldest brother to return to Winterfell. Jon Arryn has refused the order of the king to eradicate the young Lords of the Stark and Baratheon line, and has raised the Vale in rebellion. Now Lord Stark is likely summoning his bannermen to his side to join the fight,” the maester explained quickly and succinctly.
The man obviously didn't have access to all of the information that Harrion already had about the situation, but that was only to be expected when one considered the harsh reality of national communications in the medieval ages.
Ravens, rumors, and buffoonery were the general rule of thumb.
“War” Harrion muttered, not even having heard that these events have begun transpiring. He was a child so who would inform him in the end? Everyone thought that he was still too young, which thankfully meant that he wouldn't be called on to fight. At least unlike everyone else he already knew the results of the war unless his presence had changed everything so he knew that his family would emerge victorious, likely even be rewarded richly for their participation.
His response to the news was perhaps less than stellar. Sure he knew that people would die, and that hundreds or thousands or tens of thousands of people would suffer greatly, however knowing the results in advance meant that he couldn't bring up the appropriate horror at the world once again going to war.
“War then,” he said again at which the maester frowned.
“This is a very serious matter. Do not treat it so blasely. If this is in fact the letter that I'm suspecting, your father will have to participate as well,” he remarked as they reached the entry of the lord's solar which was guarded by two men at arms. They were more ceremonial than anything considering there wasn't currently an active conflict going on in the region, but they nevertheless stopped the maester and the Lord's son to hear their intentions. Once they'd verified that it was a message being brought to the lord, they opened the door and allowed them inside.
Lord Rickard Stark was still a relatively young man in the prime of his youth, however his great height mixed with his gaunt and narrow face made him look older than he truly was.
The man was just finishing up a plate of sausages with a pint of ale when the maester and son stormed into the room. The lord looked up in surprise at the sudden intrusion.
“What's happening,” he asked gruffly? “Has he tried mixing alchemy again?” he asked, glaring at Harrion who stubbornly put his nose in the air.
Just because he hadn't been a scientist in his last life didn't mean that he couldn't try to replicate some of the successes himself with experimentation.
It wasn't his fault that the smell produced by his most recent experience had caused three of the keep’s dogs to vomit for five hours straight.
“I have even worse news then that I'm afraid, my lord,” maester Bish said and stepped forward, handing over the parchment in his hand.
Rickard promptly cracked open the wax seal and read it before putting it down and leaning back in his wooden chair. He grabbed at his ale, only to find it empty. He gave a disappointed sigh.
“Westeros at war,” he said while his eyes looked like a thousand computations were happening behind them all at once. From personal experience and anecdotal evidence Harrion however knew that the most that could be happening in the man’s brain was one brain cell telling another that they had forgotten how to breathe.
“Harrion,” the man started turning to his son, “Prepare yourself. War has come to these lands once again and there's nothing better than to steel a young man into a sword which can survive the future of such an occurrence. I would usually not say this to a child as young as you, but considering your deeds and words are those of someone much older I think that this is a great opportunity for us to experience the realities of our cruel existence. The army will need messenger boys. We will ride at dawn,” he said.
Harrion's mind meanwhile froze for a second, his software crashing and rebooting. He’d known from the books and from this life that his father was an idiot.
But…
“What?”
-/-
AN: This fic is my response to an annoying trend that I see in GoT fanfiction, which is the belief that a SI would have enough scientific knowledge to actually innovate reasonably. I can understand gunpowder, but then what, you think medieval blacksmiths in game of thrones are good enough to create a functional gun? You think you're good enough to sketch a functional gun? You think society is at the level to accept these changes? It's like the meme about the 21st century guy thinking he'd blow people's brain if he went to Jesuite times, but then not knowing how to generate this wondrous electricity he's talking about.
Also, as a philosophy student this is my obligatory philosophy major slander. Some of ya'll are majorly fucking dumb is what you are. (This is not at all my internal bitterness at ALMOST failing Theoretical philosophy and Formal logic and thus potentially barring me from the program. Lies, stop spreading lies, asshole.)
Comments
gochicus
it's to early to discuss quality of the story, but i like this particuar fandom, so i hope to see more chapters of this
bananaphone
He is off to war, as close to dead as it gets for a random char in ASOIAF without it being necessary enough for the main plot to be gruelly described in detail.
bananaphone
I enjoy it so far. "will his people reject the lord dumbling and will he be seated next to hodor? Or will he prove himself in the war as more usefull than a raven? Stay tuned!"
DiscoT
Some characteristics of it sure. It's a tough read when it's too heavy and most importantly, a majority of people can't relate to it.
bor902
Yeah, those names are a bit annoying
bor902
That's definitely what people think
bor902
Well, let's not say no instinctually to some autism representation in the fanfic space lmao
bor902
They can't all be bangers
Gremlin Jack
Entertaining, I like the idea of the SI completely flubbing his PR but winning people over anyway for the cute. But there were some typos, the most confusing one being "Rickard Stark", who had just died, as opposed to Rickard Karstark. Seriously though, that's quite the failure of imagination for whoever named these people.
MagicWafflez
... idk, will people think he's smart or that he's brain damaged standing around with his eyes closed all the friggen time... I feel like most people are instead going to think he's kind of slow... ^_^;
DiscoT
Your Harrion comes across as too clinical and frankly somewhat autistic. I like the base idea of an SI into Karstark but the character is too alike ur other mcs.
Ano
Writings a bit off, kind of a weird narrative bit, I prefer your other offerings. I’m also not certain what the point is in creating an SI where the protagonist has nothing to set him apart. You can just remove that bit and make it a regular oc helmed fic.
bor902
You can avoid war, but war finds you
bor902
Six years old
bor902
Wow, this is how you treat me huh? Well, they can't all be bangers to be fair and I really don't think GoT is my strong suit. Should have killed him end of the chapter actually... That's a good idea. Sticking true to source material.
bor902
hehe hoho, reincarnated I have been, silly things I shall do. You can have one innovation. I for example know fairly well how a printing press works. But having someone who knows how to make, glass, guns, crop rotation etc is a bit dumb Would be funny though, last paragraph. "I got reincarnated into a shitty fantasy world so I try to kill myself to get a better roll, but circumstances keep preventing me from dying!"
C&C
Respect for going against the grain and not granting your protagonist encyclopedic knowledge to dominate the world with. When i read that this was a 'pen over sword' kinda fic, i certainly expected some 'innovations'. A route like this was a pleasant surprise The protagonist also won me over quickly. Behind the serious demeanor and actions lies somewhat of a silly guy (if i'm reading him correctly), which made following his actions and seeing his internal thoughts fun for me. Also, i will speak in defense of some of the 'innovations' i've seen authors have their protagonists come up with! I'd argue that a lot of people would actually be able to bring quite a bit over depending on their educational/cultural background. Hell, my family actually has a background in glassblowing (you would need to reincarnate in a position of authority to not die a most painful death tho...) In any case, looking forward to more if this story continues. For the most part i hope our protagonist gains some kind of motive besides basic survival. Mostly because basic survival isn't all that great of a reward in his position (imo). The great privilege of being the lord of some kind of frozen wasteland close to the ice zombies, married to some rando he'll probably dislike. Wowie. At least he'll enjoy his job.... right? Honestly, i'd probably fuck off to Essos the moment i could pull off the trip. Less responsibilities, less ice zombies, less need to live in a place that's fucking frozen all the time. Hell, maybe be with someone you choose! And if i die? Well, already got a random reincarnation once. Who knows, maybe the next place would have working toilets
Green0Photon
> This fic is my response to an annoying trend that I see in GoT fanfiction, which is the belief that a SI would have enough scientific knowledge to actually innovate reasonably. Unfortunately, I feel like the counter trend is also a bit overdone. This fic ends up in a weird halfway state between where it's playing that counter narrative straight, but also has some knowledge of the counter narrative. NGL, the worst is that there's still the same "you're all savages whereas I'm from a superior society, but I know to treat savages with kindness" vibe, where it's the same thing that's wrong with the uplift fics. And it's hard to tell if it's just unreliable narration or you playing it straight. A lot of that is gonna be the worst only because it's one chapter though. It was actually so silly with him constantly thinking of the mastermind plans like all the worst kinds of fics, that I thought we'd have a Game of Thrones moment where he just fucking dies at the end of the chapter or something. I do still like the fic, to be clear. It's very well written. Just lacks that original punch that you're able to have in literally everything else you do. I mean, it has some. But it's doing the thing where the author has unreliable narration where paranoid readers feel like it's just bad writing, when the weird bits are deliberate. I mean, I hope they're deliberate... Anyway, haven't seen a Karstark SI. Especially like this. Bobby B's war fics are also rare. So if this was a new fic by another author, insdread of you with 3 things on their plate already, I'd love to see more. But instead... *Cracks whip* back to your other fics! (Lmaooooooo)
Mrsean22
Karstark huh? Honestly a pretty powerful house in the North. Add in being the heir? He got some power once he grows up. But yeah he's starting to learn you can't avoid fighting in a war. Well he's not fighting because six but the message is the same. Looking forward to seeing where Harrison goes.
Austin
Might need to kill his dad to keep alive at this point tbh but how old is he now?
