Chapter 141 - My SI Stash #41 - Stars and Swords: A Self Insert Story by Apollo139 (A song of Ice and Fire) (1/2)
-a Brit official SI to Westeros as the bastard son of King Aegon Targaryen. No technological development by the SI, but his knowledge of economics can make him a very rich man~
*We've reached 2000 collections, 2000 more weebs!
ヽ(・∀・)ﾉ
Sypnosis: A British diplomat wakes up in Westeros.
Rated: M
Words: 48K
Posted on: m.fanfiction.net/s/13152521/1/Stars-and-Swords-A-Self-Insert-Story (Apollo139)
PS: If you're not able to copy/paste the link, you have everything in here to find it, by simply searching the author and the story title. It sucks that you can't copy links on mobile (´ー｀)
-I'll be putting the chapter ones of all the fanfics mentioned, to give you guys a sample if you wan't more please do go to the website and support the author! (And maybe even convince them to start uploading chapters in here as well!)
Chapter 1
My nightmare started with a slippery, uneven road, drenched with the fallen autumn rain, and a tired driver.
My girlfriend, Martina, sat in the passenger seat next to me, glancing out the window with resigned wistfulness.
”Why is it raining?” she asked, sighing. ”It's the middle of summer and we're in Italy, not England!”
”Hey!” I exclaimed, in mock offense, also in Italian.
”Sorry, love,” she laughed, a teasing tilt to her voice.
God, I loved that laugh.
A car horn blared. A woman screamed, though her voice seemed far, far away. Was it Martina? It didn't sound like her. Then there was the awful noise of tyres screeching on tarmac. I tried to turn the wheel but a half-second later a mighty crash sounded, and I was jerked forward violently. Pain shot through me and a suffocating darkness descended. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't move and, worst of all, I couldn't see Martina.
Suddenly, there was a flash of blinding light. Then another, and another, until it felt like I was in a strobe lighting effects show. It seemed to go on for hours until, finally, it stopped, and I was steeped in darkness again.
And then I died.
o-O-o
I was drowsy when I came to, and there was a painful thumping in my head. A nauseous, sick feeling was pooled at my gut. I felt weird and uncomfortable; my body seemed different, smaller than it should be. Something was dreadfully wrong, and I opened my eyes warily.
My eyes stung slightly as the light filtered through, but my vision quickly cleared. I was lying on a bed, the silken sheets soft beneath me. An old-style brazier sat in the far corner, next to a wooden door, a small fire blazing merrily in it. There was a criss-cross of garish pink and blue rugs spread across the floor, while the walls were a patchwork of mismatched grey stones, reminiscent of a thirteenth century castle. It was relatively b_a_r_e, only containing the bed I was lying on, a dresser and a wooden sword that was lent against the far wall.
I was not alone.
There was a man at my bedside, sifting through a large bag. He was heavy-set, with large jowls that fell around his thick neck, but his eyes were an intelligent bright green. He wore a long gown-like garment and a heavy chain with a number of totems hung about his neck. Eventually he found what he was searching for, bringing out a small, clear pot, full to the brim with a blueish substance. The man stared at it for several moments, his face alight with concentration.
At this point I was terrified. Where was I, where was Martina, and, most importantly, who the f_u_c_k was this guy? For all I knew this guy had kidnapped me from the scene of the car crash and was about to start carrying out gruesome medical experiments on me.
”Uh… ah… H-H-” I tried to yell for help, but all that came out was a string of incoherent grunts and noises.
The man glanced around, his eyes widening in excitement.
”Lord Aenys!” The man exclaimed. ”You're awake! What do you remember, my lord?”
”I…”
Aenys? What the f_u_c_k was this? The man was clearly insane.
”My lord?” he asked.
No more words would come, so I just shook my head.
”You seem to be having trouble talking, which isn't too uncommon after a nasty fall,” he said, tapping his lip in thought. Then he frowned, worry coming over his face. ”Or perhaps remembering? Can you tell me where you are, my lord?”
I shook my head again.
”This is bad,” the man murmured to himself, though I could just about hear him. ”What about your name, my lord? Could you tell me that?”
”N-No.” I finally managed to sound out a whole word, though the voice that came out did not sound like my own.
”Oh, dear,” he sighed in reply. ”I must inform Lord Elston at once. Rest for now, my lord. With luck this will only be temporary.”
The fat man turned to leave.
”W-Wait…” I croaked out.
The man stopped and asked, ”Yes, my lord?”
”W-What do… you… think m-my… name… is?”
”You are Aenys Storm, my lord,” he said, speaking slowly. ”The bastard son of King Aegon Targaryen, Fourth of His Name.”
Predictably, I blacked out again.
o-O-o
I dreamt a long while after that. I will not bore you with the details, but needless to say they contained much death, a lot of blood and a couple of dragons. A more fascinating and disturbing nightmare I had not had.
Memories that were not mine flooded into me. My mind was an absolute mess of conflicting memories, emotions, thoughts and half a hundred other things. It was confusing, and it was painful. In the end I came out with just two overwhelming thoughts in my brain: I was in Westeros, the setting of the A Song of Ice and Fire series, over a hundred years before the event of the book and the show, and my name was Aenys Storm, a bastard of Aegon the Unworthy.
There were several distressing things about that fact that immediately came to me. First of all, Aegon IV- I mean f_u_c_k_i_n_g really? Of all the Targaryen kings reigns I had to end up in that twat's reign? And as his own son, no less? I mean I barely knew anything about this period! Secondly, I'm pretty sure there was never an Aenys Storm in George Martin's world. I knew there was Bittersteel, Bloodraven (holy shit I didn't want to meet him), that Seastar girl and of course Daemon Blackfyre himself. There were a couple of others if I recalled correctly but no Aenys Storm.
But more importantly I was questioning how in the hell this happened. Was this a dream? Was I dreaming within a dream? I just couldn't understand how this was possible. I wanted to get back to earth. I wanted to be with Martina. I wanted to go home, not be transported to some quasi fantasy-medieval world where I was likely to be murdered or die of the plague.
This internal battle, more of a meltdown really, went on for a quite a while but eventually I became more accustomed in my brain with this new person or personality or whatever; at least enough to accept just a little more information. It was 183 years after Aegon's Conquest and I was currently eleven years old. Apparently in this different timeline my/Aenys's mother, a Tarth of Evenfall Hall, had visited King's Landing for some tourney or feast and there Aegon C_u_n_t Targaryen had i_m_p_r_e_g_n_a_t_ed her with little old me. Barba Bracken, King Aegon's mistress at the time, had made sure we weren't welcome at court, so my pregnant mother had been sent away. My mother had then died giving birth to me (f_u_c_k_i_n_g medieval medicine) and I'd been raised at Evenfall Hall ever since by my uncle, Lord Elston Tarth. According to this new wash of memories I hadn't even meet any of my father's family, including Aegon himself. Lord Elston disliked even leaving the island of Tarth, so Aenys had had a pretty sheltered upbringing, which had made him rather morose, even a little angry. That sounded far too much like Bittersteel for my liking and if this little journey turned out to be permanent, I decided, I would put a stop to any of those feelings.
Of course, at that point I still didn't really believe I was actually in Westeros. Alas but I still had so much more to come.
o-O-o
When I next awoke it was dark and I was alone. To my dismay I was still in the same room where the weird old man had called me Aenys, rather than in my apartment in Rome or an Italian hospital. It seemed like this was actually real.
My head still hurt but other than that I felt okay so I sat up slowly. Someone had left me a jug of water at my bedside and I realized my throat was as dry as the Sahara Desert. I reached for it greedily but froze when I saw my own reflection in the still water. All thoughts of thirst vanished from my mind as I gazed on a face that was not mine.
I certainly looked like a Targaryen. I was pale, even paler than I had been as a pasty-faced Brit, with rather beautiful looking silver blonde hair. My new face was beautiful too, even with a lingering of baby fat still around my face. My nose was straight, my lips full and red. It was my eyes that were most striking, however. They shone back at me through the water, violet and indigo clashing together brightly in a mesmerising combination, shining bright like an amethyst. Even as I child I looked elegant.
Then I sat down on the bed and cried. The crushing unfairness of it all bore down on me and I cried and cried, thinking of Martina, my sister and my nieces and nephews, and of earth. Wonderful, clean, safe earth. I must say this went on for longer than I'd like to admit.
Finally, as the first glimmers of light began to shine through the single window in the room, I calmed myself down enough to really think. I was in Westeros, with the Blackfyre rebellion on the horizon. In less than fifteen years, in fact. I had to be ready for it. As a 'Great Bastard' I'd inevitably be drawn into it by both sides, as another child of King Aegon would undoubtedly give legitimacy to which ever side I chose. I suppose I'd go with Daeron seeing as he wins, but perhaps there was a way I could avoid the whole war all together?