In a dim room of the Red Keep, an 8-year-old boy lay sprawled on his bed, sweat beading on his brow. But there was someone else present in the room; a person sat in a chair by his side, not human but something... else.
Artys Arryn P.O.V
"Where the hell am I?" My head was pounding like someone smashed it with a hammer.
"You are in your bed," a voice said, calm and eerie. "Your memories from your past life and this one should be merged by now."
Oh, shit. I remember now. I reincarnated into another world, just like in those stories. I'm Jason Stark. Well, now Artys Arryn, son of Jon Arryn and Rowena Arryn. After I died, I was sent to this world by the celestial being I met after my death.
Even in this life, my mother died giving birth to me. Two different worlds, yet the same awful beginning. Quite a demon I am.
The celestial tilted his head, eyes glinting. "I think I gave you a good life. You're the heir to a noble house, and as for your mother, she was destined to die anyway."
I squinted at the figure seated by my bed. It was him, the celestial being who had shoved me into this world. But he looked different now. The armor and dark wings were gone, replaced by a black suit that made him look almost… human.
But his eyes, one golden and one dark, screamed that it wasn't a good idea to mess with him.
"I was born during Robert's Rebellion," I said. "The Mad King Aerys lost his mind and ordered Robert Baratheon and Ned Stark sent to King's Landing for beheading. My father, Jon Arryn, said fuck that and raised the Vale banners instead. Robert and Ned answered and called their banners—war exploded. Battle of the Trident, sack of the city, all that. My mother died just a few days after my birth. Jon married Lysa Tully to cement the alliance with the Tullys."
"That sounds like a history lesson," the celestial said, amusement on his face.
"That's what it is," I replied, pushing myself up from the bed. The sheets rustled as I leaned back against the headboard, trying to get a comfortable view of the being sitting across from me—a creature of unfathomable power lounging in my room like he owned the place.
"I was born during a war. My mom died days after I was born. There was a literal fucking war raging while I was still a baby. If my father had failed, the Mad King would've had me thrown into a pot of wildfire and burned me alive. Sure, I'm heir to a noble house, but there's risk in that too. I could die from poison, get trampled in a mob, stabbed in my sleep, or worse. This is Westeros—you never know who wants you dead. And you call that a good life?" I asked, raising my voice.
"I don't give a shit if he's a mighty being. I'm a man too."
He nodded slowly, then continued speaking with a smile, the kind kidnappers give children when they're handing out candy. "The realm is stable now, and look at you, enjoying life in a place—"
"Stable my ass!" I shot back.
"The throne's far from being stable. It might look stable now, but we know what would happen in the future, right after Robert dies. The Greyjoy Rebellion got crushed last year, but that doesn't make things stable. Targaryen loyalists still whisper in the shadows. Dorne hates Robert and Tywin to the guts. What about the Mountain and Amory Lorch's crimes in the Sack? They smashed the head of Aegon—a baby of a few months—and Rhaenys was stabbed fifty times. Then the Mountain raped Princess Elia after she watched her son's death. The Mountain had her son's blood on his hands while he raped her... evil as it gets. Right now, Lannisters are creeping in too. The crown has started borrowing money now from Tywin Lannister, and there are more Lannister men coming to the city. Robert's too busy whoring to notice."
"I never thought you'd be moral," I said. "I mean, considering the kind of shit you used to pull in your previous life. I don't think you would be so against these kinds of acts."
"For fuck's sake."
"Yes, I admit I wasn't a good person, but even I had a code. I wouldn't go after children and rape their mother. That's fucking demonic!" I snapped, defending myself.
"It's not like you'd see me riding to Casterly Rock demanding justice for the woman and her children. I'm no honorable fool—certainly not like a particular lord in the North with a sword named Ice in his hand." I smirked.
"Never mind that. I have little time. Your memories from past and your current life should have merged by now," the celestial said, trying to shift the topic.
"Memories merged, yeah," I said, rubbing my temples. "But why the fuck are you here? You told me you wouldn't help. You said the only thing you'd do was reincarnate me with my memories, and that too, locked until I hit fifteen."
I still remember how he refused to give me any wishes or gifts, unlike those lucky pricks in other stories.
"I'm here to make amends," he said, his voice like silk over steel.
Amends? What, he pities me? I caught some Essosi disease, and now that I'm on my deathbed, he shows up to play savior?
"I do feel bad for you, but that's not why I'm here," he said. "You were not sick but poisoned!"
Poisoned? That old fuck Pycelle swore it was some Essosi disease.
Who'd want to kill me? I'm just a kid!
"Think, boy. Who benefits from your death?"
I racked my brain. Killing an 8-year-old doesn't make sense... unless... "That fucking piece of shit," I spat, venom dripping from my voice.
The celestial being smirked, not surprised. "You figured it out."
"Of course I did. Anyone who's seen Game of Thrones knows only one man would benefit from my death. He's Petyr fucking Baelish."
"And what does he gain?" the celestial asked, leaning forward.
"Obvious, isn't it? With me gone, Robin's the heir to the Eyrie. Littlefinger can control the Vale through that Tully bitch."
I couldn't think of anyone else. I don't have enemies. Who'd go to such lengths to kill a kid like me?
"You're right," the celestial said. "But you were poisoned by two parties."
Two? Who else wants me dead? "You're reading my thoughts again, aren't you?" I snapped, remembering how he poked around my head when I first met him.
"Yeah. The other party? Don't stress that little head of yours. Your guess would be wrong," he said, cool as ever.
"Cersei Lannister."
Cersei? Why the hell would she want me dead?
"Did you think I sent you here without gifts?" he said. "You're a prodigy in swordsmanship and archery, smarter than your peers, and don't forget the looks you got."
It clicked. Joffrey and I were compared a lot by people because we were of the same age group. Yet I was showing my talents while Joffrey was still sucking his mother's titty milk.
That wretched, brother-fucking whore, just because I injured her little bastard, decided to poison me? My blood was boiling with anger.
A few months back, Joffrey came to the training yard and challenged me to a duel, though we were forbidden to use steel swords, which the boy insisted on.
The duel took place in the training yard, and we used wooden swords. But it wasn't a duel—it was a one-sided slaughter.
I beat that fool to the ground, and my last strike hit him on his shoulder. Though I used little force, the boy still started crying like a baby girl and demanded my head for the crime of hurting the prince.
Nobody listened to his order, not even the two Kingsguard who were with him. I don't remember the name of the other one, but one of them was his uncle, or I should say his father, Jaime fuckin' Lannister.
Lannister influence in King's Landing is growing, but has not reached the point where they could call shots. The crown's debt to Tywin has just begun, and the number of Lannister men is growing with it.
As heir to the Eyrie, with my father as Hand of the King, it would be difficult to even put me in chains, let alone put my head on a spike. My father is not Ned Stark, who knew nothing about this game. For God's sake, he was the Warden of the North, yet his honor became the reason for his demise.
Besides, as long as Joffrey is alive and in one piece, Robert wouldn't care about a few scratches on his son.
He might even be proud, saying the wounds on a warrior are like jewelry on a woman.
That six-year-old Joffrey is a pain in the ass. After spending some time with him, I developed a hatred for him. This shouldn't surprise anyone.
He spends most of his time with Cersei. She spoils him and puts her thoughts about how they are above the rest and 'lions are better than the rest' into the boy's head.
No wonder the boy turned out to be a complete psychopath and an idiot.
"So, Cersei's pissed because I outshine her little hyena?" I asked.
These idiots are far from being lions except Tywin. The rest are idiots and maybe except the dwarf, who is smart, unlike his siblings.
"Not quite," the celestial said. "After the incident between you and Joffrey, Robert compared you to Joffrey. Cersei demanded he send you to the Eyrie, away from King's Landing. Your fame as a prodigy was growing, and she hated it. They argued for a while; in the end, Robert slapped her."
No shock there. Cersei's not as smart as she thinks she is.
"So you're here because some mortals tried to snuff out the life you gave me?" I said, smirking.
"Exactly," he said, his voice hard. "I granted you this life. I won't let them take it, not before your memories fully return. As we discussed, they were supposed to resurface when you turned fifteen, but because of the circumstances, I had to come here personally. Don't think I'm doing you any special favor; it's just that if you die before your memories merge, the rest of my kind would mock me. Not exactly great for my image in Heaven, especially in front of the Father."
"You mean God?" I asked. I already knew the answer, but I still wanted to hear him say it.
"Yes, I mean God. He doesn't like it when we... interact with mortals directly. And if he found out that the person I sent to the other world got killed before recovering his memories, I'd be punished to spend a few thousand years in hell, guarding the prisons of my rebellious siblings."
He leaned closer. "I'll give you three wishes. Ask for anything, as long as it's reasonable and doesn't break this world's rules."
For a second, I didn't know whether to curse Littlefinger and Cersei or thank them. Their scheming attacked the ego of the celestial, and I got three fucking wishes, thanks to them.
"Only three? Stingy bastard," I said, grinning.
"Mortal, be grateful," he snapped. "Ask for what you want, but don't be absurd when you ask. No otherworldly armies or high-level magic."
I leaned back, my head still throbbing from the pain. I need to be smart. As heir to the Vale, I'm stuck in this bloody game, no matter how hard I try to dodge it.
Even if I were to shut the Vale off during the War of the Five Kings, Daenerys would come eventually with her dragons and her army. And after that, there's still the Night King beyond the Wall.