A Man Shall Not Be Named, a Harry Potter + Game of Thrones Crossover fanfic

So I'm writing this one at the same time as my Mass effect story. Don't know which one will move faster but I'm always writing be it this one, Mass effect or my unpublished novel. Already know where the story will end so don't worry about investing in something that won't finish.

Chapter should average 3000-4000 words at a time. Over the school holidays I'd expect about one a week.

Reviews where I butcher the Cannon are always welcome.

: : - - : : - - : : - - : : - - : : - - : : - - : : - - : : - - : : - - : : - - : : - - : : - - : : - - : : - - : : - - : : - - : : - - : : - - : : - - : :
: : - - : : - - : : - - : : - - : : - - : : - - : : - - : : - - : : - - : : - - : : - - : : - - : : - - : : - - : : - - : : - - : : - - : : - - : : - - : :

Memories slide out of his mind like sludge down a steep hill, inexorably moving away from him the more he tried to grasp them. Impotent rage filled him, rage against a boy who lived, a destiny, a birthright denied him, a dying man adorned in red. The man who once had a name that was now lost to him lay in a formless intangible sea; possessing no senses save that he was nowhere.

Slowly one sense returned, he realized he was cold, truly cold. A deep chill pervaded through him right to his core. He realized that he was dying, and was most of the way there. So this is it? He thought I die somewhere without any memory of who I was, or knowledge of where I am? He mulled it over, death was so close, it offered him peace, freedom from the now forgotten yet somehow still close by cares that had consumed him in life. All he had to do was stop resisting, let go, and he would drift away into a slumber without end.

… … … NO! He would not die. He would not die. He. Would. Not! DIE!. He deserved more, much more, he demanded more life, more time. And should his death one day come it would not be a quiet peaceful affair, but loud! glorious! And at the cost of many others. No, not today. He clawed at the edges of his senses, reaching out to reclaim a body. Where once there was only cold he now felt a warmth beneath him, more of himself returned and finally he gained a sense of his body, he was lain back down on a hard floor. He could not yet move nor open his eyes, the warmth beneath him was also wet and seeping further past him. A smell of cooper filled his nose, no, blood. Warm blood, the warmth beneath him was blood.

Even more of himself returned, he could not grasp the method but somehow the blood beneath him gave him strength, the life of whomever it previously belonged to ebbed from them and flowed into him. He had the strength to open his eyes, he was in a dark cave lit only by a few scant candles scattered around the corners of his vision. A new sense came to him, one he had not expected, he now felt the dying man lain next to him. He could somehow feel the… the essence of the man leaving through his grievous wounds and flowing out onto the floor, it was this man's strength that had brought him back from the brink of death. He now had enough strength to slowly move. Twisting and being careful not to slip on the aforementioned pool he took stock of his surroundings. The cave was mostly empty, consisting of a single large corridor with multiple smaller paths all of which disappeared into darkness, he was on a marble platform slightly raised from the otherwise natural rocky floor, he could make out detailed inscriptions and runes of some sort on its edges where the blood had not yet reached. Speaking of which the man beside him was now in the final throws of death. It was actually amazing he was still alive considering that now upon inspection his throat had been slit and his heart stabbed. A short steel blade lay amongst the pool.

As he got up he realized something I am a boy. He did not know why this surprised him, but it did. He knew nothing, yet he knew somehow he was meant to be older. Men had feared and bowed before him when he was… when he was something. Trying to recall anything at all hurt, it had been ripped from him and attempting to find it poked at the wound in his mind. He was still cold, though not as he had been before. He realized now it was because he was naked and wet in a cave that had a draft of night air gently pushing in. He needed clothes, and as much as it hurt his pride he knew he was vulnerable, he needed safety. Which meant once his immediate needs were met he would need to find out where he was, what else was nearby and what possible dangers that represented.

His immediate needs, warmth and rest. He was cold and tired. Yet before he left this platform or this cave, there was the dying man. The boy knelt down again, picked up the blade and looked into the man's eyes. They were mostly glazed over yet a hint of recognition still played across them when they met the boys. Who was he? Ah, the pain reminded him of the foolishness of trying to remember. The flow of strength from the man into the boy was beginning to peter out, the boy would gain no more benefit from him. In a single motion he thurst the blade through the man's left eye. It was not done for mercies sake, a distant part of him knew he had once left another alive though he knew not who (and at this point had learned not to try and recall) and that had come to cost him a great deal. He would never make such a mistake again. The last spark of life left the man.

Then something wonderful happened. It was like a wave of ecstasy, pure thrill and adrenaline washed over the boy blinding him for a moment to all other thoughts. A part of him that he had lost returned, "Thomas!" He screamed at the roof of the cave "My name is Thomas!" and… nothing. No other memory. His joy turned bittersweet, he knew enough to now truly know how much had been forgotten, if he had a name then he had a life. A life's memories stolen. Though one thing was for certain, if killing could return his lost memories then this would definitely not be the last time he used the blade in his hand. It didn't matter where you went in the world, there were always people no one would miss.

He now to turned his mind back to finding clothes for warmth. Although he realized something. I'm not cold. He was still naked, still a boy and if anything the night air was growing colder; yet the air no longer sapped his warmth like before. In fact he wasn't tired now anymore either. A further point, though he had not thought on it before he had been hungry and thirsty too… both also now satisfied. Thomas had a sharp mind and drew the connection His death has strengthened me. Met my needs. Well then, this indeed would not be the last time he killed. How far could he stretch this process? Would it simply satisfy his needs or could it push him past his normal limits? He would find out as soon as possible. I can feed on the essence of others, how interesting, I am some kind of… Deatheater. The name felt right somehow. It carried the sense of fear and respect he knew he deserved.

Before he moved on and found out where he was Thomas stretched out his body and mind, searching for any other senses or sights he might have missed. As he did he felt… it. Though he did not quite know what to call… it. It was everywhere, all of around him like an intangible air. It ebbed and flowed minutely everywhere except for within his own body where it shone like a bright flame. Nearby he could sense another bright spot and immediately knew it was another living being. This force, what was it? Magic? Perhaps, though it felt wrong to him. He thought perhaps he had known a magic before, but different to this, this was unfamiliar, alien. Still, he had intended to experiment with the effects of further killing and an opportunity for discovery had now serendipitously presented itself. Not to mention this other person would have fresh clothes that were not soaked in blood. Thomas walked down the corridor, perceiving unusually well considering it lay in almost complete darkness, toward the solitary glow of life.

: - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : -

Slowly. Be patient. Not a single sound. Thomas moved toward the life his newfound senses allowed him to feel. Soon a faint moonlight illuminated the corridor of the cave he moved through and he realized he was exiting the cave, the sole figure came into view. A man dressed in a simple red robe much like the one Thomas had half noticed on his previous victim, though this new figure's was less decorated. He stood still at the exit of the cave, looking out into a lightly forested valley lit by a strong full moon. No armour. Thomas noted as he crept closer. His new senses allowing him to feel that the man was close to slumber, neglecting his watch. Thomas realized if there was one kind of person he looked down on more than a servant without the backbone to become a leader, it was a servant who could not even do his job. He moved up behind the man faster and with less care, though Thomas was not fully grown he estimated he was 14 or so in years and thus possessed the reach to meet the man's head standing. He plunged the knife through the back of the man's neck through his spinal cord paralyzing him instantly and out the other side of his neck. The wound saw the man lose his life within seconds, Thomas knelt next to the body holding it so the blood drained away from the man's clothes while letting it run through his hands. As hoped a similar adrenaline and thrill begun to stir in him, then unexpectedly came far stronger than the first time.

Though he did not move Thomas felt as if he'd been knocked off his feet by the sensation. New understanding came to him. The memory of his first moments in this place, or rather, shortly before he came to this place. Humiliation, he had been defeated, destroyed. The shadow of what he had once been had stared at its final moments and anticipated the coming abyss, but what should have been his end was not. The final moment before the end instead gave way to a path, a path to life. A group of men and women each adorned in red stood arrayed in a circle around the body of the boy he now resided in. Each member chanting and singing words that lacked meaning to Thomas yet clearly had pattern and reason building and falling in unison with one another. The boy had been perfectly still. One other man in red had stood further off, it was the same man whose blood Thomas had awoken in, at his signal the entire circle had performed an unknown rite that somehow self-immolated them all instantly. Whereas before the chant had pried open an eyehole through which Thomas had looked, now the ritual ripped open a doorway for a fraction of time. The choice was instinctual, enter now or forever die. So he had come through and awoken within the boy.

His new form had been weak, whether it was what they had done to remove the original inhabitant's mind or the transfer itself of Thomas into the new body he didn't know, but he was frail. All save the lone man who had not been in the circle were gone, the faint smell of sulfur fading quickly. The man had looked at Thomas in wonderment and come close, too close. Thomas had not known the man's intentions and had been keenly aware of his present vulnerability, it had been trivial to remove the blade loosely tied to the robe, slice his throat and stab him through the heart. He had not intended to finish there, he would have followed through with a more decisive strike but the man proved Thomas' suspicion of danger accurate by releasing an unknown magic that tore at Thomas' mind in a way he had never experienced. It was in this moment, this event that he had lost so much of what he had been before. He had collapsed, his mind nearly rendered inert, the man had collapsed beside him and began bleeding out. The rest Thomas was already aware of.

He left the memory behind and returned to his present, kneeling over the now drained corpse. He would need to wait a time for the blood to dry before removing the clothes. They were an adult's size but loose and could be easily tied or tucked to fit one his size. Thomas knew a few more things now. Thomas was not his only name. There was more but the memory still lacked form, he understood that he would need to kill again to regain it. Another piece of the puzzle, he had been a powerful wizard. This was clear from the events of the past half hour as much as the fragments of his memory suggested. Yet he knew the magic of where he found himself was very different to the past, this meant the question of his location was likely to have a very undesirable answer. One does not simply travel some distance and find themselves where the laws of nature have changed. The journey he had taken after his defeat was not one that could be measured in distance, but something more. The ramifications of that would need thorough examination.

He searched his mind for anything else that had been uncovered, not he painful digging of before but now a light brush to find anything already loose. He did not find anymore old memories, but did find new information he had gained from the corpse before him. This world was mostly human, and the arts of magic mostly mysterious and unknown. Good. So, just as in the last place so too was he superior here. Indeed his first victim here had clearly been a practitioner of magic themselves and they had fallen to a frail boy with a blade. If this was the general state of things then he might be the only one of merit in all the land, the only wizard that was pure. Speaking of the magic of this place, what else could he tell of it? He stretched his sense back into the omnipresent force that permeated everything and was pleased to find his perception clearer and more precise than before, it seemed another kill did indeed improve his capacity.

Whereas before he could merely observe, now he found he could gently bend and twist this force. It would take him time to learn its machinations but Thomas did not lack skill or patience, he would uncover all there was to know. Perhaps even a way back from whence he came, though a great deal would need to be reclaimed before he could even know if such a thing was possible. After a sufficient time, he removed the corpses clothes and made them his own. There was no civilization or roads anywhere in sight within the valley the cave exited into, as Thomas was in no rush he sought further investigation, he walked back into the cave to clear the blood off the platform and see if he might gain insight from the inscriptions that had been carved upon it.

Thomas' choice to attempt deciphering the inscriptions on the platform had proved even more useful than he could have hoped. He had learnt a great deal about the world, its people and himself.

In an unexpected turn the first things he had learned after clearing the partially dried blood were about himself. The inscriptions had been absolute gibberish, written in a language not only that he had never seen but of which he could not even guess the origin. Yet simply by looking at them for a time and willing it, the knowledge had come to him. He had begun to spot familiar patterns and within the hour had become fluent in them. This had caused him to realize it was not the first time this had happened, when he had first arrived here he had known how to expertly use a blade to end the man in red. How? A powerful wizard would have no need of understanding the inner workings of a blade in such a way. Yet when his mind had wished to kill the man and reached for the blade, the knowledge has simply been there when his mind reached for it. This was how the magic of this world worked, it was a magic of thought and belief. Of willpower and desire. The ways one could access it were likely broad and numerous, which brought him to what he learned of the people.

They believed in this 'God of Light' R'hllor. Faith. They accessed magic through faith, their common belief and devotion empowering those at the highest end of the pyramid that was their order to enact supernatural manifestations of will, like the man that had nearly ended him and that had indeed tried to summon him, though accidently. For Thomas now knew even the practitioners of magic in this world barely understood its function. They understood the power of sacrifice and life to strengthen magic sure, but their attempt here had been vague and ill defined, they had sought a savior, their messiah. Tried to force the hand of prophecy, but in truth they had simply opened a random door through which he had stepped. In some way they knew this, admitted that magic was a mystery to them. This had not stopped them though; they were desperate. This brought Thomas to what he had learned of the world.

The world was in danger. One aspect of their magic that he was impressed by was their penchant for prophecy; they had gleaned a vision of a great 'cold one' in the far far north. With the power to change the weather of whole continents and raise the dead to serve him, on who sought to bring all life under his undead reign. This was power Thomas could respect, someone he could potentially consider his equal. All the more reason he had to find a way to destroy it. In time and once he was restored, it was likely the only thing that could still threaten him. Plus, it was still inferior to him. Thomas thought himself superior and worthy to rule over others because he was objectively greater than them, they themselves would become greater simply from being in his service. But this creature wasn't superior, it was simply strong. Savage. It had power but it only sought to use it to destroy, when Thomas destroyed something it was always to build something greater and more worthwhile himself. That was the difference between them, the thing that made him better.

The only other things he could glean from the inscriptions was that it would be useless for helping him return home. He would need a specific and directed method, not the random flailing desperation that resulted in this failure. Although Thomas had to concede. They did seek out one who would oppose this 'Cold One' and that is exactly what I am now set out to do. So in a way, their ritual had been successful.

There was one piece of knowledge Thomas sought he could not find, a mundane but important piece of information. Where was the nearest city or road? His body was fed by the lives he had taken, but he was not so foolish as to think himself beyond those simple concerns forever. More than likely a murder was akin to a good meal; sustaining him for a time but not indefinitely. There was something he could try. Thomas left the cave out more, standing at its mouth he reached out with his senses and scouring as far as he possibly could to find anything human life. He realized he could feel miles from where he stood, yet he was alone. Failure.

There was a river he could not see but hear running through the middle of the valley, the sun would rise in a few hours. Thomas set out to follow the river in the direction of the rising sun, if nothing else if he found no one he'd have water.