Prologue
In the lands north of the wall and beyond the Land of always winter, there's a land that is home to where time and space seems to break down. The Land of the Parting Veils, home of portals. Where the tearing of space and time leads to lands that more often than not were very similar, to Westeros, others much different. Where only calmness and unbearable coldness, can chill the bones of the harden Northerners. But before this eerie and mysterious land stood alone dead weirwood tree. It's bark unmarked by the children of the forest. With the only thing odd about this was a frozen corpse of first men still holding his obsidian sword, guarding towards against any threats, known and unknown. Then suddenly, there was a disturbance in the lands of the parting veils, a tear opened up five feet above and before the frozen corpses of the tree and the first men. Then with a loud THUMP, a man dressed in leather pants, knee-high boots, torn robes, and an empty sword scabbard. Dropped before the two corpses and inevitably changed the fate of the North and Westeros forever.
After what seemed to be an hour, a figure shot up from the snowy depths shivering, yelling and cursing to whoever would listen. Only stopping when the stranger saw the frozen body of the first man. He cautiously and fearfully inched closer and closer. Staring with increasing fascination it was when he picked a fallen branch and prodded the frozen corpse did he proceed to come closer, satisfied that the body wouldn't reanimate and try to kill him. As got close to the tree, the stranger finally took notice that the corpse was, in fact, a part of the tree. He thought it looked strangely familiar, and how he read it in a book. 'But that's impossible.' He thought to know that it was impossible but soon shrugged it off.
As he took a step, he slipped and fell into the corpse. Dislodging it, and removing it from the tree as it hit the ground the frozen corpse shatter into thousands of pieces. The stranger, fell face first into the frozen trunk, and for the first time in eight thousand years. The tree came alive; magic poured, raw, unadulterated magic poured from the tree and into the stranger where his face met the bark.
Images, whispers, events, and power all flooded his brain causing both his eyes to roll back into his head and blood starting to come out of his nose. Then it stopped, and his sanity, or what remained of it, took back control of his functions.
"Sweet motherfucking Christ." The stranger said to himself, the howling wind is the only response. But suddenly he heard a whisper, "Go... To Winterfell."
"What the-"
"Go to Winterfell." Suddenly the howling winds stopped, the clouds parted, and the stranger saw mountains to the south. "Go, to Winterfell." He heard, denying them what he knew was true. That he was in Westeros or at least the Land of Always Winter. "What will I find if I go to Winterfell?" He asked, not knowing if he heard the Gods of Old, the Seven, the many faced god, the Goat god, the Great Stallion, or some other group of deities of some other part of the world. Then he got his reply, "GO TO Winterfell...And save the Young Wolf."
After starring towards the heavens and yelling, swearing and doing what he can to communicate how they go fuck themselves, he headed south.
Chapter 1
After the stranger screamed at the heavens, he grabbed the dragonglass sword and put it in his empty scabbard. Then quickly caught his tree branch, now walking stick, and headed south. After what seemed to be a half a day long turned into the entire remaining day, and the witching hour was before him when he managed to get to the base of the mountain. After a few moments of swearing about how cold he was, he climbed with a walking stick in hand.
Another two hours before he came across a cave with its roof collapsed long ago. Leaving part of the cave open to the elements and the now night sky until it descended more in-depth into the mountain. Either by nature or by some other means that he dared not think. A sudden gust of wind reminded him that if he did not have a choice. As soon as he stepped into the cave, he could not but help feeling tense like a spring under a ton of pressure waiting to release its kinetic energy. As he foot crossed the threshold, his hairs on the back of his neck rose, time slowed, and then he saw.
He saw himself aimlessly wandering into the cavern, not noticing the White Walker. It's icy spear thrust into his back and his death. As soon as the vision ended a new one took its place, then another one and so on. Each one was showing him near infinite possibilities either showing him being victorious but dying shortly afterward by a wright or dying immediately by the white walker itself.
Then they stopped. The stranger's foot swung back from the threshold, wondering if this was a joke and should continue. But something in his gut told him to heed the visions advice. So with his right hand, he grasped the crude handle of the dragonglass sword. And the stranger crossed over the threshold.
Almost immediately he sensed the white walker and the small squad of wights after having what seemed living and dying through over a thousand possible outcomes. He knew to keep his guard up as soon as his foot stepped into the center of the cave, bathing the snow in the pale moonlight. The stranger had another vision, one that he followed.
He saw the spear coming to his chest. Spinning around, parrying the deadly ice weapon with his dragonglass sword. Then kicking the white walker in the chest sending it to the ground only to dodge not one, not two, not three, not four, but five wights. Each with a variety of weapons, one with a rusted out sword, second a chain and iron ball, and the third with an ax. After stunning the first and second undead soldiers. Proceeding to throw them into a corner.
Barely missing the fourth wight's sword swinging down to lob off his left arm. In which the stranger managed to impale him with the makeshift walking stick and jammed it into a crack in the wall. Parrying a fifth before tossing it into the group of wights, causing him to turn around seeing the white walker surrounded by four armed wights. Lazily the Stranger opens his hand, trying to bluff his way out. But something happens something unimaginable, a ball of fire formed in the center of his hand, in which the Stranger panicked and threw it at the first wight, as it was charging at him, bursting into flames. He quickly realizes this and summons three more tossing each one in rapid succession: each one hitting the mark, each one destroying the undead fodder.
Which only left the white walker who had an unmistakable scowl on it's frozen face. With the intent of killing him and the undead corpse. Desperately trying to charge at him, despite being paralyzed. The stranger and the Walker circled like two male lions fighting for territory.
The White Walker attacked first, by thrusting his spear in the direction of the Stranger's face. The Stranger dodged the attack and proceeded to stab the frozen zombie only for it to be parried and punched in the front which sent the stranger to the floor. Dazed, the stranger, saw the walker as walked and grinned at its hubris. Not noticing that the stranger still had his hand on the sword, now cracked, but even deadly to the frozen zombie.
The White Walker twirled his ice spear. He then marched toward's the stranger when the undead being was over the stranger. Its arms raised lifting the ice spear over the stranger's body. But suddenly with a burst of speed aided by magic. The stranger stabbed the White Walker in its cold dead heart, with his broken dragonglass sword.
The magical creature let out a scream so shrill that it burned into the Stranger's mind. But also into the rocks of the mountain, with cracking several stones. As it dissolves, the stranger looks in awe. Seeing real magic at work, in slow motion even though it took less than a second.
From the arms to the shoulders, to the rest of its body. The Walker dissolved, into a pile of ice.
As the Stranger got up and looked in awe and wonder at what he witnessed. Mouth agape, a single thought ran through his mind, 'Did I do that?' Knowing full well that he did something that so few survived and lived to tell the tale. He was suddenly thrust back into reality by the undead wight trying but repeatedly failing to freeing itself from being impaled by the stranger's walking stick.
The Stranger quickly recovered his walking stick by single hand gestured. The wight promptly stopped as soon it was free. But before it could take a single step, the Stranger destroyed it with a single fireball. With that, the Stranger just looked and saw the burning of five undead corpses and a pile of ice that used to be a White Walker. He quickly saw something that wasn't there before.
An entrance to a cave one that delves deep into the heart of the Mountain, slowly but surely he cautiously walks toward's the gaping maw. A hypnotic, magical, pull that he finds himself help him towards the entrance. As he stepped forward, a sense of foreboding developed, so soon after he nearly had gotten himself killed by a popsicle zombie and its undead minions. With each step, he finds himself closer and closer to the mysterious cave. Soon he found himself on the very edge, noticing it was smooth and slick, before slipping and falling into the cave.