As you probably guessed, this story will not be completely serious.

Since I've got some complaints of the comedy not flowing that well and having reread it myself. I have decided to rewrite, refine and repost it, with a slightly more serious tone. Though Tristan singing will not be removed, this time though it is not supernatural...well not completely. And let me just say that he will sing in future chapters. But I'll try and tone it down.

Magic in this story will not follow Magic the Gathering to a tee, but is simply there to aid my character in creating awesome stuff.

This story takes place in the Game of Thrones TV-Series canon, as that is what I'm most familiar with. Characters from the books might appear, but I can't promise it as I haven't read them, I have though studied the wiki. The story will begin at the start of Season 4. So no Stark!Wank.

I will shift some events around, to either take place at the same time or be closer to each other. So some stuff happening in episode two, might actually take place at the same time as events in episode one. Some of the "canon" dialogue might also be a little different as I have no plans on re-watching the entire season 4.

The M rating will mainly be for the occasional scene of melee combat and language.

The House of Badassdom
Chapter 1: Vagueness is Coming

"But he's just a sweet kid." - My Dad's opinion of Joffrey, halfway through the pilot.

Three people were sitting at a round oak table in a clearing of grass. Thick forest surrounded them and the sun shining through the canopy. Two small streams ran around the glade, giving the location an idyllic mood.

One of the table's three occupants was a human man clad in a loose white shirt and brown cotton pants with matching boots. His hair was raven black and went down to his earlobes. He had a short beard, bordering on stubble, together with a mustache. His face was handsome and free of imperfections, and his eyes were as green as the foliage around them, denoting his otherworldliness. For the occasion his hair was slicked back.

This man was Tristan Alaire, a planeswalker. Known primarily by his peers for taking on a new life every century. Most of the time choosing to be reborn as a child with no knowledge of what the truly was, but always destined for greatness. At the moment of death. Tristan would return to the astral planes between the worlds, with the memory of the life he had led intact and free to pursue new adventures.

Tristan remembered the numerous lives he had experienced in those alternate dimensions. An Alexander the Great who did not die. A Boudicca who succeeded in expelling the Romans from Britain. A Xerxes who managed to conquer Hellas. Tristan had long since stopped focusing solely on historical figures and sometimes shifted his attention to more fantastic worlds. Though in those cases he mostly took on the role of a newcomer instead of an established character.

Having lived through numerous lives as both men and women. Tristan had long since forgotten his original gender and species, usually changing his appearance as he pleased. This was unlike most of his contemporaries - Nicol Bolas for example - who chose to remain in the form they had before their ascendance. Then again Bolas had been born a frigging dragon. Even Tristan Alaire was not his original name, which had been lost to the vast abyss of space and time.

The other man at the table was dressed in a purple three-piece suit with golden threads and a double-breasted waistcoat. He had a big black bushy handlebar mustache, a monocle in his right eye, together with a black top hat and white gloves. This was Sheogorath, the Daedric Prince of Madness and the one who had gathered the two others.

The third person at the table was a beautiful woman with a mane of curly black hair and a pair of golden catlike eyes that had a mischievous glint in them. She was clad in a teal dress, that covered her body, but hugged her curves. This was a female form of Sanguine, Daedric Prince of Debauchery and Hedonism.

At the moment all three were sitting at the table, trying to outwit each other in a game of poker. As of the moment none of them had managed to gain the upper hand. A common problem when beings of equal measure played against each other.

Sanguine was the first to break everyones concentration as she spoke in a singsong voice.

"How 'bout a wager?"

"A most splendid idea lass!" Sheogorath exclaimed, throwing his cards on the table and fixed his monocle. Sanguine sent him a glare at being called lass, but shrugged it off with a smirk.

"Sure why not, I only got eternity after all," Tristan grinned, putting his cards on the table as Sanguine began to reshuffle the deck. He conjured a jug of wine together with three goblets and poured one for each of them. "What are the stakes?"

"Ah, well let me think..." Sanguine leaned back in her chair, pretending to ponder on the subject.

Sheogorath fixed his hat and emptied his goblet in one swill. "Well I have the perfect wager!"

"So let me get this right?" Tristan spoke a few minutes later, holding a hand before himself, a smile on his face, "The loser has to spend a certain amount of time in another world trying to somehow make it better than when they arrived...and we'll still retain our powers...how's that different from what we normally do?"

"Exactly! Howbeit, there will be some rules," Sheogorath replied, "The only power you can't use is the ability to travel to other worlds. You can send others to alternate dimensions, but not yourself, not until the stakes have been fulfilled!"

"I for one welcome those odds!" Sanguine cut in. "Seeing the faces of lesser beings as their plans crumble around them...is ehm...so exhilarating," the Daedra continued in a slightly aroused tone.

Okay, any other rules?"

"Weapons have to be at the same level as the world: no firearms in a pre-industrial world, no magic in a non-magical one etcetera," Sheogorath explained. "Magic, airships, magical airships, fireballs from your eyes and lightning bolts from your ass...all fine, but no firearms."

Tristan leaned back and stretched his arms above his head "Well, I don't have anything planned for the next century. Bring it on!"

Sanguine dealt their cards and all three sniggered as the Planeswalker made the first move.

"Seems like we found ourselves a loser," Sanguine giggled as all three had thrown their cards on the table. She looked at Tristan and leaned forward, batting her eyelashes at him, while Sheogorath had jumping up from his chair to do a victory dance around the table.

Tristan let out a short laugh. "So...which world shall I go to?"

Sheogorath stopped mid dance, standing on one leg as he fixed his monocle. He then went over to Sanguine. The two daedra spent a few minutes whispering together and shooting Tristan a few glances. As they pulled away from each other, they both smiled like schoolgirls and went back to him.

"Tristan my good man or woman..." The Prince of Madness pointed at him. "You will go to another world! A world of ICE AND FIRAH!"

"More like ass and fire," Sanguine commented, wiggling her eyebrows at the Planeswalker.

"Now, Tristan! Why don't you go change into something more comfortably...with that I mean something less homeless man looking." Sheogorath waved his hand and conjured up a folding screen at the other end of the clearing.

Tristan smiled and went behind the screen, a bright flash appeared behind it, before he came into view a few seconds later. Clad in white and blue, 18th century assassin robes. The long jacket that went to his knees was turquoise and white, while the blouse beneath it was white. Leather armor vest protected his sides, back and arms. His pants were dark brown, with his boots matching the color. A red sash ran around his waist. The trademark assassin hood was pulled down.

"I see you didn't live several lifetimes as an assassin for nothing," Sanguine chuckled, having placed herself back in her ornate oak chair, legs on the table, while rolling a silver amulet between her fingers.

"Some of the best lives I've had, were sailing the seas as one of them," Tristan grinned mischievously. Catching the amulet that Sanguine threw at him. The amulet was solid silver and bulged slightly at its middle. Etched into it were two serpents intertwined, both meeting beneath a crown of golden flowers that one upheld and one devoured. The background was highlighted by green while the etchings were dark. The eyes of the serpents were small emeralds.

"Nice," Tristan commented, summoning forth a leather strap, attaching it to the small protrusion at the amulet's top and pulled it over his head.

"That medallion is an instant teleporter..." Sheogorath said, having summoning the Wabbajack to use as a cane. He quickly moved up to Tristan and waved the staff at the aforementioned piece of jewelry. It glowed purple for a moment. "And now it will do just that...and a little to give it that extra...umph!"

Tristan didn't like the twinkle in Sheogorath's eyes, but shrugged it off. After all, when did the Prince of Madness not have a twinkle in his eyes.

"What about weapons?" Sanguine enquired, having gotten up from her chair as Tristan made sure both his hidden blades worked. Each of them, when extracted, extended thirty centimeters from his wrists. Unlike the ones used by Assassins, Tristan's blades were magical. All he had to do in order to release the blades were to think the action, open his hands while flicking his wrists to unclasp the safety and voila - hidden blades no longer hidden. Tristan was such a fan of these deadly tools that he even used them on other adventures.

"I got these," Tristan smiled, holding his arms up as he retracted the blades.

"Well, that just won't suffice," Sanguine said. She placed her right hand behind her back and pulled forth a finely crafted sword in a black leather scabbard with silver ends. The Daedra tossed the sword at Tristan who caught it. "I reckon you're a Lord of the Rings fanatic...this seems appropriate."

Tristan pulled the sword out and studied it, letting out an appreciative laugh before placing it back in its scabbard. "Andúril, FLAME OF THE WEST! I should thank you, been centuries since I've seen this sword, though last time it cut off my fingers."

"Who needs fingers anyway?" Sheogorath cut in.

"A sword fit for a king!" Sanguine voiced in a dramatic manner, ignoring the other Daedra. "Fit for one set on changing the world. You are going to do that, right?"

Tristan pretended to be taken aback. "Sanguine, I thought you knew me! I always leave an impression, whether people want it or not."

"That's my man," Sanguine chuckled as she poured more wine into her goblet. "Seriously though, be careful with that sword...in the wrong hands it's just a sword, but in the right ones...tsk tsk, tsk...it will cut like a hot knife through butter."

"In the world you're going to, they have something called Valyrian steel!" Sheogorath commented. "Magical metal which is better, faster, harder, stronger. Well forget all that because Andúril here, in righteous hands; will be to Valyrian steel what Valyrian steel is to regular steel."

Tristan let out a mock evil laugh as he attached the sword to his belt, on his right side.

"And this is from me!" The Prince of Madness exclaimed, having discarded the Wabbajack. "Taken from you personal chambers...which I must say are lacking...IN CHEESE!"

Sheogorath ignored Tristan's annoyed outburst and pulled forth what looked like a short sword that lacked a crossguard. Thirty centimeters of the weapon were a slightly leaf-shaped blade with flowery engravings running along its top. The shaft made up fifty centimeters of the weapon, with half of it covered in a black leather strip and curved slightly downwards. The rest of it was made of steel, engraved with silver and black patterns; flowers, thorns, stars, all crisscrossing along the shaft. It was eighty centimeter in total and Tristan's weapon of choice.

The Planeswalker admired the weapon as he took it from Sheogorath. He had gotten the inspiration for it from an elven prince he was once knew, who fought with a similar weapon. Tristan turned it around in his hand until he held it horizontally in front of himself. He let his will flow through and the sword with a shaft longer than its blade, turned from its compact form into its full size. Revealing it to be a spear - the Silverspear. The entire weapon was made of adamantium, ensuring that almost nothing could cut through it, with it in turn cutting through everything else.

"Just promise me you'll use it in your quest for world conquerage," the Prince of Madness spoke, butchering the English language.

Tristan laughed as he returned his spear to its compact form, called forth its adamantium lined scabbard and attached it to the belt that ran across his left shoulder and down. Making sure the spear was locked in place, so it did not slide out, he turned to look at the two daedra.

"Let's go over the rules again," Sanguine said as she emptied her goblet. "No guns and no and you can't leave the realm before you've made a significant impact."

The Daedric Prince of Debauchery and Hedonism danced around Tristan, waving her hands and enveloping him in green energy, while Sheogorath began twirling the Wabbajack. Tristan himself extended his arms, going into a crucified hero pose as the light around him grew brighter.

"Oh, I almost forgot to tell you!" Sheogorath cut in as Sanguine continued the astral transportation ritual. "The amulet...it will choose a new destination randomly, unless you've already been there, kind of like fast traveling!"

"WHAT! You didn't think of that before you..."

The Prince of Madness chose to ignore Tristan for the opportunity to give a rousing speech.

"Go, ye Dragonborn, go to glory - though ye die in combat gory, Ye shall live in song and story! Go to Immortality! Go to death, and go to slaughter! Die, and every Cornish daughter, With her tears, your graves will water!

Go, ye heroes, go and die!"

"ARE YOU SERIOUS? GILBERT AND SULLIVAN!" Tristan pointed at the two daedra in disbelief. "Besides I'm not a Dragonborn anymore, I'm a Dragon Commander!"

"Ritual's complete!" Sanguine exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "We'll hold a party when the wager's done!"

"Wait, what kind of magic does this amulet uses?!" Tristan never got an answer as he immediately disappeared in a puff of green smoke and bright light.

"You think we should have told him 'bout the amulet's other effects?" Sanguine asked, nudging Sheogorath in the side with her elbow.

"Nah, he'll figure it out...aaand he's gonna get pissed," Sheogorath replied, earning a laugh from Sanguine.

Approaching Westeros
Tristan always liked traveling through the planes between existence. Many mortals liked to imagine that what was between the worlds was a void, bereft of anything but endless nothingness. In reality the astral planes that one would find themselves in when traveling from one plane of existence to another would take the form of what the person experiencing it found most comfortable. Endless fields of grass, a peaceful forest, a beach of white sand stretching as far as the eye could see. Sometimes it was none of those and instead an inn where one could meet other likeminded travelers. Those were just some of the few examples among a myriad of others that one could experience in inter-dimensional space.

Tristan's preferred version the void was to fall through an endless sky of soft clouds with the sun on his back.

"Damn daedra always telling you half of what to know..." Tristan muttered as he flew through a cloud. He shook his head, "And knowing is after all, half the battle."

"Here comes the shitty part!" Tristan yelled as a planet formed beneath him. Taking his time to study the planet that raced towards him, the Planeswalker could spot two large continents - one being long and narrow, reminiscent of the British Isles, stretching from the equator all the way to the north pole. To its left was a large square-like continent, attached to a much larger one, but separated by a massive mountain range. Beneath those two landmasses was another continent and a large island. Several islands of various sizes dotted the oceans between them.

Tristan himself was falling towards the northern part of the narrow continent, heading directly for a massive green forest. While he would easily survive the fall, it did not mean it was not be painful.

"THIS IS GONNA SUCK!" He yelled as he braced himself for the inevitable stop.

Ramsay Snow, a man desperately yearning to be a Bolton, was having the time of his life, as he ran through the woods with his trusty hounds. He was doing what he loved most, running through the wilds, hunting the most dangerous game, together with his manservant Reek and woman Myranda.

"If you get out of the forest, I'll let you live!" Ramsay yelled as he knocked an arrow, took aim with his bow, pulled the string and released it. He missed, hitting a tree instead of his intended target.

Myranda too fired an arrow, trying to hit their fleeing target. Giggling as they resumed their hunt. The hounds barking as they ran. Reek stumbling on his way, trying to keep up with the two twisted lovers.

"Tansy!" They yelled in voices sweet as honey, taunting the fleeing girl.

"Tansy, Tansy, Tansy!" Ramsay sang as the girl fell into a stream, managing to get up as the dogs closed in on her.

Myranda took aim with her bow again, biding her time, as Tansy got into view. She pulled the string back and exhaled, letting loose the arrow. This time it found its target, lodging itself in the fleeing girl's thigh. Going through and sticking out the other side.

Tansy collapsed and screamed in pain as she tried to get up, she tried to crawl away, but was stopped as her back hit the trunk of a tree. Ramsay's hounds had caught up to her and barked, baring their teeth and letting the drool drip from their jaws.

Ramsay and his entourage finally homed in on her position, with the former trying to calm his dogs down.

"Well done."

"I only wounded her," Myranda commented, looking at their sobbing victim.

"You brought her down, that's what matters," Ramsay replied as he leaned on his compound bow. "A fine shot, wasn't it Reek?"

"A fine shot, Master...My Lady..." Theon stammered, trying to gain his breath from running in his mutilated condition.

"Please..." Tansy cried out between ragged breaths, her hand going down to the arrow sticking out of her thigh.

"Oh, sweetie don't cry," Ramsay said, turning his attention towards the crying girl. "It will be over soon."

Myranda knocked another arrow and took aim. "She think's she's pretty. Let me put one through her face."

Ramsay placed a hand on her bow and pushing it away, "We have to reward the hounds love, they did all the hard work."

"Why, I did whatever you wanted..." Tansy cried out as she looked at the two "lovers" with fear in her eyes.

"But you made Myranda feel jealous," Ramsay mocked, ignoring the aforementioned woman's protest, "You can see that your presence has become a bit of a problem."

The Bolton bastard whistled at his two hunting dogs and pointed at the terrified girl, a sardonic smile on his face. "RIP HER!"

Just as Ramsay's hounds prepared to pounce on the wounded Tansy, a large yell coming from the heavens rang across the forest, gaining loudness as it bounced from tree to tree. The hounds immediately looked up, trying to find the source of the sound. Soon they did, as a falling figure blocked out the sun. Falling with such speed that his landing generated a cloud of dust, sending twigs and stone flying.

Tristan Alaire, planeswalker and self proclaimed magic man, had arrived in Westeros.

"Ow! That...hurt," Tristan groaned as he slowly got up, stretching his arms as he did. He shook his head and dusted himself off. Something had softened his landing and when he looked down it turned out to be two dogs. Rather flat dogs as of now, but dogs nonetheless. "So much for soft landings."

"YOU KILLED MY HOUNDS!"

Tristan looked at the man who had yelled in his direction, a quizzical look on his face. He was obviously more concerned about the fate of his dogs than of the fact that a man had fallen from the sky. Though in Ramsay's defense, he could have thought Tristan had just hidden in the trees.

"Sorry 'bout that, I'm a cat person."

"Shall I end him my lord?" Myranda asked, aiming her bow at Tristan.

"No love, can't you see that he's an esteemed guest and we welcome esteemed guests" Ramsay drawled, holding a hand up to stop Myranda. "State your name and business, stranger, you're in Bolton lands. My lands."

Tristan made an overdramatized shudder at the mention of Bolton. He knew one person with that name and he was one person enough. "Really, that's your first question? Not, HOLY HELL A GUY JUST FELL FROM THE SKY!" He then looked around, taking in his surroundings. "So I can guess what we have here is you hunting the most dangerous game...though our definition of dangerous is most likely quite different."

Tristan gave Theon a cursory glance, before turning his attention back on his questioner. "As for who I am...I have many names, as of the moment I am Tristan Alaire!" He did a mock bow and returned to glance at them with a smirk on his face. The man and the woman were obviously not pleased with his reply.

"But you may call me! MAGIC MAN!" Tristan bellowed and introduced himself, to his stunned audience, even the girl Tansy was silent. Though it evident that they believed he was crazy and not actually magical.

An evil glint appeared in Ramsay's eyes as he gave the man who "supposedly" fell from the sky a once over. Going over his choice of clothes and lingering at the finely crafted weapons at his side and on his back. His accent too he thought strange, obviously since the Bastard had never before heard a Welshman talk.

"Any proof behind those words...Magic Man," Ramsay commented while studying the fingernails on his right hand.

"Now, now." Tristan pointed at the wannabe Bolton with his right hand and wagged his finger at him. "Are you sure about that? Magic isn't a toy, you know."

"Oh I'm sure, show us some magic...Magic Man," Ramsay's free hand moved towards his flaying knife in a show of intimidation. Obviously it did not work on Tristan who smirked at him.

Tristan then pointed his right hand at the Bolton bastard and rubbed his thumb and index finger against each other. "Magic...away!"

Ramsay immediately looked down at himself, looking at both his arms and legs. Nothing had happened, not even his clothes had changed. At this an evil smile spread on his face "You know what I think, I think you're a liar, a liar who fancies himself a comedian. Come closer and let me carve a smile on your face."

Tristan jumped a step back, holding both arms up, one pointing at Ramsay. "Hubbub bub bub bub...why don't you take a look again."

As Ramsay stopped to look at his hands, he could feel a slight tingling sensation at his fingertips. A little smile spread on his face in the obvious anticipation of being rewarded something miraculous. Instead he let out a high pitched unmanly scream as he watched the skin on his hands peel back, slowly gaining speed, spreading across his body and turning him inside out.

"I TOLD YOU, MAGIC ISN'T A TOY!" Tristan yelled, forearms up and palms turned upwards, while Ramsay turned into a pink abomination of flesh and squishy parts.

For the first time in his life Ramsay Snow panicked at something not related to his father, he turned around and fled in the opposite direction. Away from Tristan. All in a futile attempt to stop his transformation. He failed to mind his surrounding, tripped over a tree root and fell, rolling down the steep riverbank and landed on his back.

"Looks like we have a floater!" Tristan commented, having approached the bank that Ramsay had disappeared over. The bastard of Lord Bolton had fallen on his back, his neck had landed on a jagged rock just piercing the water. He spasmed for a few moments, staring at Tristan in a mix of fear, hate and disbelief before flopping down, his head going under the water. Bubbles appeared on the river's surface until Ramsay took his last breath. Death by drowning. A terrible but fitting way to die for someone like him.

"YOU MONSTER!" Myranda screamed as she saw the body of her dead, twisted, friend with benefits.

"You're welcome!" Tristan made a grimace, pretending that her words had a serious effect on his psychey, as he slowly approached the woman aiming an arrow at him. "Way to be ungrateful, woman. I did this world a favor, have you ever heard a Bolton sing? That is not something I would wish upon even my worst enemy!"

The slow approach of the man who had just killed her lord, caused Myranda to shiver in fear and loose her arrow, sending it flying towards Tristan. The Planeswalker spun around, swatting the arrow away like a simple insect. When he came around from his spin, he had one hand on his back with the other opened towards his attacker. Sending her flying back and colliding into a nearby tree, hard enough to shatter the wood. Killing her on impact.

Tristan got up from his crouched position, motioned his hand as if he had fired a gun and blew on his index finger. He chuckled to himself as he returned to where Theon was standing and Tansy was lying - arrow still lodged in her thigh.

Tristan stopped in front of Theon who seemed to try making himself smaller than he was. The Planeswalker could obviously see that he had been both physically and psychologically tortured. He placed a hand on Theon's shoulder, in an effort to stop him from shivering.

"Looks like they really went to town on you boy," From a simple glance, one could see he was still in pain, his breath was ragged and interrupted by the occasional whimper. Tristan stroked his chin before speaking again, "What would you say to forget all that...to start a new life...as a new man...would be a pretty sweet deal, huh?"

Tristan received no response.

"Not much of a talker are you?" Tristan clicked his tongue, looking as if he considered his next action. "I have a feeling that returning you to your previous state...would cause quite a bit of a stir...hmm, am I right?"

Still not getting a response, Tristan took matters into his own hands - literally. His right hand became enveloped in white light and a smirk appeared on his face.

"Brace yourself, this is gonna hurt, healing always hurts." He then kneeled down and uppercutted Theon in the stomach while doing his best Bruce Lee imitation, sending the Greyjoy flying into the air as white light encased him. He landed a few feet away - unconscious in a golden cocoon. Tristan held his hand out and summoned it to him, minimizing it into a golden egg before putting it in his invisible inventory - in reality a pocket dimension where he kept equipment when away from his home. He then blew on his fingers and let out a snicker.

"Now, what to do with you?" Tristan pondered loudly as he approached Tansy, who had returned to sob lightly, obviously relieved at the fact that her pursuers were dead, but scared out of her mind at this strange magical man who had dispatched them. He let out a huff of air as he crouched in front of her. Tansy let out a hiss as his fingers ghosted across the arrow shaft.

"Hey, hey...relax," Tristan looked the woman in the eyes, all roguishness gone from his face and his voice suddenly stern. "You mustn't fear me."

Tansy let out a high pitched scream as Tristan took hold of the arrow, just beneath its head, and yanked it out, feathers and all. He then raised a hand and clasped it on the wound. She immediately sighed and sagged back, as the feeling of drowsiness and sinking into a hot bath fell over her. Tristan's healing spell having done its work.

"Question is...can I trust you?" Tristan said, running a hand across his jaw. The mischievous glint in his eyes returned, he raised his hands and waved his fingers at her. "Brace yourself, magic is coming."

Tansy let out a yelp, the magic spell pulling her out of her weariness. She was lifted up in the air and encased in a golden egg, just like Theon. Tristan minimized it, summoned it to his hand and put it away.

"Now let's see how this teleporter works!" Tristan exclaimed, raising a hand to the amulet the daedra had given him. "Magic...away!"

Tristan levitated a few feet above the ground and begun to spin around, gaining speed at a faster and faster rate, until dirt and undergrowth were thrown away from him. Then the sudden feeling of being sucked into a toilet, while your size shifted to accommodate the fact that you were squeezed through one, overcame him. Quite different from the usually pleasant feeling of traveling between planes or the dull sensation of traveling by map. And then his form disappeared, becoming smaller, like those tiny whirlpools that appear when you drain your bathtub, until there was nothing left.

Tristan kept screaming as he traveled through the wormhole dimension that the amulet used. Loudly cursing both Sanguine and Sheogorath. Proper teleportation devices made one feel weightless while traveling instead of having one recreate the portkey scene from Harry Potter. A bright light appeared before him and the Planeswalker continued to scream as he was shot out into the real world. He flew through the air and landed on his back on top of a rock wall, bouncing off it. He did a roll in the air and landed on his feet.

Tristan was standing amidst the ruins of a massive castle, the stone was charred and the ground muddy, even though it was summer. It might have been a majestic place, but now it was ugly, downtrodden and a place only birds would consider to relieve themselves and that would only be in passing.

"Where the hell am I now?"

"Harrenhal it's called!" Sheogorath exclaimed, appearing behind Tristan. "Quite the sorry place."

"You could have told me the amulet is a goddamn master portkey! I prefer not to feel like being sucked down a toilet!"

"I know not of what you speak of?"

"Of course you don't, but beware, I will get my revenge."

"Sure you will!" Sheogorath replied. "Now, I came to give you this."

Tristan caught the giant book that the Prince of Madness threw at him. It was bound in brown leather with its corners made of gold.

"A book?"

Sheogorath shook his head at Tristan. "Not just a book, but this world's Encyclopedia of Approximate Knowledge!"

"Guess I got some nighttime reading to do," Tristan spoke as he held it up.

"Before you do that...maybe you should consider tidying up this place, huh?"

Tristan put the book away and scratched his head. "Yeah, I'll do that..."

He got no response as the Daedric Prince had disappeared, leaving him alone in this hovel of a ruin. He shrug his shoulders and opened his hands, palms facing away from him and glowing with green light that swirled like tiny galaxies. Tristan extended his arms and levitated upwards, gaining altitude until his head touched the clouds and he could see all of Harrenhal, and its surrounding land.

With waves of his hands he tore the old ruin down, piece by pice, stone by stone, not leaving a rock behind, until all that was left was but the black spot where it once stood. Looking to the south he expanded the lake known as God's Eye, making it twice as large, before turning towards the Isle of Faces - which he too expanded. He raised a hand, lifting the island up, wresting it from the rock, until a mountain rose from the water. Moving his left hand he covered it with forest, but he left the weirwood standing at its center - at the top of the rock. On and around the mountain structure he raised a mighty city of limestone, granite, marble and red tiled roofs, all intertwined with the nature around it, using the lake to create channels for small boats to traverse - as the city stretched into the God's Eye. With a wave of his hand he carved a river out of the earth, all the way to the Quiet Isle, deep and wide enough for ships to sail through. While Tristan did this simply because it was a faster way to the Narrow Sea, he inadvertently ensured that any ship leaving the city did not have to sail past King's Landing.

Tristan yelled across the open sky, letting out a bellowing laugh as he continued on his work. Ensuring that the streets were cobbled with the finest stones and the drainage system worked, leaving no imperfections in their design. He raised his hands and tall walls rose up around the city, with majestic towers dotting them and the inner city. While Tristan did not believe dragons would be a problem, he still armed the towers with powerful ballistae. The four city gates were made of oak and iron, each connected to four bridges running from the city to the mainland. Each bridge would curve upwards at its middle, ensuring that ships could pass beneath them. Cobbled roads would then connect to the surrounding ones, that too would be turned to the finest of stone, as per Tristan's magic.

At the top of the mountain he placed the centerpiece of the city. The palace. Built with beige stone and red tiles on its domed roof. At its center, in the palace courtyard, the weirwood stood untouched, the sun shining on it from above. A sanctuary at the city's heart. Tristan spent many hours, until the sun was beginning to set in the west, before he was content with his creation. Only ending when it was a picture perfect version of the City of Dale, which he had visited long ago on a journey through Middle-Earth.

For the finishing touch he swung his arms out, spreading them like wings, sending a shockwave of green energy towards the ground where it subsequently spread. Covering the surrounding lands with fields and forests abundant.

Tristan exhaled and smiled to himself as he admired his work. The people of this world would surely shit themselves when they found a city having sprung out of the ground.

"I christen this city...Camelot!" Tristan bellowed as he descended. "Unoriginal I know, but then again! This is most likely the only city on this godforsaken continent with INDOOR PLUMBING!" Which was followed by him creating numerous springs throughout the city, flowing up through the rock. Each under enough pressure to ensure that water would flow free, from the top of the mountain to the bottom.

He landed in the large city square that would serve as its bazaar. A fountain was at its center, already spewing water. Tristan walked through the empty streets as the sun reflected against the mosaics, white marble and yellow stone. To say that Camelot was beautiful would be a disservice, it was majestic, and Tristan reveled in it. Because if there was someone who liked to show off - it was Tristan Alaire.

"This city bearing the name of Camelot..." Tristan let his hands run across the walls and trees that he passed. "It's markets will be known far and wide. Full of the bounties of vine and vale. Peaceful and prosperous...okay, maybe not peaceful, but definitely prosperous. People will flock to it, regents envy it, barbarians try and claim it, even powers beyond will yearn for it...but all will fall before its walls. As only those my equal...can take a seat within its halls."

Tristan stopped, standing before the city hall, a massive fountain reminiscent of the Trevi fountain in Rome stood before it, two stone stairways snaked around it to reach the hall. A smile came to his face. "This city, will be a beacon, not just for the people but for others like me...a gateway between the worlds...a safe haven for those who walk the cosmos...that sure will make this place livelier."

Tristan could not help but jump in giddiness at the thought of others like him visiting this realm. While he moved towards the main barracks, he thought further on this place. "Hmm...a great city will need a sigil...tsk, tsk, tsk...got it! A white tree!"

"Really a white tree...why don't model it all on Gondor?" Sanguine quizzed as the daedra appeared at Tristan's side, still using the female form from before and sipping some alcoholic beverage from a goblet with quite the provocative motive etched into it.

Tristan looked at the daedra and seemed to get a glint in his eye. "HEEEY! Now that you mention it...that's exactly what I'm going to do!"

"Tell you what, why don't you sleep on that, I'm off to King's Landing. I hear there's a nice brothel there, run by a man they call...what was it...aha, yes!" Sanguine pointed both her fingers at Tristan. "Middlefinger!"

"A fitting name for someone in that profession," Tristan commented as Sanguine set off in a run towards the city gates. "Never mind I'll ponder on this for tomorrow."

As Tristan entered the palace of Camelot he walked past the weirwood trees in the courtyard, where one could look over the entire city and its surroundings. The sun was beginning to set, but it still stood high in the sky, casting reflections on the rooftops. He walked through the halls and the round senate chamber, which was located at the palace's center. Most of the interior consisted of marble walls and granite floors, only changing to more pleasant material such as wood, carpets and sand or limestone when one reached the official and private areas. Open areas and those that would be used frequently, such as the palace barracks were made solely out of stone.

Tristan finally reached the upper wing, located on the second floor, and allowed fors a view of the entire east side of the city. His quarters were large and spacious with a finely made bed covered in pillows and sheets of silk. A large balcony stood in front of him with the doors open. A massive wooden chest stood in front of his bed and a large desk made of fine wood was located adjacent to it. There was also a fireplace with a couch a table and two chairs in front of it. A wardrobe was located at the far end of the left wall, beside the bed and a small table was at the right of it. Last but not least, a large mirror stood beside the wardrobe.

"Nice," Tristan said out loud, he had a good idea that all the palace's personal quarters were almost identical, the only difference being location. The sun was setting and with nothing else to do, the Planeswalker snapped his fingers and caused every light in the palace to ignite. He took off his belts and placed Andúril and his spear on the low table in front of the fireplace that crackled as the fire had taken hold of the wooden logs. He removed his hidden blade bracers and threw them on one of the reclining chairs, before taking a seat in the sofa - putting his feet on the table as he kicked his boots off.

"Now let's see what you can tell me," Tristan mumbled as he pulled forth the Encyclopedia of Approximate Knowledge from hammerspace and began to read.

He read about the Children of the Forest, when this world still had magic and of their war with the First Men who arrived from Essos. He read of the Age of Heroes that followed the pact of peace. About the Long Night where darkness reigned for a generation and an endless winter descended upon Westeros like a curtain of ice. Of the invasion of the Others from the Land of Always Winter and the Battle for the Dawn that ended it. The building of the Wall by Bob the Builder...

"Wait that can't be right?" Tristan said out loud. He rolled his eyes and recommenced his study.

He read of how the first commander of the Night's Watch was seduced by an Other woman and declared himself the Night's King, and how he rose in rebellion against his former kin. His downfall came as the Starks of Winterfell joined forces with Jormun the King-beyond-the-Wall and defeated the Night's King, restoring honor to the Watch.

Tristan then read of how the Andals invaded Westeros, much like the First Men did millennia ago and how they slowly conquered the continent. With only the North remaining secure, but at the cost of the Children who slowly withdrew to their forests and north of the Wall.

He read about the Age of Valyria and how the ancient Freehold managed to find and tame dragons. Tristan's couldn't help laughing at that. If only they knew what a true dragon was. Hell he had been close to one during his time as a Dragon Knight of Rivellon and he once knew a particularly smug one from Middle-Earth. Last of course there was always Nicol Bolas, the dragon above all dragons and a real asshole to boot.

He continued reading about the rise of Valyria, how they slowly conquered Essos with their dragons and the settling of the Rhoynish in Dorne - where the warrior-queen Nymeria married a lord named Mors Mattel...

"Definitely approximate knowledge..."

Tristan shook his head, summoning a glass of water and took a swill. He quickly skimmed over the creation of Braavos and its current role in the world as well as the Doom of Valyria. A classic tale of man growing proud and then struck down because of it. The formation of the Seven Kingdoms he also only gave a cursory glance.

He paid more attention to the information regarding the Targaryen Dynasty. How they were but a minor noble family that rose to prominence and conquered a continent. Then followed by their slow descend into madness, eventual decline and defeat.

Now he finally reached the interesting parts or relevant parts. The rebellion against the Targaryens, led by a man named Bob who would later be crowned king and a man named Eddy the Stork.

A Rebellion started with an atrocity and ended with a massacre. The battle that would define the war was fought at the trident where Rhaegar Targaryen was killed. The Lancasters...Lancashires...Lannisters? Would apparently pretend to march for the Mad King Aerys, but instead they turned against him and sacked King's Landing. The King's own bodyguard Jimmy would later stab him in the back. Tristan shook his head at the following events and the horrors these Lannisters were guilty of.

"If you're going to be evil, at least do it right and ensure no one is left to oppose you..." Tristan tsked, "basic evil overlord rules."

All in all it ended with Bobby B being declared king and married to a woman named Seersee? Curse-i. Anyway the brutal murder of Elia and her children Aegon and Rhaenys caused a rift between Neddard the Stark and Bob the King. The former would then return to Winterfell with a "bastard" son named Jon and the two Targaryen children were whisked away to the Free Cities.

A few years later the Ironborn would rebel and they would get their ass kicked, ending with Theon Grey-something being sent to live with the Storks. All the while a Magister named Illyrio took care of the two surviving Targaryen children in Pentos.

Tristan skimmed over current events. The death of Bobby B due to a "hunting accident", the execution of Eddy on behest of the King, Jeff...Geoff...whatever and the War of the Five Kings that followed as well as some information on troubles brewing beyond the Wall and the slow rise of the Targaryen girl. All useless information he would forget anyway.

The Encyclopedia of Approximate Knowledge definitely lived up to its name, while it did give some information, it was usually quite distorted, full of spelling mistakes regarding names and not that informative when it came to historical events.

Tristan let out a yawn as he flipped a page, reaching the last subject - the current ruling houses.

There was House Stork, Stalk, Starch...or something. Rulers of the North. Their motto - "Cold Weather Approaches..."

House Greyjoy whose motto was - "We Don't Contribute to Agriculture." Their sigil was a kraken and they worshipped a sea deity called the Drowned God with the saying, "What is dead may never die."

Tristan chuckled at that and reminded himself to ask Cthulhu about this when he came by for dinner. Of course it would be too spicy for Yog Sothoth, but such is the cooking skills of eldritch abominations.

Then there were the Riverlands ruled by house Tully, which Tristan only gave a glance, the only interesting thing to him was that the city he had built was located there. The Vale too and house Arryn got the same treatment.

The Westerlands were ruled by the Lamisters or Lancashires or Lancasters, the book wasn't really specific on their name. Their motto, Tristan considered boring.

"Hear Me Roar...seriously?" Tristan liked the unofficial one much better. "We Don't Dick Around When it Comes to Money."

Tristan skipped the part about the Crownlands and jumped straight to the Reach, ruled by house Tyrell. Another house with a boring motto, but at least it was not as unoriginal as the previous one.

Then there were the Stormlands owned by house Barton...

"Is that right?" Tristan mumbled.

Their motto was - "We Get Really Angry Sometimes."

Last but not least there was Dorne, the southernmost part of Westeros, ruled by house Mattel. Their motto though, seriously alluded to a less innocent brand of toys.

"Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken...was that a euphemism? With a capital called Sunspear, could it be anything but."

"Hell, their sigil is a spear piercing a star!" Tristan shook his head as he got up, throwing the book into his fire. The sun had set and the light within the palace cast long shadows through the halls as Tristan walked towards the two other quarters on the same floor.

He opened the door to one room and pulled the golden egg, containing Theon, from his hammerspace inventory. He threw it on the bed, balled his hand into a fist and then opened it. Releasing Theon from his healing pod, he was asleep but fully healed, physically and mentally. Mostly though, the ordeal he had been put through by the Bolton bastard would still leave some psychological scars that only he could overcome.

Tristan closed the door and went to the next room. Took the egg containing the girl Tansy and threw it on the bed, doing the same action as before. She too was sound asleep.

With all not said but done, he went to his own room, undressed and promptly fell down on his bed. Asleep before hitting the sheets.

Next Day
Tristan woke early in the morning and began expanding the city to reach into the mountain. Carving out a massive treasure chamber beneath the palace, filling it with precious gems and metals that he had gathered on his adventures. Last he ensured that the underground granaries and storage areas were booming with grain, dried food and beverages.

He then walked down to the main barracks, located at the foot of the palace. It was large enough to support two legions of ten thousand men.

"I need soldiers," Tristan said as he walked through the building and into the armory. A mischievous smile plastered on his face. He snapped his fingers, placing fine weapons on every rack, with arrows in every chest, and Gondorian armor on full display.

When it came to soldiers, Tristan took a note from the Romans, deciding that when the population was booming. The army would be professional. But at the moment, he needed a standing force to protect Camelot when he was gone. So he went to the fields outside the city. Standing on a hill looking over it. His back facing the city.

He took a deep breath and raised his hands, enveloping them in black smoke, tapping into his black mana, slowly materializing the army he had used a lifetime ago. A personal favorite of his whenever he wanted to play conqueror in a world of magic. Thousands of black smoky pillars appeared on the grassy fields before Tristan.

Eyes as dark as night, teeth filed to fangs. They were the Immortals, elite warriors of the Persian Empire itself...well the 300 version at least. Could you fault Tristan for using them? They looked damn cool, certainly more than the speedo wearing Greeks.

He clad them in their traditional black clothes, steel armor and silver masks that shone bright under the sun. They would act exactly like their fictional counterparts, never disobeying a command, but also never going beyond what they were ordered to do. They would be Tristan's personal army of ferocious killing machines. The deadliest force in all of Westeros. An army of ninja zombies wearing samurai masks and katanas.

Last he created the officers who would lead the army if the city came under attack. Based on the Immortals from the even dumber sequel - and while he did not like that one - the Immortals did not lose their cool factor in Tristan's eyes.

The officers were not clad in grey steel armor, but black segmented ones. Instead of masks they wore helmets. The part covering their face still silver and Samurai like in design, but the rest was blackened with ridges on top - the inside of course was leather. Three long ponytails of dark braided horsehair hang from the back of the helmet, reaching to just above the small of the back. He made a thousand and ten of them, each commanding a century.

With the last ten serving as his praetorian guard.

They were the ultimate soldiers, never needing sleep, never needing food. They would stand vigil until death, If in all likeliness it would fall upon them.

"IMMORTALS!" Tristan bellowed, grinning wildly.

The Immortals turned towards him and moved into formation with such discipline that the sound of eleven thousand boots rang across the fields. The officers at the front, regulars at the back, all standing in perfect squares.

"YOU ARE MY WARRIORS, ULTIMATE BADASSES OF THE HOUSE...OF...BADASSDOM! AND YOU WILL KICK ASS FOR THE REALM...OF..." Tristan snapped his fingers a few times trying to come up with a name fast. "AVALON!" he then rose his hands and yelled. "AS OF THE MOMENT, YOU WILL PROTECT THESE LANDS, KILL ANYONE WHO ATTACKS YOU, ANYONE THAT PREYS ON THE WEAK AND DEFENSELESS! SHOW! NO! MERCY!"

With that, Tristan turned around and walked back towards Camelot. His eleven thousand Immortals following in perfect formation, as they crossed the eastern bridge.

Camelot Palace
A soft breeze came through the open windows and woke Theon as it blew across his face. The first thing he felt was lying on something soft. His clothes felt different too, not the damp rotten rags he had grown used to, but finely made cotton. Brown pants and a white shirt. For the first time in a long while he felt content. It was like a veil that had blocked his vision, had finally been lifted. He felt alive.

Theon shot up quickly, what he found was a large bedroom with walls of stone, floor made of oak and an unlit chandelier hang from the ceiling. The windows to his left as well as the doors to the balcony were open and the wind caused the curtains to flutter. His bed too was exquisite and made of finely carded wood with linen of white silk. The mattress was so soft it felt like floating in water.

Was this a trick, another game of Ramsay's? The disowned Greyjoy heir did not know, but he feared the worst. Quickly looking around he saw nothing that could be used as a weapon.

That was when the greatest surprise hit him. He looked at his hands. All his fingers were there and they bore no evidence of having been flayed. The same with his feet and the rest of his body. Then to check on the last thing. Theon looked around, making sure that no one was there. Slowly he snaked his hands under the waistband of his pants and moved downwards. He let out a sigh and fell back. All was there.

"No you're not dreaming."

Theon rose quickly at the sudden voice. Before him in an armchair sat a handsome looking man. He had black hair and a pair of green eyes that seemed to shine slightly. His right leg was pulled up, placed underneath his left. A fine sword within a black leather scabbard with silver ends rested on his thighs. His left hand on the scabbard, his right placed at the pommel. His clothes while familiar also looked more refined than anything he had seen before.

"Who, where am I, what happened, who are you?"

"Relax buddy," Tristan got up and sent Theon a crooked smile. "You're in the city of Camelot, in the realm of Avalon."

"I've...never heard of such a place..." Theon replied, still wary of this stranger who spoke with an accent he had never heard before, and half expecting Ramsay to burst in, blowing his horn.

"Really? How can you not have heard of Camelot, last time I checked it was right here!"

Theon simply stared at the stranger who was overly fond of large gestures.

"By the way. If you're wondering 'bout your friend, don't, he's dead." Tristan informed as he fastened Andúril to his left side. The Silverspear already on his back. "Bad case of inside out syndrome."

The former Greyjoy heir let out a sigh of relief, though still wary of the stranger.

"You can call me Tristan Alaire and for the moment, I rule this city." the Planeswalker said, holding his hand out. Theon shook it and got out of bed. "Now, if you won't mind, I got another guest, care to join me?"

"Yes, I'll like that," Theon replied, putting on a pair of socks that had been laid out for him and slipped his feet into a pair of leather boots.

"So, can I call you Alfred? You look like an Alfred to me," Tristan asked as they neared the door.

"Theon Greyjoy, that's my name...always has been," Theon replied, in a low voice.

"Sure thing Alfred," Tristan said with a laugh, patting him on the back and opened the door.

Theon almost soiled himself as two large men clad in black stood vigil on the left and right side of the door. Their masks had ridges on top and shone like silver. He could not see their faces through the mouth and eye holes, only darkness.

"Chill man, these are my honor guard, THE IMMORTALS!" Tristan informed, snapping his fingers to dismiss them. They simply grunted and went down the corridor. Tristan then motioned for the door next to Theon's room and opened it.

They were greeted by a shriek as Tansy jumped away from the dressing table she had been studying, obviously startled by the abrupt entrance. She was dressed in a white flowery dress, her barley colored hair pulled up in a loose bun. She had nary a scratch on her and looked as if she had just stepped out of a bath. No evidence of her having fled for her life.

"GOOD MORNING LITTLE FLOWER!" Tristan hollered, as he and Theon entered. The latter eyeing the blonde girl with suspicion, he had a slight memory of seeing her at the Dreadfort when he had been Reek.

Reek, the memories of being that - thing. Still lay dormant in his mind. Tristan had healed his body and his psyche, but only slightly. The memories of his ordeal at the hands of Roose Bolton's bastard were still fresh.

"There's nothing to fear Alfred, she's friendly," Tristan spoke. "You're friendly right?"

"Yes..." Tansy replied sheepishly. "My...my Lord."

"Oh pish posh, there are no lord here, it's just TRISTAN ALAIRE!" Tristan then went up to her and pulled her dress up to look at her leg. Theon quickly turned in another direction. "I see your leg has healed nicely...together with whatever scars you might have had before. As for my name, you can just call me Tristan."

Tansy replied with a stammer and quickly pulled her dress down, both shocked and embarrassed from Tristan's action. "I'll...thank you Tristan."

"All's well that ends well, right!" Tristan replied, a large smile on his face as he steered her towards Theon. "Now come, I want to show you my city!"

"If you don't mind me asking...Tristan, where exactly are we?"

"Don't tell me you too haven't heard of Camelot, capital of the Realm of Avalon!" Tristan put an arm around Tansy and Theon as he pulled them down the corridor towards the palace entrance.

During the two hours between Tristan returning to the city with his Immortals and sending some of them out to patrol the lands, several inter-dimensional travelers had appeared through the gateway at the City Hall. Already beginning to set up shop in Camelot. The mighty city had experienced a growth spurt from three to one thousand and still climbing. Only waiting for the people of Westeros to move in.

The only new resident of note was a red haired dwarf berserker named Oghren, who had decided to make the city tavern his new home, and of course was an old acquaintance of Tristan.

Theon sent Tansy a look of befuddlement as Tristan acted lambasted at them never having heard of Camelot. But as they walked out on the terrace overlooking the city, they could only gape at its magnificence and beauty. Tall towers and stone buildings with red roofs running all the way to the lake, with the city stretching further out. A city straight out of fairytales.

"This, this is the God's Eye?" Theon exclaimed.

"No this is Avalon!"

"If this is the God's Eye where's Harrenhal?" Tansy questioned as Tristan led them down one of the two stairways running in a half circle around the terrace, motioning them towards the city's main road.

"Come on, enough with the questions, enjoy life a little!" Tristan said, enthusiasm evident in his entire being. Tightening his grip around his two companion's shoulders. He snapped his fingers and spoke as his head was between theirs, while the sound of instruments slowly gained volume as other dimensional travelers began surrounding them. "You know cause..."

Everything is great everything is grand
I got the whole wide world in the palm of my hand
Everything is perfect it's falling into place
I cant seem to wipe this smile off my face
Life's a happy song when there's someone by my side to sing along

And such was it that Theon and Tansy were the first Westerosi introduced to the magnificence of Muppet song flashmob?

When you're alone life can be a little rough
It makes you feel like you're three foot tall
When its just you well times can be tough
When there's no one there to catch your fall

Tristan released the Westerosi from his grip and marched in front of them, through the city plaza, together with the other dimension traveling citizens.

Everything is great everything is grand
I got the whole wide world in the palm of my hand
Everything is perfect it's falling into place
I can't seem to wipe this smile off my face

Dancing through the streets with his two newfound "friends" in tow, as more and more townspeople joined in. Much to Theon and Tansy's surprise. They passed the red haired dwarf Oghren on the way, who simply shook his head and went inside. Emptying his flagon of mead on the way.

Life smells like a rose with someone to paint
With someone to pose
Life's a piece of cake with someone to pedal
Someone to brake
Life is full of glee with someone to saw
And someone to see
Life's a happy song when there's someone by my side to sing along

And so the citizens of Camelot continued for the next several minutes and even the Westerosi could not help but smile. Ass for the first time in forever. They finally felt joy.

I've got everything that I need
Right in front of me
Nothing's stopping me
Nothing that I can't be
With you right here next to me...


First chapter and yes maybe I should not have Tristan singing and shit, but I listened to the soundtrack from The Muppets (2011) and I thought that two characters who had been through so much shit needed something cheerful.

When it comes to Tristan's looks, you can imagine it for yourself. I like to think of Luke Evans, who I had hoped would be in the series as Oberyn Martell, but hey, you can't have everything.

This story largely grew out of boredom as I wait for season 5 and because I thought it would be funny if a character appeared that would ruin everything just by mere presence - appeared in GoT.

Hope you enjoyed this first chapter, am already writing the next one, so please read and review. Cause reviews help me write more. :-D

And please review as a user, so I can reply. I can't do that if you're just a guest.