I had to do this. It had to be done. Anyway, I want this fic to primarily focus around Walhart, but a few other characters may make an appearance. Who those characters are and what their place will be in Game of Thrones will be revealed the more you read. They may also get their own chapters and points of view. Anyway please enjoy, and tell me in the reviews who you would like to see in this fic, they can be from Awakening, or Fates.
Also, as massive as the world of Game of Thrones is, I'm scared that I'll fall into a plot hole. If I make any error with the timeline, tell me in the reviews and I will correct my mistake.
Have fun.
Walhart. Some called him a tyrant, or a monster, but most people knew him as the conqueror. Yes, the conqueror, his title. He had succeeded in taking over the entire continent of Valm, and would have moved on to capture the continent across the sea, if it wasn't for the Shepards of Ylisse. Really, Robin did most of the work, their white haired tactician was quite capable off and on the battlefield.
Walhart had never had such an intense fight before he met Robin. The man was a master of the sword AND the spell, using both to knock him off of his horse the first time… the second time… and then the third time. Robin, such a little man compared to him… was able to defeat him every single time they crossed blades.
Chrom couldn't even begin to compare with Grima's vessel. The blue haired prince had come to fight him before Robin did, and told the conqueror that if he were beaten there, he would have to join the Shepards in defeating a god. Chrom would have died had his friend not stepped in, those intelligent irises glaring into his own, pure white eyes.
The rain fall was heavy, and the terrain slippery, yet the tactician did not slip, and for the third time, defeated him almost effortlessly. Walhart had allowed himself a small comedic thought in that moment. White hair equaled great power apparently. His own hair had been white since the day he was born, but the same couldn't be said for his eyes.
They went white for… other reasons.
He had scolded himself for that little joke, realizing that he sounded like that fool Cervantes thinking that his beard made him invincible.
He had made a bet with the Shepards that day and lost, keeping his word, and joining their ranks. Many of the young people avoided him, however that odd man Gregor came by to say hi to him every day, it was odd, because he distinctly remembered hurling an axe into his shoulder. He didn't seem to mind however, 'live and let live' Gregor would say.
Walhart would rarely respond.
There were only three people in the Shepards that were able to defeat him during their training sessions, only three.
Robin of course, and his overly happy child Morgan surprisingly. Walhart suspected that Morgan was already surpassing her father, but Robin would no doubt discover that on his own.
Then there was the one he respected the most.
Priam.
That man was a master of the blade, and could counter seemingly every weapon with ease. Walhart had finally met someone he could call his equal in combat. Robin was not his equal, he was above him. Begrudgingly, Walhart had accepted that after the third time of being de horsed by the tactician. Though he would never admit it, even after he sacrificed himself to kill Grima for good.
"A man so nearly my equal." He remembered saying that day.
Walhart had left for the gate that lead to the outrealms, and rode through it. No one said farewell to him, save for Priam, Gregor, and surprisingly Basilio. Yen'fay would barely look at him, and he could have sworn that Say'ri had tried to kill him at night in the camp after Grima was slain.
The masked woman fought just like her after all. Walhart had beaten her easily, but let her live, so she knew that he was still above her fighting ability.
He felt his entire being fade from this reality. Who knew what would be in store for him on the other side?
…
Walhart opened his pure white eyes after he appeared on the opposite side of the portal. The cold was the first thing that he noticed about this world. The second thing was the seemingly endless expanse of pine tree's that surrounded him, each one with tons of snow on their branches. The snow that blanketed the ground was at least an inch thick, and his horse whinnied from the chill.
Walhart wasn't bothered by the cold, he wouldn't allow himself to be. His massive horse whinnied again, and the conqueror placed a hand on its red armored neck. The horse calmed itself, and Walhart snapped the reins.
"Ya!" He yelled.
The horse obeyed, and they both rode through the forest. The wind tore at Walharts face and the cold air made it uncomfortable to breathe. However, this was nothing the conqueror couldn't handle.
Time to find his first group of people to subjugate.
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Marcus, the chieftain of his tribe, let out a bellowing laugh. He was a heavy set man, but could still swing a battle axe fast enough to cut a man in two. Underneath the flab on his arms and body, was rock solid muscle. His tribe respected strength, and after Marcus killed the last chief, which was his older brother, he took over the entire two hundred person tribe.
He grabbed the nearest woman, pulling her onto his lap, causing him to damn near fall off of the fallen log he was using as a bench. The bonfire blazed, the carcass of a deer being cooked in its flames. Many men in the group had told him that it was a bad idea to make a fire, and Marcus killed them. No one told him what he could and could not do. If the crows came after the fire, he would cleave them in two like he did the bastards that thought they were smarter than he was.
His large beard was caked with food and stolen wine, and he was already beginning to bald. He didn't care about the welfare of these people, the only thing that mattered to him was eating, drinking, and screwing! The woman sneered at him, and Marcus only continued his chuckling. That was when he heard trotting in the distance.
He turned his head to look into the dark forest behind him, and saw a monster of a horse riding towards the fire. As it got closer, he could see that the horse carried on its back a massive old man with white hair. His armor was blood red, plated fancy stuff, and his horse also wore red armor on its hide. On his head, he wore a red crown that made it appear as if crimson horns were growing out of his skull. The man wore a black cape, darker than the night sky. He looked as if he were a devil, come up from one of the seven hells to destroy all of man.
He stepped off of his horse, and his people began to surround him, drawing crude swords and spears. They all pointed the weapons at him, and the giant red demon scoffed. He drew a giant red axe from a pack he had on the beasts hide. A gigantic, crude looking weapon, yet elegant. The hilt was black as the head of the axe, and the neck was red as his armor. The pole between the hilt and the axe head seemed to split, leaving a massive gap in the pole. The reason for that gap was lost on Marcus, but he knew one thing.
He really wanted that axe.
He threw the woman off of him, and picked up his own double edged battle axe. It wasn't anything fancy like the axe the giant lobster was using, but it was practical, and if you hit something with it hard enough, something will die.
The brown fur of the bear that his village had slain was strewn over his shoulders, the head of the bear being worn as a hood. Marcus let out a laugh.
"What do we have ere'? Lost old man? Tell you what, we'll help you get home if you hand over that axe, your beast, and that fancy red armor of yours. Don't do that, we'll gut you and feed ya to our dogs." Marcus threatened.
The old man paid him no mind, instead looking all around at the tribesman with those pure white eyes. Was he blind as well? All the easier for them he supposed. Was he a crow? No way, crows don't wear red.
"Shut your mouth fat man. Show me to your leader." The devil ordered.
Marcus scoffed.
"You're talking to him. And if you don't take back that insult, I'll have my boys kill ya." Marcus threatened.
"You're the leader? Pathetic. How could a weakling like you possibly even assume a role of command?" The old man asked.
Marcus felt a vein pop on his forehead.
"Who in the Seven Hells do you think you are you decrepit old fart!?" Marcus yelled, readying his axe.
"I am Walhart, the conqueror. Now, bend the knee to me, and swear your fealty, or I will kill you, all of you." The newly named Walhart said.
Marcus laughed, and his men joined him.
"You think some senile old man can take on an entire tribe of warriors? Ha!"
Walhart looked all around him, and sneered with disgust.
"I don't see warriors here. All I see are savages, led by a fat waste of space and air. If you are so confident, fight me man to man! We will see who the stronger one of us both is, draw your weapon!" Walhart yelled.
Marcus never felt so small in his life, and the men all flinched when they heard his booming voice. He gulped.
"I-I would, but I haven't been getting a lot of sleep lately… I wouldn't be able to fight at my full potential." Marcus stuttered.
"Coming up with excuses. Truly you are weak and pitiful." Walhart mocked.
The tribesman all began looking to each other, and whispering. Marcus widened his brown eyes with the realization that he was cornered. He couldn't just say no to this fight, but if he bent the knee to him, his own men would slaughter him. The best he could hope for was exile, but he didn't know how to live off of the land! He'd die in just a few days. He had to fight. Marcus clenched his teeth, and charged towards Walhart, screaming with his battle axe raised.
"I'll show you weak and pitiful!" He yelled.
Walhart sighed, and easily dodged Marcus's overhanded swing. Marcus's axe embedded itself in the ground where Walhart once stood. The conqueror grabbed the pole of Marcus's axe, and swung his own down on it, cutting it in half.
Before the chieftain could react, Walhart had back handed him, making Marcus see white. He fell to the snow, and spat up blood. The crimson soaked into the snow, and Marcus felt Walharts armored boot collide with his ribs, sending him flying into the bonfire. The last few moments of Marcus's life were spent in agonizing pain, and he could hear nothing but the roar of flames in his ears.
He ran out of the fire, but he was still burning, his screams echoed throughout the entire forest as he flailed around like a mad man. The pain was unbearable. Eventually, he fell onto the snow, melting it as he continued to burn.
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"Pathetic. Now all of you. Bend the knee! Or suffer the same fate as that toasted pig!" Walhart yelled, pointing a finger to the burning man.
There was no hesitation, soon the entire camp was kneeling before him. Walhart let out a huff of disappointment. If that fatass was the strongest they had, then he had a LOT of work to do.
"I am now your emperor. You will all do as I say, and even the slightest act of insubordination will result in death. Am I clear?" Walhart asked, loud enough to echo through the camp.
"Yes emperor!" He heard a man yell from the crowd.
"I don't think I heard you ALL correctly!" Walhart yelled, clenching his teeth.
"Yes emperor!" The entire camp yelled.
"You will live as I say, eat as I say, and fight as I say!" Walhart yelled.
"Yes emperor!"
"Good. Now, who can tell me where I am? Who can show me a map of the region?" Walhart asked.
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…
Aemon Targaryen was blind yes, but also wise. He knew things that most men did not, and that knowledge has served the wall well. His knowledge however, did not explain why the wildings had suddenly began turning on each other, his answer came a few months after the question was asked. The scouts had said that there was now another King Beyond the Wall, this one more fearsome than the other.
He ruled his conquered tribes through fear and strength, and they say he has the power of a giant. Walhart the conqueror he was called. Some of the Nights Watch's scouts were captured by him, but were spared per his orders. Walhart had sent a terrifying message back with them however.
"The wall will be mine." The scout had told Mormont, his voice full of fear.
The tone in that voice made it sound as if he believed that this… Walhart could indeed take over control of the wall. The scout sounded absolutely terrified by Walhart, but Aemon caught a hint of respect in his tone.
This man was not only a great warrior, but a great leader. Based on the scout's reports, Walhart was winning against the King Beyond the Wall. That wasn't really good news though, if Walhart united all the wildings under his banner, the wall would stand little chance against his onslaught. If his title was Walhart the Conqueror, then didn't that mean he intended to take over all of Westeros? He had to take the wall to get to Westeros, why else would he want it?
This does not bode well…
There was other news besides that however, a new recruit had joined the nights watch along with Jon Snow and the law breakers. Apparently he was a master with the blade, and he fought in a way unlike anything else the denizens of the wall had ever seen.
Aemon tried to remember his name… however, all he could recall was his… odd nature.
He would rabble on and on about the power locked away in his sword hand. Mormont had considered sending him away, until he showed his abilities to the Lord Commander. It must have been very impressive if he could change Mormont's mind about something. He was very cheerful when he was allowed to join them, he said that:
"My sword hand thirst for blood, it's coursing with power! I will use that power to keep this place safe from all harm! SACRED STONES!"
Aemon didn't know what to think when he yelled Sacred Stones. He did hear the swing of a blade though after those words were shouted.
"Wow." Mormont had said.
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…
Walhart sneered down at the chieftain below him. A man thick with rippling muscle, young too, a full head of brown hair. He wore a patchwork outfit made of several different animal furs. His gloves were a black leather, looking like he took them off of one of the bodies of the men of the nights watch. He kneeled down before him, eyes wide with fear.
"You think that submitting to me now will bring back the lives you've taken boy?" Walhart growled out, venom dripping from his voice.
The inside of Walharts tent was warmer than the outside, but the chill of the land beyond the wall still found a way to pierce the warm fabric. His horse had been bred for this kind of environment, so he was fine, and these wildings were used to it. Walhart rose from his chair, and walked over to the kneeling form of Jorn. Walhart grabbed the man by the throat, and heaved him into the air.
"Because of you, thirty men lost their lives today!" Walhart yelled.
The conqueror threw the man out of the tent.
Jorn attempted to flee, scrambling up from the snow, but Walhart grabbed him by the ankle. A large group of people had gathered to watch what would become of their leader. Jorn quit his struggling, and when Walhart released him, he resumed to kneel.
"Those thirty men were trying to kill our men and rape our women milord-"
"Emperor." Walhart corrected.
"Emperor. They didn't even try speaking with us, even when we saw your flag and kneeled, they just attacked outright. We would've all died if we just surrendered." Jorn said.
Walhart narrowed his eyes, then looked to the man supposedly responsible. The Steel Wolves; The group Walhart had put in charge of conquering Jorns tribe, all chuckled. Their leader, Grug, crossed his arms at Jorn, and sneered.
"Don't believe him emperor, this bastard wouldn't kneel before us like you ordered. So what if we wanted to take a few of their women and kill some of their men? That's the price you pay for messing with the Steel Wolves!" Grug yelled, raising a hairy arm and hooting.
All twenty men behind him joined in his hollering, and Walhart clenched his teeth.
"You are no longer Steel Wolves. You are a part of my army, and my army will not rape and murder people who are already surrendering!" Walhart yelled.
The hollering stopped immediately. Grug smirked.
"If you want me to be a part of this army, then you'll let me do as I please, or I'll take my men and leave." Grug said.
Walhart drew his blade, Sol, from his hip, and pointed it at Grug.
"I said no insubordination when I took over your tribe. This is insubordination! Draw your blade and face me, I'll send you straight to hell!" Walhart yelled.
Grug grabbed the hilt of his own blade, and hesitated.
"I-I'm sorry emperor, it'll never happen again I swear!" Grug yelled in desperation.
"So, you choose to spend your last few moments groveling? How pitiful." Walhart said, walking towards the soon to be dead chieftain.
Grug tried to run, but his men grabbed him, and threw him towards the conqueror, landing on all fours. He remained like that in front of Walhart, crying salty tears and begging for mercy. Walhart ground his teeth.
"Stand up and fight!" Walhart yelled.
Grug did just that, standing up with his blade raised against him, trembling like a cold dog. Walhart stood there, cool and confident, this was no more a fight than a public execution. Jorn had stood, and cheered for Walhart along with everyone surrounding them. Grug swung at Walhart, who easily dodged it. He swung at him more and more, but each swing that Grug gave simply hit air.
After dodging one last time to show his superiority, Walhart swung at the upraised arms of Grug, slicing both of his arms clean off. The chieftain screamed in horrible pain, until the conqueror drove his blade through his throat, ending his life.
He retracted Sol, and sheathed it at his hip, frowning at the corpse of the pathetic worm he had slain.
"So weak. Jorn, you may go. Join the other tribes in the camp, you are now a part of my kingdom." Walhart said.
Jorn kneeled once again.
"Thank you emperor." He said.
Taking over tribes was easy, they respected strength and not much else. It was taking the wall that would prove to be the greater challenge. Apparently they are understaffed, weak. Yet the defenses of the wall were mighty. Walhart thought of Robin.
What would the white haired tactician do in this situation? How would he take over the wall? Walhart shook his head. He wasn't a tactician, he was a conqueror. He would take it over in the same fashion he always would, with strength and bravery.
He had too in order to save Westeros. There was a threat beyond their kingdom that was just as bad as the risen, or even Grima. A danger that threatened the whole of this world, a threat that they needed to be united against. Yet from what he heard, the denizens of this country were wasting their time playing at politics. Bah! He's always despised the game of thrones, that was why he never played it. If anyone crossed him during his reign, they died, he didn't waste his time trying to outsmart a political opponent, he just conquered them. Except for that fool Excellus, but he needed his tactical genius at the time. He should have just killed him like he did the other weaklings that tried to manipulate him.
They never trained their sword arm after all.
In any case, he had to conquer Westeros in order to save it. After he united them together, he would face the white walkers. After that problem was dealt with, it was off to conquer Essos. This would no doubt take many years to complete, but he still had plenty of time left.
The world would be his. This time for sure.
For he walked the path of the conqueror, and wouldn't stray from his ideals this time.
You like yes? Make sure to leave a review, and tell me who you'd like to see appear in this fic, I'll see if I can't find some way to implement them.