The Road to Hell

…

A/N: Howdy all, a quick little note before I begin; some of you have aired your concerns that this story is a copy and paste of LuciusOctivus's Catalyst story and I admit the beginning does takes a few cues from his story, but rest assured that this will be different given that it's also a crossover with Elder Scrolls, so expect the crossing over to happen soon.

I've gotten back in touch with Lucius and he's confessed to me that he's lost his motivation to continue Catalyst for a variety of reasons. One reason was that he kept getting increasingly negative reviews; that kinda thing can really discourage writers on here, I mean, sure, not everyone is gonna like what you write, but there's really no reason to be increasingly negative and disparaging of someone's work is there? Simply put: if you don't like it, then don't read it. Can't get any simpler than that.

Anyway, enough chatter, let's get on with this, shall we?

…

Chapter 3: Making the Best of It

I wasn't getting much in the way of sleep. Even with the window open, it was bloody stuffy in the room and the rather humid area outside didn't help matters either. But Haldon and Jon/Griff insisted, rather strictly I may add, that I stay in the shack by the river.

So there I lay on the bed that felt like the hardest thing I'd ever slept on, trying to get some shut-eye. Haldon had left me some books to pass the time and I read a little of them and I was thankful that they seemed to be written in English, or as it would be called in this world, Westerosi. That was at least one written language that I wouldn't have to bother learning.

Giving a tired groan, I rose from the bed, clad in only a pair of linen shorts that itched against my skin. I sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing my sleepless eyes, thinking to myself about how much I missed the comforts of modern civilisation such as indoor plumbing, air conditioning, refrigerated food, hot running clean water, the internet, I could've gone on and on thinking about what I had taken for granted. I suppose you never really knew what you had until it was taken from you.

I had no illusions about kickstarting some vainglorious technological or industrial revolution. I had very little in the way of technical or engineering ability despite the best efforts of my father who had me sit with him for hours on end listening to him wax lyrical about car engines and their components while I tried to resist the urge to kill or at least render myself comatose by some means. I was never really the smart one out of my family; I wasn't a builder, a lawyer, a scientist or even a military man. I was just a cleaner for fuck's sake, that's all I was, it was all I'd ever been good at in my life.

And looking back at my life, I gave a wry chuckle at thinking how little I had accomplished in life. It almost seemed like being sent to the world of ice & fire to be reincarnated/reborn as Young Griff seemed like a punishment for being such a waste of space.

I was roused from my thoughts when Septa Lemore entered the room. This was my first time seeing her in person rather than reading descriptions about her. She was clad in dull grey robes with a veil, or was it a wimple, covering most of her head save her face. She looked to be a fairly attractive woman; her hair was a dark brown almost black colour and her skin was deeply tanned from the Essosi sun. I took note of her eyes; I was aware of the fan-theory that Lemore was really Ashara Dayne, but that idea was quickly dashed as I saw Lemore's eyes were a dark brown rather than violet or even a shade of blue.

A warm smile graced the septa's lips as she spoke to me. "How are you, my child?" she asked me kindly. She took a seat beside me, smoothing the wrinkles in her robes as she did so. I looked away, uncertain of how to answer that question. I felt Lemore cup my face with one hand, and I had to resist the urge to pull away. I'd never been very good with physical contact. I didn't know Septa Lemore like the actual Young Griff had, and I almost felt bad as I thought to myself that the people who raised their secret prince had been replaced in soul and mind with someone else entirely who was certainly not ready or prepared to face whatever this world had to throw at him.

"I was told what had happened to you," Lemore then said as I looked at her. "You had forgotten much when you awoke from your fever. Do you remember me?" she asked me hopefully.

"Septa Lemore…" I began slowly. "I know your name, but I've forgotten much about you and the world around me it seems," I said regretfully. "You're a septa?" I then added looking at Lemore who smiled in response. "You're here to teach me the mysteries of the Faith and the Seven?" I then asked.

"Indeed, I am," Lemore said with a genuine smile. "I'm here to aid you however I can. Will you pray with me? Perhaps the Seven may deign to give you back what you have lost?" she suggested.

I suppressed a snort; despite begin educated at a Christian school, I had never been religious. All too often, I had seen and read in history how religion was used to justify or excuses atrocities. I was personally of the belief that if there really was a God, he was an uncaring sadistic bastard who got his jollies making mankind suffer. If it were the Greek Gods, I'd be somewhat okay with them as they didn't really pretend or even disguise their intentions with an air of benevolence or kindness. Hell, even the Norse Gods would've been better than God himself. Although I remembered my meeting with the Grim Reaper how he briefly mentioned 'The Powers That Be' which made me think that think that whomever or whatever they were, they were really just as demented as God could be.

Still, I nodded at Septa Lemore and replied, "If you'll teach me again. I've forgotten much about them as well."

The Septa's eyes flickered with sadness, but she nodded in understanding. "Come, I shall teach you again. So long as you promise to be a good student?" she asked me kindly.

"Was I not before?" I said lightly which made the Septa chuckle in response as we both kneeled beside each other. Septa bowed her head and clasped her hands together and began to whisper under her breath. I copied her actions, but I kept my eyes opened as I ponder my situation. Given the apparent age of my physical body and the year it was, I would have roughly four maybe five years before the War of Five Kings started. Four or five years seemed like a long time, but some cynical part of me would say that amount time would fly by like no tomorrow. But perhaps it was time enough to come up with some sort of game plan to work with.

I wasn't the best with plan, admittedly, I usually let others handle that sort of thing and just did my share of the work and go home. But given that I was now Young Griff, I would probably be thrust into the role of leadership and there would be many vested interests in me to move me about as a chess pawn.

I silently cursed my ill fortune and wondered just what I did to piss off God or whoever was in charge of creation in a past life to end up in this situation.

…

Two days had passed by and I sat on the small pier, staring dumbly into the river. Two whole fucking days to come to terms with my situation. It wasn't a dream or a nightmare in spite of my hopes that I would wake up back home in my own bed.

The thoughts that had come to my mind reminded of the five stages of grief or accepting the unacceptable.

Stage one: Denial; This can't be happening.

Stage two: Anger; This isn't happening.

Stage three: Bargaining; maybe there's a way out of this?

Stage four: Depression; why me?

And the final stage: Acceptance; This really is happening.

I ultimately concluded that I really had the worst luck in the world to have been thrust into a world full of dragons, ice zombies, battlefields and political backstabbing that may seem more dangerous than the previous three things mentioned. I supposed I should be grateful I didn't end up in something like Warhammer 40k; I wouldn't have lasted a second there as I probably would've burned alive by an Inquisitor for being a heretic or demon of some sort.

A small mercy that I ended up in the world of ice and fire instead of 40k. And having survived two days in this world thus far had to count for something, right?

I stared the reflection of the sun in the waters of the river as it began to slowly begin its ascent into the sky. It was kind of beautiful almost. I grew up in the countryside and later on lived into a small but bustling coastal town, at least when I wasn't completely shut in my own house. I sighed to myself as I thought of my life before waking up in this world; given what the Grim Reaper had told me, I was well and truly dead in my world of origin and I briefly wondered what my parents and siblings would've thought when they heard the news of my demise. I'd never gotten on with my family, I wasn't cut out for the whole family schtick and my family, while certainly not as bad as some of those problematics families I'd seen on the news at times, they were far from perfect.

Doubtless my mum would be crying over my dead body, weeping that her previous little boy was taken from the world too soon. My siblings may have been fighting over what they would get from my worldly possessions and how much they'd be worth. And my dad? Well… truth be told I didn't really care what he thought, he was a fucking hardcase most of the time and had near impossible expectations of me despite saying otherwise. In a way, he was the Tywin Lannister of my life.

But, as it was, I was now in the world created by one literature's most notorious serial killers. I'd often believed in the theory of the multiverse and with that logic, at least one of those many universes conformed to George R.R Martin's twisted ideas. That was just one reason I wasn't getting a lot of sleep in the past two days.

I sat in contemplative silence and wondered to myself about my new lease on life, so to speak. Why did it have to be Young Griff of all people? There were a lot of others I could've been. But the more I thought about it, the less appealing it sounded; if I had been reborn as Joffrey or Tommen, I'd have been thrown into the royal court unprepared for the cutthroat politics of Kings Landing and Westeros. If had been reborn as Robb Stark, I'd probably dealing with leading a rebellion against the Iron Throne. I might've even been reborn as Jon Snow and having to fight the White Walkers and their zombies.

That line of thought brought up the question of who I was. Young Griff AKA Aegon was a puzzle for most readers of George's prose. I certainly had no idea if Aegon was a legitimate Targaryen son of Rhaegar and Elia or an imposter. One of the most popular theories was that Aegon was a Blackfyre and there was evidence to suggest that being possible, however remote it might be. Another theory I had heard was that Aegon was simply a boy with the right colouring and given the dragon-blood that still flowed strongly in places like Lys or Volantis, it was remotely feasible. One unlikely theory that came to mind was that Aegon was the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark, but that theory was out of the question given that in the TV show, Jon Snow was the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna.

I supposed to myself that the first thing I would need to do before making any plans was to find out who I really was and the only person who could hold that information was Illyrio Mopatis the Cheesemonger. The very man who conspired with Varys to host Viserys and Daenerys before marrying Daenerys off to Khal Drogo. If anyone knew who I really was, it would be him.

"Young Griff?" a voice called out to me but given that I was still adjusting to having a different name now, I didn't respond immediately.

The man's voice repeated the name again and I turned around to see another of Aegon/Young Griff's teachers, Rolly not yet Duckfield, the master-at-arms who taught Young Griff how to wield a sword and such. He wasn't ugly by any stretch of the imagination, but he wouldn't be winning any beauty contests with his looks. He was a tall and brawny looking man with shaggy red hair and beard that needed a good trim. He wasn't turtled up in armour, but wore a simple tunic, loose trousers and boots. And in this weather, who could blame the man? Even with a cool gentle breeze blowing in, the air was still humid as fuck and swarms of midges hovered about. "Well, you're up and about I see, so I take it you've recovered some," Rolly said to me with a crooked grin and in his hands he held a pair of blunted training sword.

"C'mon. Let's stop you brooding and get some practice in. You're behind on your lessons."

"Who said I was brooding?" I asked sullenly which only made Rolly grin and reply, "Are you sure about that, lad? What good comes of staring off into the distance? A bit of practice and a few bruises will take your mind off things."

Sighing to myself, I stood to my foot and I squawked in alarm as Rolly tossed me a training sword and it landed near my foot as I failed to catch it. Rolly chuckled and said, "Definitely out of practice."

I made a hasty apology which the man waved off saying, "Don't worry about it. Given that you fell ill and lost your memory, it's a small blessing you're still alive. But maybe a little practice will help you remember what I've taught you?" he said helpfully although his smiled looked a little forced.

"If you think it will help," I replied as I picked up the training sword and was surprised at how heavy it was. But one thing I'd often heard of medieval training was that recruits were often trained used weighted training weapons to build up their muscles so that when they held a real weapon for the first time, it wouldn't be as heavy. "I remember tiny little pieces, but if you'll help me relearn, I'm glad to," I then said to Rolly who grinned in response.

"Don't fret yourself, lad. It'll come back to you, I promise. Your mind might've forgotten, but your muscles won't have," the ginger haired man said to me. "Now, let's see if you remember how to stand," he added.

I shifted into what I thought was the proper stance and from the raised eyebrow Rolly had on his face, it was pretty obvious I was doing it wrong. "Not quite how you do it, lad, but close enough," he told me as he moved to show me how to correctly stand.

Then through most of the morning, I practised with Rolly the basics of swordsmanship and combat. The thing Rolly said about muscle memory seemed like a horrible joke. The bastard overpowered me every time we sparred. I'd never partaken of actual medieval combat; what little knowledge I had of the subject came from watching HEMA videos on the internet and that was in no way first-hand experience. Add to the fact I wasn't the most athletic person in my old life, despite my parents' attempts to get into sports as part of an attempt to get me to be more social. I was more of the solitary creative and intellectual pursuits such as writing, reading and researching random subjects on the internet, as well as cooking my own food.

The first three things would prove utterly useless, unless I decided to become a maester which honestly didn't appeal to me as I felt that most maesters of Westeros were hypocritical and narrow-minded at times. Cooking on the other hand might be seen as more of a womanly duty given the oft sexist mindset of the world I was now in.

I was too distracted with my thoughts when Rolly struck me on the side causing me to yelp aloud in pain much to the older man's amusement. I held a hand to the bruises that was no doubt forming and as I pulled my hand, I saw a thin line of blood on it and gave a grimace. I wasn't squeamish about blood, having helped slaughter sheep a few times, but then again, I'd never been the one to use the knife on the sheep themselves, I merely prevented them from trying to escape.

Later when I went aboard the Shy Maid, Haldon noticed the bruises on my side and commented, "You're lucky that wasn't an actual blade, elsewise you'd be dead already."

"Thank you for noticing," I said sardonically before adding, "I just hope you're able to heal such a grievous injury." I looked at the bloody bruise and sighed before remembering what I read of Varys' words about Young Griff in A Dance of Dragons; Young Griff had been taught how to bind and mend wounds. Admittedly the medical scene of Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice & Fire was more advanced than real life medieval medicine given they practiced things like crude anaesthetics such as milk of the poppy AKA liquid heroin and some basic suturing. I then thought to myself of what I knew of medicine; honey and garlic were sometimes used to treat wounds so they didn't get infected, so maybe that would work here?

"Of course. Can't have you bleeding out now, can we? Otherwise Lord Jon would have my head," Haldon said to me as he took me aside to treat the injury.

…

A week later, Griff/Jon had deemed me well enough to travel. Most of the group hadn't taken the idea of their prince losing his memory too well, but what else could they have done for themselves in that regard? They'd decided to help me relearn what they had already taught Young Griff and build up from there. And from what Haldon had told me when I first awoke in this world, it was 294 AC according to the Westerosi calendar and there was a lot I needed to learn.

As far as education went, Aegon/Young Griff's education was fairly normal for a prince of royal blood. Haldon taught me history, philosophy, law, mathematics, reasoning, sciences as well as the various dialects of the Valyrian tongue spoken across Essos. I would admit that math, science and languages had never been my strong suit, so I struggled with it, but the second and third subjects came easier than the first subject.

History was far more interesting as I read the tomes that Haldon had on the history of Westeros and I was always of the opinion that history was written by the victor and the victor would often paint themselves in a positive light. Add to the fact that the maesters despite claiming allegiance to the realm they served were more loyal to lords and monarchs they served, something I had pointed out to Haldon which led to some bickering between him and I.

Septa Lemore's lessons entailed subjects such as poetry, music and theology and the third often included astronomy. I was also taught Westerosi etiquette which was important for someone of my status. I was often told that I had to talk a certain way, move a certain way and follow customs that meant little and less to me. I was not a social creature by any stretch of the imagination; that wasn't to say I was an impolite person as I knew how to say please and thank you, but socialising was mentally and physically draining for me as I found crowds of people too loud and claustrophobic. I found myself preferring the more martial practices with Rolly more than I did learning etiquette from Septa Lemore, which wasn't a knock against her by any means as she was considerably more patient than the Stark children's Septa Mordane.

Rolly taught me to use weapons such as polearms, swords, maces, hammers as well as various drills and exercises to hone my body. Plus, the idea of being able to hit something was a good way to vent my frustrations and annoyance after lessons with Haldon and Lemore. Griff/Lord Jon Connington however taught me other subjects such as how to lead and run a court, how to command from a full campaign to smaller groups of men. Given how in medieval times, those of noble or royal blood, particularly the eldest sons and heirs, were expected to lead men into battle and have knowledge of stratagem and battle tactics. Especially so with the fact that I was the hidden prince expected to take back Westeros from the Usurper Bobby B in the name of House Targaryen. For those instances, I played various wargames with clay figures Haldon had which proved challenging for me, but I was learning bit by bit. Plus, I knew that from a logistical point of view the costs of building, training and maintaining an army, something Jon Connington agreed with me on, was an important thing to heed even though it was not all that exciting and tended to be more tedious than anything.

Overall, the lessons helped fill in time, even though some of the things proved to be a challenge, but I was learning all the same. History I took to more than anything else, something which Haldon had commented on, but I simply smiled and said that the future relies on learning from the mistakes of the past which had Haldon nodding in approval.

But one thing that was difficult to adjust to was the fact that I was called Young Griff. It was frankly bizarre to tell the truth. Out and about on the deck of the ship, they called me Young Griff, but below the deck in the hold they called me Aegon. I wasn't him, not in mind or soul at least and this brought up a problem. Most of my knowledge of this world came from the books and the TV series, what episodes or clips on the internet I could watch at least. I knew the basics of what happened, but something told me that wasn't enough. I didn't have the knowledge Aegon had either.

What I did have though was something others in this world lacked. That was foresight. It was about the only advantage I had at the moment and I was going to be facing some serious competition in the likes Littlefinger, the Lannisters and a whole bunch more. Varys would be on my side so long as I played the part of his perfect princeling, something galled me and had no real wish to play a part of. The Starks might've been an option, but given how things ended for them, I wasn't overly keen on the idea. The Tyrells would side with whomever would give them the most advantages and if they knew of me, they'd probably seek to wed Margaery to me and although I respected that Margaery was a cunning young woman who knew how to play the Game of Thrones, I knew how it ended for her in the TV series.

Dorne on the other hand was a bit muddled for me as I knew how badly it ended for them in the TV series and the books showed they were clearly divided given Arianne's scheming to put Myrcella on the Iron Throne went arse over end while Doran Martell was scheming with Varys to put Young Griff on the throne and have Trystane wed Daenerys after learning about her dragons and that ended horribly for Trystane when he stupidly freed Viserion and Rhaegal beneath the tombs of Mereen thinking that whatever Targaryen he may have had would allow him to tame them. Tyrion Lannister was a wildcard, but he may have been too much a wildcard. A fun character to read about and watch, but at the end of the day he was a complete fucking mess given his past history with his family, particularly in regard to his dear old dad Tywin who until his frankly humiliating death on the shitter was the biggest and foremost adversary in the series.

Littlefinger too would be a large adversary given that he was essential to how the War of Five Kings started in the first place, not forgetting the fact that Catelyn Stark nee Tully up and went to have Tyrion arrested for the crime of trying to have Bran murdered in his sleep by an assassin armed with a Valyrian knife. Littlefinger owned the knife and claimed that Tyrion had won the knife from him in a wager during a joust when I knew that wasn't case as the joust in question had been between Loras Tyrell and Jaime Lannister and Littlefinger claimed Tyrion bet against Jaime and I knew full well that Tyrion would never bet against his own brother. And add to the fact that Littlefinger may have likely been responsible for the death of Jon Arryn and was likely the real father of Robin Arryn, I would probably have to try and remove Littlefinger from the board as soon as I could.

This train of thought brought up an almost existentialist question for me; given what I knew of how things led up to the War of Five Kings, do I step in and change the canon without knowing the consequences of what might happen if I do? Or do I let things play out as they happened and move in at the right time?

It was things like that that kept me up at night. Changing one little thing in this world could have drastic consequences that I had no hope of predicting or anticipating. And the more I'd thought about it, out of all the characters I could've become in this universe, Young Griff was perhaps the best out of all of them. I had a party of loyal and talented individuals, thought to be dead and able to move about incognito on the metaphorical chessboard called the Game by Westerosi lords. In retrospect, I could've chucked into the deep end and told to swim against a raging current and would likely drown in.

But as far as I knew, my knowledge of the books ended at Dance of Dragons and George had not released Winds of Winter yet. But the TV series on the other hand was well and truly over and I was among many fans who hated how it ended, but George had said in a few interviews that the book ending would be different from the show. But in what way?

And forget about any plans of introducing things like gunpowder and firearms. The advent of such a weapon would only introduce even more chaos as many scheming lords entertaining ideas of usurping power from others would buy up such a weapon in bulk so that they could outfit an army with them and throw everything completely wabbajack. Firearms back home had changed the scope of warfare when they were introduced, but it was mitigated by one of the worst plagues mankind had seen that led to many social reforms and changes in governmental and political ideologies and practices. Hell, the simple idea of democracy would've been laughed at in the world of ice and fire. The closest to a complete social reform Westeros had been when Aegon V the Unlikely had been king but he was met with strong and fierce resistance from many of lords who wished to hold onto their 'gods given rights' and after his death, his son and later Tywin undid many of the reforms he'd implemented, thus keeping the nobles in power and the smallfolk as little more than serfs.

I was no revolutionary by any means. History had shown me more than once that revolutions never ended well for anyone as both the rebels and oppressors had people with their own ideas of what their ideal society should be like. There were just as many would-be tyrants and dictators as there were patriots and freedom fighters, perhaps even more so, who wanted to oversee things and have them reap all the benefits of having a kingdom to own and rule.

It was things like this that kept me awake at night and had me wondering what could I even possibly do to change things. I even wondered what my purpose being here in this world was. It seemed like some kind of torture to live in a backwards medieval environment that hadn't even invented proper sanitation beyond just boiling water. Again, I wondered just what I had done to piss off God or whoever was in charge of things to end up like this.

TO BE CONTINUED…

A/N: There! Third chapter of this is done and dusted! I hope you all enjoyed it because it took some time to write this out. Now this chapter may be a bit of a copy of LuciusOctivus's Catalyst story, but I have changed some little things here and there to make it different and next chapter we'll see the crossing over begin and I have a few ideas of how to do it, namely to do with the Mother Rhoyne.

In other news, I've published a Super Smash Bros/Elder Scrolls Self-Insert crossover in which the Self-Insert ends up in the Smash Bros universe as the Dragonborn from Skyrim. Feel free to give it a read if you have the time.

And that's about all I have right now, so I'll leave this here and catch you all next time.

Be kind to one another,

Angry lil' elf.