Sorry, I've been gone so long. Life.
However, I'm back.
Brand new story, kinda. Hope you enjoy.
I do like stories about overpowered characters, but I was wondering how would a non OP character with absurd abilities do in a world like ASOIAF? No magic, no hax, just absurd skills.
Someone mortal, who would die if he fell wrong from a horse, but nonetheless exceptional.
There are plenty of exceptional characters in GOT, like Thoros or Ser Barristan(to name a few), so while it would be bizarre, it wouldn't be out of place.
So please read on, and tell me what you think.
"It's not heat, really. It's the humidity that'll get ya, m'lord." the stout man had told him when he first arrived in Braavos.
He didn't understand it then. He sure did now.
Perched atop of his horse- a beautiful sorrel mare he had broken himself-, he wiped his forehead for the umpteenth time. The sun was unforgiving, but he felt like he was right in the devil's arsehole it was so hot and humid.
His armor, while perfectly fitted was uncomfortably hot, and the layers of mail and and gambeson certainly didn't help. However, he'd pick uncomfortably warm over being dead anytime.
He took a swig from his waterskin, before pouring some of the liquid on his golden red hair. "Oh God", he thought, "what I wouldn't give for a cold shower, right about now?"
"The heat bothering you, ser Dondarrion?" his attendant asked, chuckling at his superior's pain.
Dondarrion sighed at this, gliding his gloved fingers through his short cropped hair. "I'm used to the seabreeze, and more temperate climates." he answered, slightly miffed. "I've never been so far East before."
"You must be glad then. After this affair is settled, we can finally go back to Myr."
"If it were up to me, I'd never been anywhere near this hellhole of a place, ser Liddle."
The older man laughed at this. "You did want more responsibilities. didn't you? I told you this promotion will bite you in the arse."
"I suppose Strickland is quite annoyed at me for wanting out.", Lord Dondarrion answered, looking at his troops standing in formation, as he had drilled them in his years as their commander.
Ser Liddle lost his mirth at the answer. " Most of the men are still in shock after hearing that. The Golden Company could use a man like you, Beric."
"When I came to the Company's service, I made it clear that I would give them four years. It has been four years three months ago." Beric Dandarrion replied, rolling his eyes. "And Strickland decides that I am needed near Qohor of all places. The man is as stubborn as he is petty." He finished, annoyed hush escaping his lips in his frustration.
"Fret not, my friend", the older knight, answered, patting him slightly on the shoulder. " You can leave after this. For now, we have Dothrakis to slaughter", he said, motioning with his chin, as a horsed messenger made his way towards them.
"My lords", the lightly armored soldier said, greeting the two men. "The enemy is moving."
Beric smiled at that. He had developed a taste for fighting. But above all, he had no love for Dothrakis.
He had no hatred for individual Dothrakis but he had deep seated disdain for their culture.
They did not sow, nor they buid. They did not trade, considering it a weak man's fare.
They lived for plunder and pillaging, going about, leaving chaos and ruin in thir wake, like overgrown locusts.
How men could be twisted to such extent to even believe that such way was good was beyond him.
"At least the Mongols built an empire. These are little bit more than pests at this point." He thought, listless.
"Thank you, Tobin. You may go". Beric answered, nodding at the man, who quickly turned his horse around, after a short salute.
"Leave it to a up and coming khal to ride to his death, while laughing all the way." Liddle said, spitting on the ground, before putting on his helm.
"Hey, now. Don't disparage them", Beric answered, a smile on his handsome face. "It's idiots like him that allows us to make a living." Having put his helmet on , he grabbed his horse reins, urging her forward.
" Now, let's go butcher them."
Khal Addrivo could not believe his luck. Admittedly , he had been worried when he received news of a small army coming to defend the area he had been raiding.
The Golden Horde had been known to be the bane of many an audacious khal. He was beyond happy, however, when he realized that the vast majority of the army against him was composed of foot soldiers.
He could not pass up this opportunity. Did the fools not know one does not meet Dothraki in a pitched battle? Especially with foot soldiers?
They were no eunuch men, who breathed and lived battles, unafraid of death.
From atop his horse, he gazed at the army standing against him. Small men with spears and cumbersome armor, primed to be slaughtered and plundered.
His blood sang at the thought of the coming battle.
As soon as his horses plowed into the first of them, and the formation broke, they would be easy pickings for him and his men.
Or maybe he could attempt to surround them and pepper them with arrows until he broke their will. He smiled cruelly. Either way, he will have his victory.
He raised his arakh, as the hot wind blew in his long braided hair, signaling the charge.He rode his mare hard, followed by his Kos.
The battle fever made his blood sing as always. The wind in his hair made him feel alive. The feeling of his horse under him, its muscles tightening and releasing reminded him how powerful he was. How much he had fought and bled to be where he was now.
He was Khal Addrivo, son of Khal Hezho. He is the Khal of the legends. the Horse who...
He didn't get to finish his thought, rudely interrupted as he was by a steel tipped arrow.
But such thing tended to be quite bothersome, especially as said arrow was now solidly embedded in his skull, the purple fletching sticking out of his left eye socket.
The young Khal srubbornly held on to his reins, his hands not yet realizing how futile their task now was. He fell off his horse a few paces later, dead, as his followers trampled over his still twitching body.
Ser Colton Liddle looked the battlefield as the grim affair was running its course.
Dothrakis fleeing on foot, their horses long slaughtered, only to be ran down but his light cavalry.
Grown men who not too long ago, where screaming to high heavens, now screamed for their mothers, wiggling around the battlefield in various states of dying.
Beric Dondarrion, the Hawk, as he was called, was nothing if not scarily good at killing.
It hadn't taken long for the horde to break, after their leader was summarly killed by the young lord. As always, his aim was true, and his arm strong.
The arrow had flown straight, as if craddled by the wind, before planting itself in the rider's nervous system. The rest was now history.
Lord Dondarrion was still seated on his horse, lazily picking off pockets of resistance. Each arrow he loosed took down one man, all of them in their dominant arm, forcing them to stop fighting.
Despite having seen the young knight in action in more than one occasion, he still had difficulty believing in eyes at time.
Shots that should have nigh impossible were made to look mundane by his hand. He had once seen Beric fell two men at the same time, with two arrows shot simultaneously.
Such skill was what could be described as lengendary, he had long decided.
He tought of the way Khal Addrivo had been killed, shuddering.
Despite having gray hair, Colton was only five and thirty. And while his eyes weren't as sharp as they were in his younger age, he could still see as good as any man.
Yet he could barely make out the features of the dothraki's horse, that's how far he had been.
Four hundred paces at least. A perfect shot. Ser Colton Liddle sighed. "Oh, to be blessed by the gods."
"Ser Liddle, I believe we are done here." The young commander called to him, his brow dripping with sweat.
"Make sure the wounded are cared for. If any prisoner makes a fuss, make sure to kill them."
"Yes, my lord", Liddle answered. He bowed slightly, Beric answering with a slight nod , before galloping back to camp. "No doubt eager to be rid of his armor," the older soldier thought, watching as his superior rode away.
"Well, I got work to do, I guess." He thought, riding to the field, barking orders at his men, as he went.
Beric Dondarrion was conflicted as he watched his home in the distance, the ship he was on cutting smoothly through the Wyl.
For one, he was glad to see familiar places after four years of being gone. On the other hand, he never really felt at home in Blackhaven, though he did not dislike the place.
His father, Leo Dondarrion, was an aloof man, but he cared for his wife and children. His mother, Anya, was a devoted mother and a fervent follower of the Seven.
All in all, he had been lucky to be born in the midst of such good people.
The issue was that he was different. Different to an extent that he would never dare share with anybody.
He had lived before. It had been a long and rewarding life. He had been a brewer. A damn good one, at that. He had married, twice. He had had children and grandchildren.
And now he was a lord of the Seven Kingdoms, heir to a major house in the Stormlands.
Back then, in his old life, he had been vaguely aware of some popular books or tele programs through the young workers but he had never really cared about what the big deal was about. Oh, how he wished he had paid attention.
All he knew was that some Jeffrey kid had been a proper cunt. Oh and the Queen and his brother were doing the deed. Something something,zombies? Ah fuck it. He had tried his best to scrap by anything he could remember, to no avail. You can't remember what you never knew, after all.
Oh yeah... The Mountain and the Hound. He knew those.
Anyway, he had died, one day, rather suddenly, as he was teaching his craft to his granchildren. At least I died doing what I liked, he thought again, laughing at himself.
And now he had a new lease on life. He should be happy about that. And most of the time, he was. Yes, he'd never see his loved ones again, but he'd long made his peace with that.
He was young again. He was strong, and he was skilled. Scarily so.
His reflexes were ungodly fast. He was acrobatic, and strong. His senses were keen and he absorbed knowledge like a sponge.
When he first touched a bow, he knew that this was what his hands were made for.
He never missed, unless he tried. Knives, sticks, coins, quills. If he could throw it, he would not miss.
Then he started having dreams. No, he was remembering this. Things he'd never done, things he'd never dare to dream about doing.
In those memories, he saw himself, as he was as Beric, besides his hair, which was sandy blond.
He saw himself living a life defying all sense and logic, saving the world alongside characters he recognized from comics he used to read when he was younger.
He had been dreaming about being the fucking Hawkeye, the best shot this side of the Milky Way. The Ronin. Clint fucking Barton.
He had long stopped asking himself questions he could not answer. He wasn't stupid, but unless who or what ever sent here came down and explained everything, his worries and questions would be less than pointless.
All he knew was that one day he was showing his grandkids around and the next, he was being reborn in a world he'd only heard about in passing. The fact that he also shared the memories and experiences of a comic book hero was the last thing he would complain about.
No, for that he was grateful. In a world where might was right, he was born with the power to rise above those who would think to harm him and what was his.
But on the other hand, he was born in a fucking medieval world, complete with its backwards moral and standards of living. In this world where war was the norm, and women were little more than second class people, as was anybody who was born from the right vagina.
A world where you name and family line meant infinitely more than who you were as an individual.
Injustice and violence were the norm. And the smell. Oh god, the smell.
He missed the small things from his old life. Running water, AC, fast travels, cigarettes, competent music, fast food. God, what he would do for a good juicy burger right about now. At least severe maiming
Beric sighed as he got of the ship that was carrying him and his hard fought for wealth.
House Dondarrion was a not poor not by a long shot, but he had been eager to see the world and make his mark. And if he could become rich by doing so, then this is exactly what he would do.
"Thank God, I'm such a fucking badass", he thought to himself, as servants of his house
went about disembarking his possessions from the ship.
"My son, you've returned!" a gravely voice said, attracting his eyes.
Lord Leo Dondarrion looked at his son with uncharacteristic warmth, his lady wife, Anya by his side. They had barely changed since the last time he had saw them. He, however had changed the most.
He was only seventeen when he left, much to his mother lament. He then stood at a respectable five feet and eight inches. Now he had grown to an impressive six feet and three inches, now towering over both his parents.
Then, he had been a slight boy, not skinny nor fat. Now at one and twenty years of age, he had filled out, and shed his baby fat, and thanks to rigorous training and exercise, he was fit and healthy.
Added to his blue eyes, red golden hair
and dashing features, it wouldn't be vain to say that he was a very good looking young man. A very famous and good looking young man, at this point.
"Look at you", his mother said, cupping his cheeks in her small hands, "You've grown so much!" The diminutive woman said, before hugging him tightly, her head reaching just under his collarbone.
"He is almost as handsome as his father", Leo said, laughing heartily. He grabbed his son by the shoulders, looking at him appraisingly. " I'm glad you are back, Beric."
He had never felt deep filial love for his parents. He had been independent too long in both his lives. But he would lie if he said it didn't feel good to have someone greeting him with such warmth and love.
"I'm glad to be home as well, father, mother," he answered, fighting back a tear hugging the older couple
"Come, son", his father said, leading him to a carriage where his luggage was being packed "Ride with us. Tell us everything about your travels."
" Yes", Beric answered. "I've brought you gifts from Essos. I'm sure you will love them."
"Have you thought of briging gifts for Allyria? She has missed you terribly, the poor thing." His mother piped in, as he offered her a hand to climb in the carriage.
Hearing the name of his childhood friend, a smile stretched accross Beric's face. " Of course, mother. She would flay me alive if I dared forget to bring her a gift after all this time."
" Good." the wisp of a woman told her son. " I can rest easy. It would be a shame to see your pretty ruined because of your forgetfulness."
Leo laughed at that, happy to see his wife teasing her son. She always found pleasure in tormenting the poor boy.
"Mother, did you just call me pretty?" Beric asked, his brow quirking slightly in amusement.
" Which such pretty eyes, what other word could one use?" His father answered, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Beric laughed as he shook his head. "After four years gone, I return to insult and mockery." He said, mock hurt on his face. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder, but time can do so much against cold stone", he finished, feigning sorrow.
The older Dondarrions looked at their son with amusement. Anya who was sat next to her son, reached to caress his clean shaven cheek. "Such a pretty face with even pretty words. What a blessing", she said in a slightly patronizing tone, causing the reunited family to burst out laughing.
"You might be a terror on the battlefiled, but there some battles that aren't meant to be won, Beric, my son." Leo Dondarrion said, joining the light ribbing, happy his family was finally reunited.
"It's good to be home", Beric said to himself, as the carriage made its way to Blackhaven.
And scene.
It's a weird idea that popped in my head while thinking about Beric Dandarrion.
He was a very Robinhood-esque figure in the books and the show. So what if he somehow had the experience and the skill of another Robinhood-esque figure.
The idea was to just put Hawkeye in ASOIAF, but I'm not too familiar with his actual attitude/personality eventhough I've read the comics and watch the movies.
Obviously this is a different character as he is a reincarnated man with the memories, skills and experiences of Hawkeye , that so happens to be Beric Dondarrion.
He will have a similar path though as they are a bit similar personality wise(in a roundabout way).
So, tell me what you think. Comment and shit.
