"Coming of the Ice King."
Chapter 3
"The journey begins."
Cold.
The first thing he was made aware of, was cold.
There was something cold on his nose…
Something that distinctly felt like snow.
Icy-blue eyes snapped open and Mycroft Holmes shot up into a sitting position, looking around frantically.
What he saw was a great deal of snow. It covered everything in his line of vision: from the trees in the forest he apparently set camp in to the faraway grey forms of mountains, he could see between the tree trunks.
Though knew he wouldn't be in London when he opened his eyes again, he couldn't help but hope he was wrong for once. Naturally, that wasn't the case.
Sighting at the tragic faith of being a genius, he assessed his current location.
He appeared to be lying in a makeshift sleeping bag made out of cow skin, in the middle of what appeared to be a traveler's camp that fitted right in with the ones he saw in books about knights and princesses. To his right he could see a fire set close enough to keep him warm along with a chestnut colored horse tied to a loose branch of a nearby tree, carrying a small traveling pack tied to its saddle.
The campsite wasn't much to look at, and it didn't have to be. Mycroft knew that its sole purpose was to give him a taste of what his quest was going to be like, as well as granting him items he wouldn't survive without in the middle of a snow-covered forest.
It seemed the gods decided to grant him the luxury of being semi-prepared for tracking his way through a land he never heard about, during the most unforgivable of the four seasons when finding food is a near impossible task for even the most experienced wilderness survivalists.
He sighted and began digging himself out from under the warm covers. While he didn't spot any wild animals or hear anything suspicious, the camp is far from a safety location.
The horse being fully dressed in riding gear, allowing him to leave as soon as he awakes, was a signal that shouldn't be ignored.
Once he dragged himself from under the blanket, he realized that his clothes changed just as much as his environment did.
Instead of his beloved three piece suit he was wearing a dark-brown leather armor that reminded him a lot of his Black-Op uniform from when he still did fieldwork for MI6. His feet were now protected by long winter boots of the same color, and his hands and arms sported gloves that seemed thick enough to stop a medium-strength sword swing, if the need ever arose.
Standing up he noticed two medium-sized hunter knives hanging from his belt on each side respectfully, sharpened and ready for usage. Though smaller and with less range than a typical one-handed sword, they were no less deadly when placed in a professional's hands.
And it just so happened that Mycroft's favorite method of dealing with enemies during his MI6 years, was slashing their guts open with his trusted short blades before delivering a fatal backstab.
It appears the Gods of Westeros had done their homework.
Relying on muscle memory alone to execute the move properly, the British Government head pulled both knives from their covers with speed that never even hinted at the years he spent away from practice.
Mycroft raised an eyebrow at that.
It seemed old habits really did die hard. Once an assassin, always an assassin.
For a minute he simply admired the beautiful craft of the sneaky blades, weighting them in his hands and twirling them between his fingers with the sunlight reflecting brilliantly from the polished silver.
Though his new weapons were very similar to those of his Ops days, they did have differences that the elder Holmes did not fail to spot.
The hunting knives were longer and more balanced than the short blades he used in his early twenties, as well as of better quality. Since no agent could be found with a potential murder weapon on their persona, it was always better to dispose of it and grab a fresh new one before the next mission began, so it was of no wonder that the blades he used back then were made of scrap metal just hard enough to get the job done.
In contrast the weapons he was gifted with were made for longer usage, the steel stronger and more resistant to damage, it will take more than a few battles to get those out of commission.
Nodding in silent approval Mycroft sheeted the blades and decided to check on the equipment his new animal companion was bearing.
The chestnut stallion welcomed him rather warmly with burying his snot into the ginger man's shoulder and allowing Mycroft's hand to gently pet his long Arabic-style neck. Clearly the horse was a pure blood of some kind, he didn't have to be an expert in horse breeding to know that.
"My, my you are a beautiful beast, aren't you?" The Shadow behind the British Government whispered, his gloved hands smoothing the large animals coat.
The stallion nodded his head as if in agreement.
"I suppose, now that you're mine, I should probably give you a name of sorts." He continued absent-mindly. "I hear that's what ordinary people or, as I like to call them, Goldfish, do upon getting a new animal."
The horse snorted into his shoulder in answer.
He took that as a 'go ahead'.
"Very well then, though I must warn you: I'm not of the imaginative types. Let's see here…how about…Nut?"
The animal shot its head back as if offended.
"I don't understand why you're complaining." Mycroft felt the need to explain himself. "The word 'Nut' is in the name of your coat color after all, but, if you really don't like it, I suppose 'Caramel' will suit you just as well."
The stallion let out a series of unhappy snorts.
"Cease your whining, you ruddy animal." The shadow behind the government scolded pulling on the reins. "The sweet I named you after just happens to be a delicacy from where I come from, one I won't have the chance to indulge in for a very long time and, by the time this quest is halfway done, I am going to need a reminder that such a thing even exists. So be quiet like a good little horsy." He directed the still protesting animal to move further ahead so that he could mount the, newly named, Caramel and begin his journey towards the great Wall, to meet up with the ally the Gods told him about.
That's when he noticed the large wooden shield hanging from the opposite side of the saddle.
With a curious look on his face Mycroft reached over the horse's back, untied the defense tool and, with a bit of effort, was able to pull it over to his side of the saddle.
Upon turning it towards him he was met with a snarling image of a wolf's head, which was colored to look like that of a red fox. It bared its teeth threateningly, from its spot on the middle of the shield, and glared at him with ferocity that rivaled his own 'Ice-Man' glare.
But what really caught his attention was what was presented beneath the fox's head, in small but seen in a close-up, pictured.
Apparently this world was full of dangerous animals trying to take over the Iron Throne.
Wargs, Krakens, Stags, Dragons…All of them big and powerful adversaries.
And yet it was the sly little fox that's going to outsmart them all.
Mycroft liked those odds.
He liked them a lot.
AN: Hi! This chappy was mainly to establish what dear Mikey looks like in this story, since obviously I wasn't going to let him parade around in that three-piece-suit of his during the medieval times (duh!) that would be stupid. Now that that's out of my way we can finally have some interaction between our dear British Government and the 'Game of Thrones' characters, as in the next chapter he's going to save Jon and his fellow Night Watchers from getting beaten up by people that hate them, without so much as lifting a finger! XD
See you later!
JA107 over and out!