Author's note: After a vacation and some weeks of sputtered writing, I powerhoused through and wrote 2500 words in two days! Not gonna lie, pretty darn excited to get this chapter out.

Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire or Game of Thrones. They belong to their rightful owners. Any characters you see here that are not from those stories are my own.


Chapter Four: Lady Spicer

It felt as though she'd barely slept, and hardly dreamed, if at all. Her brain felt like lead and it was hard to focus on her surroundings. Everything was dulled and yellow from the glow of candle light. Body stiff and sore when she attempted to flex her limbs. Some more painful than others, signaling the likelihood of spending another few days bedridden. She gave a muffled groan of irritation. So much for opium's reputation as a relaxant.

"How are you feeling?" She heard the maester's voice ask.

"Like shit." She answered through closed eyes. The world becoming too dizzying to look at.

A snorted laugh could be heard from the bedside. Glad to know her suffering was amusing to the man.

"I don't suppose these after effects will go away anytime soon?" She asked.

The man hummed on that. "The effects of milk of the poppy are generally mild. If I may…" She felt his hands feel the pressure of her pulse. After that inspection he had her open her eyes to look at her pupils and feel around different pressure points on the skin and ask how each point reacted to her. "What you are feeling is not to do with milk of the poppy. Your body is reacting to the amount of stress and damage you've endured today. In truth, once milk of the poppy leaves your body the pain may worsen. I would advise that you take another draught after you've had something to eat."

Jasmine frowned at the recommendation. Being high on opium isn't what she needed right now. What she needed was a brain that could function properly. She had to think. She had to plan. Surviving in Westeros wasn't going to be easy. Hell, she didn't even know when she was. You'd think that a comatose/dead/delirious mind would have sent her to the start of the story. Year 298 AC, when Ned Stark executed the man from the Night's Watch after he ran from the White Walkers. But beyond this pavilion a prince was decimating a jousting contest. And no living prince of that time was old enough to achieve such a feat. Yet Tywin Lannister was alive. So that left about... 30 other possible years. Her head hurt to much to actually do the appropriate math.

"How about a distraction, then?" She suggested. "I'm new here. So how about I ask you some questions about this place and you give answers." There, no strong amount of thinking required.

"Very well, what do you wish to know?"

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She learned a fair bit over the next hour or so. She had to start off vague and all-encompassing to avoid sounding like a bit of an expert. How big was Westeros. It's geography and kingdoms. It's trade and culture. It's religions. Most importantly, who was the king and who were the major lords and their heirs.

-There was also a slight derailment at the start of her questions. It seems the Marbrand brothers had left out what she said about being from the West. In fact, the Maester was under the impression that she was from Dorne. Which didn't surprise her, really. Having wavy black hair, golden medium-toned skin, almond eyes, and a fairly obvious Mediterranean bone structure would all scream Rhoynish or Dothraki blood to a person of this continent. Hell, even her nose, the only remnant of her half-Jewish legacy, was up for debate since it was actually a pretty standard feature in the Middle East. Getting through that derailment had been a little tricky. Fortunately the effort of thinking up lies had worsened the pain in her head so much that she was able to use that as an excuse to avoid any questions of her past until a later time.-

The singular fact that helped hone in on the timeline was that this festival was going on to commemorate the birth of Prince Viserys Targaryen. Though while his birth was being celebrated here, in Lannisport, the babe and his mother, Queen Rhaella, had remained in King's Landing instead of attending. The King and Queen had a string of bad luck when it came to infant mortality, it seemed. So they feared that the baby would be targeted and killed if he was brought here.

But he wouldn't die. Not now, at least. Viserys had been 8 years old when Daenerys was born, and Dany was around 13 or 14 when Viserys died. So he had about 22 more years until he met his fate. A victim of a pot of molten gold and his own foolish pride. Of that, she was certain.

Wait. But was she?

It was in the books, and it was in the show. That information alone should set it in stone. But the story didn't include people from other worlds dropping out of the sky. Does that mean her presence changes things? Or does that mean she could get home quickly enough that no damage to the timeline could be made? But how could she get home? If she can't, then how can she avoid changing things? Should things stay the same? After all, Winter is coming. Cliche as it sounded. Winter meant White Walkers, and White Walkers meant death for humanity. What if there was a way to prepare for that? Too many questions that she didn't have an answer to.

What she needed was someone who did have those kind of answers.

"Harwin, if you could remind me, how old did you say is Lord Tywin's heir?"

"Jaime Lannister has ten years, my dear." The maester answered.

Ten years old. Jaime and Cersei are twins, and Cersei had been about nine or ten when she sought out Maggy the Frog. It was a tournament, like this one. And Rhaegar was a teenager with many successful rounds in the tourney. Yes, yes. This was the tourney where Maggy made her predictions for Cersei's life. Which meant she was here. Somewhere among the masses.

And she was going to find her.


A small meal and another dose of milk of the poppy later, Jasmine managed to convince the Maester that she was well enough to leave the tent to stretch her legs. Emerging into the dusky light of the evening, she hobbled round the Marbrand tents in attempt to smooth her stride. It was also an opportunity to memorize the look of the tents for when she planned to make her way back. They were a cluster of tents ranging from cushy pavilions to modest shanties. All dyed in variations of orange, grey and brown. The largest ones had banners posted outside, decorated with a flaming tree of similar colouring as their sigil. It wasn't one she recognized. Then again, House Marbrand wasn't a familiar name either.

There were more tents beyond the Marbrands', stretching across the grassy plain in all directions. Once she felt confident in her gait, she pushed forward to explore them. As she made her way through a small selection of the plains other sigils came into view. Both familiar and unknown alike. The lions of Lannister. Bats of Whent. A sword crossed with a falling star on a purple backdrop. Roses of Tyrell. A red apple on yellow. A sea turtle on green. Even the red-on-black dragons of the Targaryens, whom were absent from Westeros by the time of the books, stood proudly on a hilltop overlooking the flock of celebrating attendees.

But these were not the sigils she sought. What she required was the image of House Spicer. Lord Spicer was Maggy's son. Or perhaps it was the grandson at this point? Details were obscure regarding this tourney. Including the Spicer sigil. It involved a few metal containers of spices, she recalled, but the design of its backdrop was something that she had never paid attention to, thus was forgotten. So she was resigned to inspect every group of tents she came across, and hoped that one with spice pots would soon come into view.

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In time dusk faded and only the light of torches remained to lead the way. People were milling past her, returning to their tents to retire for the evening. Perhaps, she thought, she should be doing the same. It would get harder to search as the night went on. Both for her eyes and for the bodily pain. Yet still she merely sighed and pressed forward. She didn't know how long the tourney would last, and didn't want to risk the chance of missing Maggy.

"Jasmine? Is that you?" A man's voice asked.

Her head turned at the sound of her name. A few paces ahead a was group of roughly a dozen men and women coming down the grass-trodden pathway. From the flicker of torchlight she was able to make out the face of Daven Marbrand giving her a curious look. At his call, the rest of the group slowed to a stop. Among them she was able to see Anders, who was previously distracted in conversation with another man and carrying a toddler on his shoulders all the while.

"Uh, ya. Hi." She gave a short wave. She paused for half a moment. Wondering if people in Westeros even understood that hi was short for hello; or, for that matter, if they even used the word hello. Then decided that it may be best to switch things to avoid the need to translate. "Um, I mean, good evening."

"What are you doing out of bed? Maester Harwin specifically instructed that you needed to lay down and rest." Daven chastised.

"Right…" She scratched the back of her head sheepishly. Feeling slightly embarrassed under the weight of stares from most of the troupe. "I just wanted to stretch my legs and take a quick look around." Daven still looked at her with exasperation and a touch of disbelief. It was the sort of look a parent gave a child when it was obvious they were trying to lie their way out of a situation. Her eyes flicked around the group, giving inspiration for a change in topic. "Perhaps it would be best if we all introduced ourselves?" She gestured to the group collectively.

Anders seemed to latch onto the bait and directed the conversation away from the awkward scolding. "Excellent suggestion!" He took the hand of the blonde woman beside him and stepped forward. "Jasmine Switzer, may I introduce you to my wife, Lia."

At the introduction, Jasmine was struck by the woman's beauty. She had a soft, heart-shaped face and dazzling emerald green eyes. She also seemed to move with a gentle grace that felt reminiscent of an angelic quality Jasmine had seen in Renaissance paintings. In all honesty, the woman was probably one of two or three people she'd ever met that had such lovely features. Lia gave her a warm smile and curtsied to her. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Jasmine."

"And to you as well." She gave a tiny curtsy in return, ensuring to hold back a grimace as the movement put added pressure on her hip wound. She glanced up at the small boy on Anders' shoulders. "And who's this little cutie?" She cooed, causing the boy to sheepishly duck down into closer to the man's head.

Anders grinned. "This is my son, Desmond. Don't be shy, Desmond." He prompted the toddler. The little blond boy didn't say anything, but waved shyly at her. Jasmine grinned in turn and waved back. She had a weakness for kids. They were so adorable that one couldn't help but interact and play with them.

One by one, Anders introduced her to the rest of the group. First came Melissa. A redheaded woman with blue eyes flecked with green, notably defined cheekbones, and a sharp nose. She was wife to their eldest brother, Damon (who was still at the feast speaking with Tywin Lannister, interestingly enough). Melissa's greeting showed more of a poised and refined courtesy compared to Lia's grace. Though it seemed to Jasmine as a quality stereotypically befitting to the wife of a lord's heir. Following Melissa came her three copper-haired children. Addam, a boy of eight. Darlessa, who was six. And in her arms slept two year-old Alysanne.

Next came Ryella, who was Daven's wife. She was a mousy young girl of an age with Daven (that is, about sixteen or so years old), with medium ash-brown hair and nut brown eyes. She was a little overweight and had a face decorated with freckles. Though her most defining feature was her demure and polite nature that shone as she greeted the woman before her.

The final four to be introduced were cousins to her hosts. The eldest was Ser Donnel Marbrand. He was a tall, brawny, square-jawed gentleman with brown hair and hazel eyes. With him was his wife, Margarey. A petite woman with a small, pointed nose. Her black hair and deep widow's peak defined her heart-shaped face and vibrant blue eyes. Comparing the two, it seemed as though someone had struck a marriage between a giant and a pixie. The other two cousins, Alyn and Jason, were black-haired and brown eyed. Though, unlike their elder brother, their faces better resembled the narrower features of the Marbrand lords.

After introductions were established, the group started walking again towards the family's tents and continue with conversations that had been paused. Jasmine, though, hesitated to follow.

"Are you not coming with us?" Lia asked her.

Jasmine felt torn and tongue-tied. Unsure of what to say. The truth, or a lie? She swayed between her options and tried to find a way to balance between the two.

"I want to. I was planning on making my way back soon. It's just that…While walking I heard someone mention that there was a maegi at the festival. I heard about maegis in a book once. I was hoping to see her and… I thought she might know of a way for me to return to my land."

"Your land?" Lia asked hesitantly.

"So it's true, then." Melissa half-whispered. Eyes seeming both surprised and guarded. "You are from across the Sunset Sea."

A blush creeped up Jasmine's face and she bit her lip with uncertainty as to how to respond. The wives gave her a look of subdued surprised. The cousins, on the other hand, looked between Melissa and Jasmine in bewilderment.

"You're from where?" Jason exclaimed.

"Ah, yes, you were not present when we had this conversation, cousin." Anders laughed nervously.

"Though those of us who were there thought you were making fools of us." Lia lightheartedly joked.

Jasmine was getting more tense despite the laughter. She didn't want more people to know what she had said about living out West. Didn't want things to escalate. For more questions to be asked that she didn't have answers to. For people to find out the truth.

"I am." She announced, just loud enough to break over the voices and smooth over her voice to sound more certain. The others stopped to listen to what she had to say. "That's why I need to find the maegi of House Spicer as soon as possible. If she's anything like those I've heard about, then there's a chance for me to get back to my family." Tears began to form in her eyes. They were genuine, for the most part, but held back just enough for dramatic effect. "Please, if any of you know how to find her, I'd be eternally grateful."

The others shifted. They were eager to ask their questions, but understood that now was not the time. On top of that, some of them seemed to be uncomfortable with her plea. Or perhaps it was her tears? In the end, it was shy Ryella who spoke up.

"I know where House Spicer has made camp. I'm sure we can find her there."

A warm smile broke over her face. She had to fight back the urge to give the girl a hug, and instead took her hands in hers with joy. "Thank you so much, Ryella."

Losing all pretenses, she broke the hold and gave her a squeezing hug. The girl yelped in surprised. Which ignited some chuckles amongst the group. When the hugs were over, and the poor girl's blush started to recede, Jasmine bid the group goodbye and practically dragged Ryella by the hand as they moved to find the Spicers.

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They made light conversation as they weaved through the pavilions. The jousting had ended that day, Ryella explained, with Ser Arthur Dayne of the Kingsguard as the victor. There was a feast tonight in celebration of the results, as well as to the king and his newborn son, of course. The group had stayed at the feast for some time, but retired once the children began dozing off. Though some of them were planning to return later to enjoy the fun.

Naturally, Ryella had questions about Jasmine as well. There was less pressure with the lack of ears around them, but still she tried to weave through them as carefully as she could. The question that threw her off the most had been why it was she was able to speak the Common Tongue. She ended up using that pause of confusion to claim that it wasn't called by that name, but was called English, after the eastern island nation of England. That wasn't a lie, of course. But it made for the perfect abili. An island composed of people whose ancestors came from the East. Who spoke of grand castles and dragon kings. Of the lands beyond, like Valyria and Asshai. Of the Andals and the First Men who conquered the land over forest-dwelling creatures and terrible monsters that came with the long Winter nights. And like those great adventurers of old, their influence spread to her own continent. The language passed on through generations and mingled with the tongues of her land. The culture remained to a degree on the island, but was lost among the thrall of influences that came from the mainland. Over the centuries, tales of Westeros began to fade. And while there were attempts to sail across the Atlantic, their name for the Sunset Sea, to find Westeros, there had never been anyone to successfully make a return home. So many began to think that the place was a myth.

"Though that opinion changed a few years ago." Jasmine remarked thoughtfully. "About… I'd say at least 20 to 30 years ago there was a man who washed ashore who claimed he was from your land. A sailor by the name of George Martin. He wrote tales of Westeros and had them published for people to read. It got a lot of people talking about it and wanting to see if the land really does exist."

"Is that why you came to Westeros?" Ryella asked.

"What? Oh, goodness, no. I didn't even consider that Westeros was a real place! His stories would mention things like dragons and wargs. And the English have a habit of inventing stories about lords of time or magical nannies and the like. I thought it was another one of those stories. Fairy tales to entertain kids."

"Kids?"

"Children. My mistake." She corrected. "But, yes, I was traveling on a leisure cruise. A cousin of mine won a free trip and invited me along. When I first arrived here I thought I had ended up in England. Imagine my surprise when your husband and his brother mentioned the Lannister family. I was terrified. Thought I had gone mad, dreaming that I had dropped into a storybook, of all places!" She laughed.

Though it was hardly a joke. A part of her was still sure she had lost her mind. Even so… being able to laugh about it was helping to ease the pain.

"That must have been trying. But now that you have come here, how do-"

Ryella's question was interrupted by the sound of a painful scream. The women jumped at the sound. Hearing the scream change to shrieking curses in indistinguishable words. Ten meters up ahead, the shadows of two children emerged from a tent and sped off into the night. The shrieking continued inside. Jasmine and Ryella ran (well, hobbled, in Jasmine's case) towards the tent.

Ryella paused at the entrance. Her face lit with an eerie green glow, and she suddenly looked afraid. As Jasmine made it to the tent, thoughts and images clicked together. Understanding what had just taken place.

"Go after those two. I'll stay here and make sure she's alright."

"But this woman" The teen trembled "she's a..."

"Just go! I'll be fine!" She shouted. Yes, she knew what Maggy was. Yes, she knew that she probably looked all the frog that Cersei believed her to be. But that didn't matter, she needed to see her. And if Ryella was otherwise distracted from listening in, well, that was just a bonus.

"Yes. Alright." Ryella turned and ran after the girls. Jasmine doubted she'd be able to find them with such a big head start, but it was worth it to try. Once at the entrance, she rolled her shoulders and walked through the flap of the tent. This was it. It was now or never.

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All of her determination shriveled up and died the minute she walked into the tent. It wasn't because of the queer atmosphere of spices and musks akin to a gypsy fortune teller. Nor was it from the eerie glow of green light that shone through a serpentine brazier. It wasn't even because she was sharing the room with a witch capable of blood-magic. No, none of that. That's because it wasn't a witch she saw when she looked upon Maggy. What she saw was an old woman, writhing on her knees in agony and in dire need of help.

She ran to Maggy's side. Her eyes were shut tight. Blinded by some dark coloured paste dripping down her face like sludge. Shards from a pot where imbedded in the sludge as well as were cascaded around her body on the floor. Looking around quickly, she couldn't find a cloth within reach. So she resigned to removing her new cardigan to wipe off the mess from the woman's face.

"Here. Let me take this stuff off of you" She gestured. Taking the old woman's cheek in one hand to steady her, she used the other to lightly remove layers of the paste. Maggy started to sway, and gripped a hand on Jasmine's arm to steady herself.

"What are you?" The woman croaked in between moans of pain. Her grip tightened.

"The person trying to help you." She retorted sharply. She was keeping her focus on the paste. Making sure that none of the shards brushed against the skin. "Do you have anything to soothe the pain or wash off the rest of this stuff safely?"

The woman gave a shaky nod. Lifting her other hand to point a bony finger towards a shelf on her right. "The red flask." She gasped. "On the second shelf."

Before she could retrieve it a sound came from the flap. Craning her head to the side, she saw a man run into the tent. He was panting and gasping for air. Looking at the two of them on the floor, his face changed from fear to anger. The green light casting a darker look on his expression. "Wretched bitch." The man growled. "What have you done to my-"

"She needs help!" She interrupted him. Now wasn't the time for false blame. "Get the red flask on the second shelf. She said it will help."

The man looked stupefied. His anger turning to confusing. Then, finally understanding, marched over to the shelf and delivered the vial.

"Do you know how to use it?" Jasmine asked him. "I don't want to mess up and make things worse for her."

The man nodded. He had her move aside and lifted Maggy onto the bed. He took control of the situation. Grabbing whatever items he needed and worked at the table to get it ready. -One of them, to Jasmine's dismay, was a cloth from the stand that she could have used if she had actually spent an extra second to look for one.- While he poured the liquid mix onto the cloth, Jasmine sat at the old woman's bedside and held her hand tightly. Whispering reassurances that everything will be alright soon.

"You are… a strange one." The woman mumbled hoarsely. "But I must give thanks. There are not many that would enter here. Much less offer their assistance to a woman like myself."

Jasmine smiled and attempted to tease her to lighten the mood. "Sounded like a better idea than coming in here to throw pots in someone's face. I hope Ryella catches them and gives them a good thrashing."

"Ay. They will get their due. In time. But you are not so different from them." She grumbled. "You came here for the same reasons they did."

Jasmine frowned, feeling riddled with guilt. "I did." She admitted. "But… it doesn't matter. It's... it's not important." A part of her screamed at herself. Of course it was important! What was she saying! She shoved those thoughts aside and instead held the woman's hand tighter. "What matters is that you get better."

The old woman paused. Her closed eyes furrowed and her lips tightened to a thin line. Then, they turned to an ever so light smile. "A strange one, indeed." She murmured quietly, almost with warmth.

The man, Maggy's son she presumed, had the cloth ready and moved to the bed to heal her eyes. Jasmine took that as a cue to move from the bed and walked outside of the tent to give them some space.

A few minutes past and soon Ryella returned to the tent. Panting from the run and chest heaving through the bodice of her dress.

"Were you able to find them?" Jasmine asked.

"Forgive me. They ran too quickly. I could not find them."

"That's alright. It couldn't be helped." It was probably best that they weren't found, anyways. It would have guaranteed her influence on the timeline if that scene changed from what Cersei remembered.

"And the witch?" Ryella asked.

Jasmine flinched at the comment. She knew people likely didn't treat the woman well, being a maegi. But after meeting her and trying to help take care of her, it just felt cruel. "She's hurt, but hopefully will get better soon. Her son's in there now and taking care of her injury."

Ryella nodded. "Did you ask her about..."

"No. I…" She sighed. "She's been hurt. It wouldn't have been right."

Ryella's eye lit in understanding and gave her a sympathetic smile. Then her eyes drifted to the side. Back the way they'd came.

Jasmine's shoulder's slumped. Knowing what the girl was thinking. "I suppose it's time to head back, isn't it?"

The girl jumped and blushed in embarrassment. "If it is not too much to ask? I know you wished to have words with her."

She held up a hand to reassure her. "It's fine. It's fine. I'll just let them know I'm going."

She turned and walked back into the tent. The son was washing Maggy's eyes with the cloth. Using on bowl to absorb the liquid substance while another was used as a waste bin to wring out the sludge-like paste. She walked over and placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "My friend and I have to go now. Is there anything else you need?"

"We'll be fine." The man gruffed. "Did you see who did this to my grandmother?" Oh, this was her grandson. Though, in her defense, it was a little hard to distinguish ages in the dim green light.

"I saw the shadows of children. But not their faces, no."

"Then there's nothing of use you can do." He responded harshly.

She bristled at his tone. But also tried to justify it that he was just angry that his grandmother was attacked. Considering the violence she herself had endured today, she could relate. "Alright then. I hope you get better soon, Lady Spicer." Jasmine nodded her head to the woman and turned to walk out.

"Storm-comer." Maggy called out. Jasmine paused and turned to face her.

Did she mean me?

"Return on the morrow." She instructed. "And I will give you your foretelling."

Jasmine stood in shock, back straightened as her mind reeled. Letting the words circle in her ears. Their meaning seeping through and becoming clear. A grinned stretched across her face. "I'll be here!" she promised, and bounded out of the tent with a spring to her step.


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Author's Note: And Day One in Westeros is complete! That only took 3.5 chapters. Lol! The timeline will be picking up the pace from this point forward. But it feels like a milestone making the introductory saga complete.

Question for you all: Do they actually say the word "hello" in ASOIAF?