A Song of Ice and Fire Through Time

Ten years after Robert's Rebellion, the Deadwood begins to spread, fulfilling the ancient warnings of the First Men. Faced with the annihilation of his people, Eddard Stark rides out to face this evil, armed only with a sorcerous concoction. The events that follow after that day change the rules of the Game of Thrones.

I do not own Game of Thrones or Samurai Jack.

This story was adopted from Lord Maximus, the author of A Song of Fire and Righteousness.

Also, I intend to utilize elements from both the book and TV series.

Xxx

293 AC

Catelyn

Fire rained from the skies over Winterfell. The refugee camp had become a field of embers surrounding the fortress on all sides as thousands fled in all directions, seeking safety only to face the inferno. What few guards who had not lost their spirit had rallied to Rodrik and Jory Cassel, standing against the darkness that had brought this destruction to the home of the Winter Kings.

And for all of their courage, they didn't even slow it down. Arrows sank into it only to be launched back with frightening speeds, taking the head off of a man-at-arms and impaling another through the chest with such velocity that it ripped through his chainmail and leather jerkin, sending him plummeting down to land just ahead of where Catelyn was ushering her children towards the one assured safe haven to be found: the Crypts.

The children, now joined by Theon Greyjoy, Beth Cassel and Jeyne Pool, wailed in terror as their once tranquil world became engulfed in chaos. Screams of the dying and the scent of scorched flesh permeated the air, leading to Jon wretching at one point when he stumbled upon a guardsman being burnt alive. Jory remained close, guiding them along and ensuring none fell behind while his uncle saw to the defence. Thoros of Myr and his fellow worshippers of the Lord of Light were out among the surrounding camp before the attack started, now undoubtedly either dead or fleeing.

"BEHOLD!" The terrible, inhuman being cackled and raised its arms upward, drawing in black clouds from all directions and blotting out whatever sun had gotten through the normally overcast weather. "Behold your new overlord and rejoice! Kneel to Aku and be spared!"

He was met with a savage roar from one of the armoured giants as he and a dozen of his kinsmen drew back arrows longer than a man was tall and let loose, puncturing the demon's face in spite of how high it stood. With an irritated grumble Aku absorbed the bolts deep into himself and then, more for theatrical effect, spat them back out with pinpoint precision, tearing into the giants with ease.

"Fools! No mortal weapon can harm me!" Aku bellowed. "Watch and learn the price of defiance!"

Bringing both hands up over his head, Aku swung down and smashed open one of the walls of Winterfell, killing dozens with a single action and shattering the stoneworks down to their foundations as Cat and the children fled down into the subterranean tunnels with as many servants as could make it.

Xxx

All across Westeros, Aku made his presence known.

The Eyrie crumbled and rained fragments down the Giant's Lance as Aku lay waste to its spires. Fortunately Jon Arryn and his wife were absent, but that was of little comfort to knights who saw the futility in fighting this demon and flung themselves down the mountain in desperation to escape.

Riverrun and the waters surrounding it were consumed in flames as a fleet of barges, long boats and individual swimmers desperate enough to risk it fled downriver. Hoster Tully, grown sickly in his final years, had enough of a clear mind to organize the evacuation and see to it that his son Edmure knew where to lead the people. This came at a cost to the aged Lord Paramount, who refused to leave until the entirety of the castle had been evacuated, and perished as walls crumbled and boats sank beneath the tide.

Casterly Rock was cracked open, exposing what had once been rich and deep mines filled to the brim with veins of gold, now laid bare by thousands of years of mining. Tywin Lannister and others of his family barely escaped using secret passageways carved by their ancestors. The Old Lion's dwarf son, Tyrion, would later be able to reflect on one thing he could brag about for years to come afterwards: Tywin Lannister most certainly did not shit gold.

High Garden and Old Town were struck simultaneously. Aku would not permit a repository of knowledge to exist in the kingdom he would build, nor would he care to entertain the game which the Tyrells took pride in playing. Mace Tyrell himself became a babbling wreck, forcing his aging mother to take charge of the evacuation as their bannermen rushed to the aid of the now burning heart of the Reach.

Storm's End ceased to exist within minutes of Aku's arrival. The powerful walls shattered into dust under the force of the winds and lightning conjured by the Shogun of Sorrows, the waters of Shipbreaker Bay rose up and devoured the nearby lands, claiming the lives of Renly Baratheon and Loras Tyrell among many others caught unawares.

Sunspear was shown no more mercy than the rest. Doran Martell, suffering from gout and unable to flee with best speed, died in the Water Gardens that had once served as an oasis of peace in a brutal world, urging his brother to escape with the children and servants. The sands themselves rose up at Aku's command and began to engulf all of Dorne in a storm which slowly began to bury every trace of the great fortresses and holdfasts of each house.

The Iron Islands and Dragonstone escaped his notice for the time being, but only because Aku wished to allow the little insects beneath him to flee and come together once more where he could strike them down again. Soon he would go far beyond this land and spread his darkness across the world, but for now he would content himself with toppling the king of the largest kingdom on the map.

Xxx

Robert

King's Landing would not be missed for long. It was a poorly designed mess built in haste following Aegon's landing, a pitiful excuse of a capital which saw abhorrent living conditions with the perpetual scent of feces being the least of any issue seen by its citizens. When Aku splashed down into the Blackwater Bay he felt a moment of genuine revulsion at how contaminated the waters were before he created a wave which smashed into the lowest districts, shattering walls and buildings and sweeping up thousands in an instant.

"This is the seat of power in this land?! This putrid little heap?!" Aku spat, setting his eyes on the Red Keep. "Pathetic!"

With one hand he tore away most of the upper levels of the fortress and peered down into the now exposed throne room. Debris had fallen upon the unprepared members of King Robert's court, crushing many lords, knights and visitors in attendance. Robert himself stumbled down from the Iron Throne just in time to avoid being crushed as a pillar toppled onto the metal chair.

"Kingsguard!" Barristan Selmy was at Robert's side alongside the rest of his personal guard, blades drawn and staring up with growing shock at the leering face of Aku.

"Ahahahaha!" He ripped away more of the walls. "Here stands the almighty king of Westeros! A fat pig king in a repulsive cesspit. How very fitting!"

Were he not on the verge of soiling himself, Robert would have responded with his usual explosive anger. He felt the Kingsguard ushering him out along with his wife Cersei and their children, but before they could get too far Aku unleashed beams of energy which incinerated anyone in their path, including Ser Meryn Trant.

"Get the Royal Family to safety!" Barristan Selmy barked, smashing through a door blocking the way with help from Ser Balon Swann.

"Where would be safe from that big fucking thing?" Robert gasped, his years of leisure catching up to him even as he held a wailing Tommen and Myrcella in each arm.

"There are passages through the black cells that you can take." Barristan replied, the corridors giving away to a plunging staircase while behind them the centuries old stoneworks were ripped away.

"RUN LITTLE PIG KING!" Aku taunted, his monstrous visage briefly visible among the collapsing debris.

"It's after me." Robert realized. "It's me it wants."

For a long time, Robert Baratheon had been a man who was waiting to die. He had lost the one woman he loved and been shackled to another whose father all but had him by the balls from the moment of his coronation with the wealth of Casterly Rock. His children were born golden haired and green eyed, the eldest of them a spiteful brat who partook of any impulse that came to mind, no matter how revolting. The only comforts he had were in drinking and whoring his way from one day to the next, save for the Greyjoy Rebellion when he had been able to feel like the Demon of the Trident one last time.

Now the Demon was awake again, reminding him of the man he used to be, the man from before the endless hatred born against Rhaegar Targaryen. That was a man who, significant flaws aside, had long ago genuinely aspired to be a good lord much like both his foster father and closest friend, who wouldn't lay with a woman in his own brother's wedding bed, who wouldn't have reacted with glee at the sight of a babe's head smashed in or a little girl stabbed half a hundred times.

That was the man who handed his children off to Ser Barristan.

"Take them to safety." He growled, cutting off any protests. "Don't stop and don't argue with me!"

"Robert!" From among the procession, Jon Arryn emerged, pale and with a thin line of blood trickling down from where he'd hit his head on the way out. "What in seven hells are you thinking?!"

"I'm thinking that fucker is after me, so I'll give it something to chase!" Robert took the crown from off his head and shoved it into the hands of his eldest son, who had been clinging to Cersei the entire time. "Joff! Listen to me, boy: you've got to be king after this."

"What?! But-but you're still the king!" Joffrey held the crown in shaking hands. "You're still here!"

"Not likely to be for long." Robert clapped both hands on his shoulders and cringed as the castle shuddered around them once more. "Be a better king than me. Hells, be a better father, gods know that won't be hard. Just- just be better than me, boy!"

There was no time left to waste and so much more he wanted to say, to do. Only now as death closed in did he want more than anything to stave it off just a while longer rather than embrace it.

But as he ran back the way he'd come from, no longer as impeded by his bloated gut, Robert Baratheon could only hope for two more things before he died: to give his family time to escape and to die on his feet as the Demon rather than on his back as the Fat Stag the kingdoms saw him as. He ducked through a side passage in time to avoid a black claw as it smashed down through the ceiling. That was all the King needed to know that the monster was specifically following him, though he was too terrified to ponder how it managed to keep track of him.

The only thing he could ponder was how far he'd get before either he was caught or was crushed as the Red Keep fell apart around him.

Xxx

Ned

He screamed until his throat and lungs burned, struggled until his strength gave out, but nothing that he did could free him from the deadwood tree. Now he hung limply, weeping softly as he thought of his wife, his children…his…

Promise me, Ned.

In the distance he could see the darkening sky light up from the glow of a great pyre. Even from here he could see the destruction of the ancient seat of his house yet do nothing to stop it. Early on he held out hope for one of his followers who had survived the ambush to come to his aid just so he could ride back and save his people or die trying.

He was under no such illusions anymore.

Promise me…

"Lyanna." Ned whispered. "Gods…forgive me…I failed you."

From the darkened sky, something bathed the greatly reduced lake in a silver glow. Ned looked up quickly and squinted against the glare.

Had Aku returned? Was Winterfell gone already? Had his time now come, or would the demon have something else in mind to prolong his torment?

But when the light faded, Aku did not stand before him…but a wolf, the largest he had ever seen, greater in size than any horse with a coat as white as snow. It stood upon what used to be the shore of the lake, staring up at him with dark eyes which held an intellect he'd never seen from any mere beast.

Lost for words, Ned watched as the wolf-no…as the direwolf padded forward and then seemed to fly towards him, digging its claws into the side of the deadwood tree on either side of him. Ned reflexively cringed as he found himself face to face with it, feeling a hot breath wash over him…and then a chill cover his bound limbs as his restraints became coated in ice and shattered.

Gravity took hold of him, but in a rush of white Ned found himself deposited on the banks of the lake…which was now frozen over.

"That's…impossible." He whispered, remembering his lessons on the black water and the Deadwood, how the chill of winter never afflicted it or slowed its spread.

The direwolf towered over him now, staring down intently as the Lord of Winterfell hesitantly climbed to his feet. And then it opened its mouth…and spoke.

"Stark."

Ned exhaled a shuddering breath and saw it manifest visibly in the frigid air. "I am…Eddard, son of Rickard, Lord of Winterfell and House Stark." He spoke softly, not seeking to aggravate the direwolf. "What do you want from me?"

In response it turned and lowered itself down, presenting its back to him and gesturing with its head. Ned realized what it was demanding and reluctantly climbed onto its back, grasping the thick white fur as the direwolf stood back up…and then launched itself into the air! Ned clung on for dear life as it leapt from branch to branch, leaving the Deadwood behind to enter the fertile lands of the Wolfswood, travelling further north-east at speeds beyond what any mount was capable of until they entered the northern mountain ranges.

He'd only rarely been this way, and had no time to spot familiar landmarks as the direwolf scales a mountain with ease. Despite the altitude he felt no shortness of breath or the sting of cold, only a moderate breeze which didn't even threaten to unseat him.

Finally they stopped atop the mountain, high above the dark, unnatural clouds. Ned gaped at the sight of an impossibly vast structure seemingly built atop white clouds hovering close to the mountain peak, stairs extending down close enough to be traversed safely. The direwolf knelt down and motioned for him to dismount, and then pointed with its snout to the great, open doors at the top of the grand steps.

Struck by the surreal nature of his situation, Ned numbly complied and began to ascend.

"Is this a dream?" He wondered aloud. "Am I dead?"

"Stark."

From beyond the threshold, the word came like a breath of wind. He hesitated for only a moment before it came again, sharper and louder.

"Stark!"

Ned hurried through and found himself in a featureless black void before his eyes adjusted. Three statues dominated the chamber: one of a bearded man with one eye, another with the head of a bird and a third with multiple arms. They were surrounded by many smaller statues taking a variety of shapes from animals to hooded figures and armoured warriors or disrobed and inhumanly beautiful men and women.

Finding himself surrounded by these statues, Ned called out into the dark. "Who calls for me?"

The eyes of the three great statues opened, emitting a diamond-white light. This was repeated by all of their lesser counterparts until the chamber was illuminated.

"STARK." A thousand voices called out from all directions. "A GREAT EVIL HAS RISEN UPON YOUR WORLD."

From the one eyed giant came a single voice, that of an aged and yet strong, reminiscent of his own father. "Thou have been chosen to stand against it."

"For only a righteous soul may vanquish this evil." The four-armed being spoke with a noticeable accent.

Beams of light pierced the darkness from the eyes of the three great statues, colliding upon the floor several meters from where Ned stood. He threw his arms up to cover his face, and upon lowering them found himself facing seven figures whose depictions were familia to him ever since he had Paid for the construction of a small, humble sept for the benefit of his beloved wife.

The Father held up both of his arms, light shooting out from him to strike Ned and draw from his chest an orb of pure energy which was brought to rest within the semi-circle.

The Mother, smiling warmly, stepped forward and cupped the orb in her hands, cradling it like one would a child and whispering to it.

The Warrior took it next and clenched it tightly, deforming it into a new shape as the Crone swept around him, holding her lantern high and assisting in this ordeal before it was passed on again.

The Smith raised his hammer high overhead and brought it down upon the formless mass, each strike moving it closer towards a defined shape as the Maiden sang a symphony.

And finally, the hooded and faceless Stranger bent over the Smith's creation and held it up in skeletal hands.

Together, all seven depictions of her wife's god knelt to Ned as he was presented with the fruit of their labour: a sword unlike anything he had ever seen before. The blade was that of a broadsword, made of a metal which he could not place, for it was unlike even the legendary Valyrian steel of his family's ancestral blade, Ice. The hilt was decorated only with a pommel shaped in the visage of a snarling wolf, and beyond that it was a basic if not reliable design of better quality than any castle forged steel…

And if it had been forged by the gods themselves, he doubted there was anything in the world of better quality.

Reaching out, Ned wrapped his hands around the hilt and felt as if it had been built specifically to fit his grip. The tattered remains of his clothes and armour were replaced by garments similar to his preferred attire for battle, save for the ethereal glow emanating from the chain-links of his mail shirt and the blue tint of his leathers and cloth. A helmet formed around his head to complete the attire, and in that instant Eddard Stark felt invincible.

"The blade you wield has been forged from the power of thine own righteous soul." The bearded god declared.

"The kiss of this blade alone is capable of vanquishing this evil." The avian god added.

"But be warned: this shall not render you invincible against death by way of blade nor poison, or by the Sorcery wielded by your foe." The six-armed god cautioned him.

The eyes of a statue nearby lit up, bringing with it many voices speaking as one. "The Song has been changed beyond recognition, and yet all is not lost."

Upon closer examination Ned realized that this was not a statue…but a Heart Tree, complete with the carving of a face for the Old Gods of the Forest to see through.

"But take heed, Eddard Stark." They continued. "Every deception is a mark upon one's soul, each broken oath a festering wound and each omission a venomous taint which only grows with time. Reflect upon your own and that of those around you in the wars to come."

Another statue was set ablaze. "FOR THE NIGHT IS DARK AND FULL OF TERRORS."

"And only the truth shall lead to absolution." The Old Gods continued.

Ned knew what they referred to. His lies, his omissions…everything he had done to protect an innocent life.

Promise me, Ned.

The mention of lies and omissions of others around him left him curious, but the presence of the direwolf from before reminded him that time was of the essence.

"I shall." He promised solemnly and climbed into a saddle which now hugged the direwolf's back and set a hand upon its head.

"Let us ride to battle," he whispered, the creature's name drifting through his mind. "…White Fang."

Xxx

End of chapter