Disclaimer: The Intellectual property of Elden Ring and A Song of Ice and Fire belong to FromSoftware and Goerge R.R. Martin respectively.
Prologue
Somewhere in the Haunted Forrest
As the Tarnished looked at his surroundings he knew that he was no longer in The Lands Between. While the snow would not be unfamiliar to his home. The Forest indeed is. Neither the Consecrated Snowfields nor the Mountain Tops of The Giants could boast such a wild and untamed forest. He recalls the last memory to him: resting at the Roundtable Hold Grace and sensing a new Adventure if he but answered the call. And He did.
And then new memories burst forth.
Of a life of mediocrity.
Of a young man lost in his fantasies of history, fiction & lore.
A man who rejected reality to his own detriment, time and time again.
A man who layed bleeding out on a random bar floor for an offense committed by the only friend that seemed to still bother inviting him out for company.
A man who had heard the call as he was dying.
A second chance awaited.
One with no regrets.
If he only answered the call.
And He did.
And the man knew where he was. The Weirwood tree with a stern face, bleeding tears of blood sap made it obvious. He was on Planetos. Westeros to be specific. Could be north or South of the Wall at this point to be honest.
The Man walked towards the tree. He could feel the eyes of the Old Gods on him as he approached. The taste of Magic and Divinity in the very air these trees occupied. It was not even the size of a minor eerdtree, but for a moment it seemed to exude more Divinity than even The Greater Will. As he walked, he took to his surroundings once again. He looked down into the pool of water near the base of the tree and saw an all-familiar face. The Face he wore as he made his journey in The Lands Between. The Character he had made in his favorite videogame. The Base Template hairstyle of a Northerner with blood red hair the color of Radagon and Radahn. The Tall, Pale and Beefy Body of those rumored to be the descendants of giants in his homeland. Eyes the color of blue crystal. A Body wreathed in the Armor Set of Godfrey the First Elden Lord. He took note of the fact that the weapons his character would usually have equipped were not in either hand where they should have been.
'That's going to be a problem. I'm in Westeros. In a land that personifies 'Might makes Right' My weapons will be needed' The young man had thought to himself
He kneeled in front of the tree and touched the face of tree as he had seen Bran Stark and the Three-Eyed-Raven do in the show he used to love so much in another life. He Focused inside his being and found what he was looking for. The FP pool he had taken for granted as something all beings would have in one world, and a game mechanic in another. For the first time in this world, he used magic. Tapping into his FP to communicate with the Gods of this new world.
And he found himself in what seemed like another world on the same day. He saw a massive tree in the middle of an island dotted with smaller trees, streams, ponds and rocks. It seemed to be floating through the cosmos.
"You have answered the call brave warrior" He heard a voice state. A whisper that was as clear as it was loud. Seeming to originate from the otherworldly tree.
"I Have" Answered the Tarnished. "Why have you summoned me?" Questions the man.
"You have been summoned great warrior, because The Gods of Stream, Forest, and Stone have need of you. The Cold Ones will soon stir from their slumber. Our Faithful are not what they were. We are at our weakest and soon the Cold Ones will destroy our people and kill our very Concepts. Nothing will survive but the Cold. This is why you are summoned Tarnished. You are beyond Brandon's Wall in what the mortals call The Haunted Forest. We have need of a warrior strong and capable enough to stand against The Cold Ones. And more than that we need a leader to unite our people for the threat they face and build a kingdom strong enough to openly sustain and support Us. Too long have they been dived. Too long have they forgotten. Too long have they suffered. This is your purpose Tarnished. Unite the First Men beyond The Wall. Lead Them Against the Cold Ones. Become our Avatar on Westeros and You shall have what you seek. Adventure, Glory and Land. How you accomplish this is up to you. A warrior with the wisdom to lead is what is needed of you." Was the all-encompassing answer offered.
"A Kingdom Building Isekai" Muttered the stunned man. And then he started laughing. An all-belly laugh not experienced in either of his previous lives. He would not just fight monsters anymore with no home to call his own and only solace offered by Torrent and the nearest Grace Site he could find. He would have the chance to practice all the knowledge accumulated in his lives without being looked down upon. He would be Great.
"I Shall Unite these lands and Destroy the White Walkers. You shall have worshippers plenty" The man agreed. It seemed he was getting the Outer God/Avatar treatment. But his knowledge from his mundane life seemed to paint the Old God's in a better light than The Greater Will, The Rot God & The Frenzied Flame. He was confident that his fate would be better off than those gods Avatars. The Old Gods were better than The Red God, Andal Seven-Who-Are-One or gods forbid the Drowned God. All of which are now a reality in this new world.
"The Pact is made. You shall be the Avatar of The Gods of Stream, Forrest and Stone." The voice said solemnly.
"You are now bound by death. While you shall no longer age if the pact with us is maintained, you shall no longer wake from death. You can be killed by a foe strong enough. But our blessing shall make none your equal in this world. You have been granted access to your weapons and items from your previous lives. You need only touch a weirwood to access them. Your magic will never deplete near a weirwood and you shall have regenerative health in all domains you have claimed in our name!"
That sounded excellent to the man. He had expected to lose the ability to wake up at a Grace Site in this world since there was none on this planet, but he never expected to keep his weapons. With a couple of those Ashes of War, he would possibly be able to fight a small army in the right circumstances.
And the less said about his magic the better, especially since he could have infinite FP If he gamed the weirwood reward right and was prepared for certain enemies.
It was time to choose a new name for himself in this new world. He had never bothered seroiusly naming his Elden Ring Character before choosing NG+ And he could not remember his mundane name. His personal memories seemed swept from the knowledge gathered in life. Since he was to become a king, he would name himself after one who he had been obsessed with. He had the hairstyle. And was this not a second chance to live out his fantasy? So why worry about clichés. He was going to bring respect and fear with it in this new world. So why not?
"I Am Ragnar. And I shall be the Sword wielded against your enemies. The Shield of the North and thy Hand in the mortal Realm."
1 Year later
Hardhome Docks
A young man was busy walking along the docks of Hardhome to ensure everything was going according to his chieftain's desire. His Chieftain was very precise with his orders, and he did not wish to displease the man.
Where previously there was only ruin, he was walking on a stable dock in a rebuilt and fortified Hardhome. They had rebuilt the former cursed town. The Curse of Hardhome had been lifted by the Gods Blessings on the land. The weirwoods that seemed to grow throughout Hardhome were proof of this. Already they were towering over the other trees despite not being older than a year. The Bigest of course the Heart Tree in front of the Chieftain's Great Hall. They had rebuilt and strengthened the walls surrounding Hardhome. The forest outside the walls supplying the wood for construction. Now the only part not enclosed by wall being the dock.
The man was making sure the fishing boats were properly tied down at said dock. This was usually the job of Bragni, but the boy had come down with a chill that The Chieftain himself was going to have to heal if the boy did not get better. Because the boy had not been there the previous day, they had lost 3 fishing boats. While this would be devastating anywhere else, they are thankfully not dependent on fish alone for food.
The Chieftain and the other hunters had gone out early in the morning past the great wooden gates of Hardholme for a hunt. And The Chieftain always brought back meat plenty for his people. There were not many freefolk that lived in Hardhome, the young man having heard the Chieftain say that they were just less than 500 souls. But the man knew that his chieftain planned for that to change.
"Did Ragnar send you in Bragni's place, Steigir" The young man heard a billowing voice draw him from his thoughts. He looked to his side to see Haval the Fisherman. Or Haval the Shipbuilder if Ragnar had his way. He had been the only one that knew how to fish and make fishing boats before Chieftain Ragnar had him teach some of the other lads older than Bragni but too young to hunt. It's better the lads be too busy fishing than causing any trouble.
"Ragnar worries over nothing" Haval says. "The longboats are near finished. They just need his blessing. They will be our clan's future boys. Not those fishing skiffs." Brags the aspiring shipbuilder puffing his chest out toward me yet also talking to the greenboys currently working next to us on the dock. Unloading their catch.
"I believe you Haval" Steigir answers. "But Ragnar says those skiffs are food, and to waste food is a sin"
"Aye, it is easy to forget with our good fortune lately, but best be prepared for the worst. In this Ragnar is right." States Haval. 'Of Course, he's right' thought Steigir. The Gods don't put trust in fools. And Ragnar is without a doubt Godstouched. Though he was unsure if Ragnar was simply stating such such about waste because he talked to the gods or if it just went against his ways. As though he had a personal distaste for the thought of waste.
It had been quite a shock to his clan when an armored warrior kissed by the sun rode into their village near a stream in the Haunted Forrest that they had made their homes for a few moons before. His mount had been the first thing to catch everyone's attention. Now known to everyone in Hardhome as Torrent. Ragnar's magic horse. Cause that was what Torrent was to the villagers. An honest to gods magic horse that could step on air. Ragnar dismounted Torrent and the horse with horns seemed to disappear into the air. The giant then challenged the chieftain for leadership. I Still remember the first words he uttered as he walked towards Chief Ornald.
"I Challenge you. For the loyalty of this village. I Challenge you and name you Coward should you refuse" Shouted the armoured warrior.
Chief Ornald was livid. He could not refuse. The Freefolk followed the Strong. To refuse would be seen as cowardice. He was already considered one for his decision to move the clan, moons previously. Everyone knew he had done so to save the clan from the raids they had faced from the Antler Tribes. But it seemed some would rather be dead than called Coward. That is what Chief Ornald himself also chose when he decided to face Ragnar in battle. They had no idea the extent of the magic the redhead could wield at that point, but his armor made clear he was no novice and The Mighty Slab of Steel that was strapped over his back was an indicator of his raw strength.
Chief Ornald was by no means a weakling. You could not become Chief of a Free Folk tribe if you were a weakling. Chief Ornald was an Aurochs of a man that would not take this disrespect lying. He took his war axe in hand. The same war axe that had been the end for many a raider and crow.
He charged at the Tarnished with a war cry and swung his mighty axe at the throat of the challenger, only for the giant in armor to prove he did not even need armor. For he moved faster than the man could swing. For every swing of Ornald's Axe, Ragnar was already in his dodge. A man of such size moving so swift felt Unnatural. As if you were watching a man do all he could to prove your world was false. That what you believed was true your entire life, was a mummer's farce.
"You dare call me a coward when you refuse to stand still and Fight!" Ornald roared.
"If that is your wish" The Giant redhead replied. And blocked two strikes of Ornald's war axe on the blunt side of his massive blade. And when he countered with a sideways swing of his Greatsword after Arnold overextended with his second strike, Ornald's war axe broke like a twig, The force sending the man tumbling in the snow with a piece of his axe piercing his side. An axe that was castle forged steel and raided from the crows. And it broke behind the might of the Greatsword.
"You have lost your position as chief. Do you wish to lose your life as well" Asked Ragnar of the previous chieftain.
Ornald only looks at Ragnar with bitter defeat etched on his face holding his side as he bleeds out. The red of his lifeblood running through the snow.
"Finish it. I have fought. I have lost. I will not survive this wound, So put an end to it" Ornald replies stubbornly.
"No" Answered Ragnar in return.
"I have use for you yet. You have proved yourself in the eyes of the gods. And more impartantly. Mine" The Redhead said as he strapped his sword to his back again. It seemed the monstrosity was held in place by a hook of all things.
He took a glowing Object in his hands as he kneeled in front of Ornald. And Steigir knew just as everyone there, that they were about to see something straight from the Age of Heroes. And Ragnar the Giant seemed to pray in front of Ornald. And the Gods answered. In front of everyone in the village, Ornald healed. As Ragnar went to stand a flash of warm yellow light enveloped Ornald.
"I Have been sent by the Gods to lead our people to a new home. One where our people can live instead of survive. Can I count on you Ornald to help in this task?" The giant asked.
Ornald stood on both of his feet. He stood strong and steady, not at all looking like a man that was injured a short while ago much less the deadly wound he took.
"Aye" he bellowed "It would be rude to refuse since you went to the trouble of asking the gods" He said in good cheer "And they went through the trouble of answering" he had said this a bit a less subdued.
"What is the name of our new chieftain?" Ornald asked
The giant would then utter the name none of us would forget.
"Ragnar" said the Tarnished.
"Oi" A Billowing voice brought Steigir out of the memories he had gotten lost in.
"What is going through your skull Steigir"Haval said "You like a maid dreaming about getting stolen" and then he laughed.
"Just thinking about how we got here Haval" said Steigir "We are gonna do something big, this I know" states the young man
"Yet I don't know what Ragnar's plan is" Says Steigir. "Do you know what we are going to be doing with the longships" He asked Haval.
"I Do" Says Haval "But I won't ruin the surprise." The shipbuilder knew that the other lads were listening and if he shared, the whole of Hardhome would know before Ragnar returned from the hunt.
"Ragnar will call on everyone for the feast in the Great Hall" Stated Havel. "Expect answers then" Havel hints.
"Aye" said Steigir. "The chieftain will share his plans soon. And we shall be ready" Stated the young man.
Steigir then greeted the fishermen as he returned to the Great Hall. As he walked from the docks to the Great Hall he took in his home. The people were not plentiful but there were more people in Hardhome then there were two moons ago. It seemed word of Hardhome is traveling through the Haunted Forrest and the Antlers. We have food and shelter. This is bringing smaller tribes every moon to join them. But it would only be a matter of time before one of the bigger tribes or clans tried to take what they had.
And with those dark thoughts the man made his way into the Great Hall. It was busy as usual. Whether it was just the townsfolk wanting to sit at the hearth for warmth or to pass time as they waited for the hunters to return or even the councilors and watchmen reporting to Ragnar or Ornald. The Hall was always busy. As Steigir walked past the hearth he saw his sister sat at the hearthfire talking with some of the other towns girls. Igda was 8 namedays old. They did not share a father. His own father having died during some raid when he was a boy. And she was born when he was still too young and weak to keep his mother from being stolen. But he grew eventually. And his mother had made Igda's father pay.
Igda was a joyful child whom he had always doted on much to his mother's dismay. Her claims of spoiling Igda had always felt hollow to him. They lived in a better place now. Igda could afford to be the joyful child she was.
'Was that not the point of lifting the curse' thought the young man.
Steigir then walked to the large wooden chair at the end of the main hall. Where the Hearth ends, the main table is located and behind the table elevated above that is the Chieftain's chair. Sat in by either Ornald or Ragnar when they sat in the main hall. Today it was Ornald.
"The boats are safe and the men have brought fish plenty" Said Steigir as he walked to Ornald.
Ornald then looks to Steigir and answers "This is good. The hunters shall soon return. And with their bounty we shall feat well tonight."
Steigir believed so as well. And suddenly they heard the sound of one of the Gate Watchmen horns blow. One Loud blow meaning on thing. Riders Sighted.
"It seems Ragnar and the men have returned. Let us see what our chief plans for us" said Ornald.