Please read this first:
This is my first fic and I am going to try something I have not seen, it may of been done but I have not seen it. I have seen a bunch of amazing stories be abandoned after, in some cases, hundreds of thousands of words and years of work. As a reader, I am always hoping they will return. Even if its not to finish the story but to give us a simple breakdown of how the story would of finished.
That said, looking at the trends...there are many reasons people may stop. Losing steam, falling out of love with the story, life events, and of course trolls.
So, for my story, I plan on writing it in 3 phases...
Phase 1: Mapping out the story - That is complete, and should I decide to stop writing I will post it as the final chapter.
Phase 2: Write the entire story in very short chapters. These chapters will hit the wavetops and key moments of the story. The goal is to get the entire "book" on "paper" in a timely manner. They will miss some of the details and dialogue that really make a story shine. That said, they will have enough to showcase what will be. These chapters could be as few as 1000 words
Phase 3: Expand each chapter. This will bring with it the heavy detail and dialogue that will bring new life and deeper intent into the story. Hopefully, it will be enough that it will be worthy of a re-read. This will be done on a rolling basis so that I hopefully will not be overwhelmed by the end.
The Best Part of my plan is YOU! I will be able to get my story out and then refine it based on the amazing feedback I will come across, and most likely also in spite of the feedback from the ever-present trolls :).
I hope you enjoy this story, it has been in my head for years. I plan on trying to show things I haven't seen in other SI's and I also promise...the SI will not be an all-powerful, all-knowing, industrial revolutionist...cause I am none of those!
Prologue:
I was Oros Whitewater, a name I had worn like armor for years, but the true blood that coursed through my veins was that of House Blackfyre. The enormity of my true identity weighed heavily on me as I navigated the crowded castle grounds. The archery contest was set to take place early in the tournament, and I had little time to adapt to my new reality.
As I prepared for the contest, an unexpected surge of memories flooded my mind. Part of me had been born an American, far removed from this world of knights and dragons. Fate, or perhaps an omnipotent being with a twisted sense of humor, had transported me here as a mere boy of twelve, burdened with the mantle of a false identity.
Before I arrived in Westeros, my family had lived as merchants, traveling between the Free Cities and keeping our true heritage hidden. It was on one of these fateful trade runs that disaster had struck. Dothraki raiders had descended upon our caravan, and in the chaos and bloodshed that followed, I had lost both my parents.
With no one left to support me and only the remnants of our wares and shop in Braavos, I made a fateful decision. I sold what little remained of our possessions and bought passage to Maidenpool, a bustling port on the shores of Westeros. There, I had intended to contact a house that still harbored loyalty to House Blackfyre, a desperate and naive plan hatched in the depths of my grief.
My consciousness merged with that of the boy I had become, Oros Whitewater. I retained my memories, my skills, and my knowledge of both this world and the one beyond this one. Fluency in the common tongue, Braavosi, and High Valyrian became part of my arsenal. Mastery in archery, however, was added to the boy's repertoire as my experience from my life before and the training from Oros's father took root.
The archery tournament unfurled its drama beneath the sprawling canvas of the grand tournament grounds, bathed in the warm embrace of the midday sun. Whispers of anticipation fluttered through the crowd, a mosaic of noble houses and common folk alike, their eyes fixed on the archery range. Colorful banners swayed in the breeze, carrying the collective hopes of the spectators and adding a vibrant backdrop to the impending spectacle.
Oros Whitewater, his nerves a symphony of fluttering butterflies, stepped into the spotlight on the archery range. The yew bow, an unfamiliar weight in his hands, seemed to amplify the thumping cadence of his anxious heart. A mere boy, thrust into a sea of seasoned marksmen, he faced the daunting challenge with trepidation. The targets loomed like distant uncertainties, and the crowd's expectant hum hung heavy in the air.
As Oros raised the bow for his first shot, uncertainty etched across his face, the string's tension mirrored the conflict within. The arrow, a hesitant envoy, left the bowstring, its flight wavering like the tremor in his hands. A collective murmur of sympathy and encouragement swept through the audience as the arrow found its mark, though not with the precision he sought.
Yet, with each subsequent shot, Oros's confidence grew. The yew bow, once an alien instrument, became an extension of determination. His initial nervousness gave way to a growing confidence, like a fragile bud blossoming into a resilient bloom. The rhythmic process of drawing, aiming, and releasing began to feel less like an ordeal and more like a dance, a hesitant at first, then surging into a graceful waltz.
The second arrow, guided by newfound assurance, sliced through the air with increased accuracy, embedding itself in the target with a more satisfying thud. The crowd, sensing the shift in Oros's demeanor, responded with a surge of supportive cheers. Each successful shot became a step in his personal odyssey, a journey from apprehension to mastery.
By the time the final round against Prince Lewyn Martell arrived, Oros stood at the precipice of transformation. The yew bow, once a source of anxiety, now cradled in steady hands, resonated with a quiet confidence. The arrow's flight, guided by both skill and self-belief, struck the bullseye with a precision that defied the earlier nervous tremors.
The crowd erupted in an uproar of admiration, the cheers an affirmation of Oros's remarkable evolution within the tournament. The yew bow, now an emblem of triumph, was lowered not with trepidation, but with the poise of a victor. As Oros emerged from the crucible of the archery contest, the nervous boy had evolved into a young man, his journey mirrored in the echoing applause that now reverberated across the tournament grounds.
With five hundred golden dragons in hand, Oros pragmatically assessed his options, considering the practicalities of his newfound wealth. The presence of skilled blacksmiths at the tournament presented a strategic opportunity to fortify his arsenal, and he resolved to make judicious investments that balanced quality with utility.
Navigating the bustling marketplace, Oros observed the diligent blacksmiths at work, their hammers crafting weapons and armor of superior quality. Recognizing the value in such craftsmanship, he decided to allocate a portion of his winnings to properly equip himself. The first practical choice was a suit of brigandine armor, carefully tailored to accommodate both his current physique and future growth—a utilitarian approach to ensure long-term usability.
His next acquisition, a reliable sword, lacked the extravagant embellishments of a masterwork but boasted a keen edge and solid construction. Paired with a subtly adorned dagger, these weapons were chosen with a pragmatic understanding of the dangers of the world he now finds himself in.
The final addition to his inventory was a kite shield, bearing the modest heraldry of his minor house. While not an ostentatious masterpiece, it served the dual purpose of providing practical defense and subtly signaling his affiliation within the realms nobility.
As Oros emerged from the marketplace, his purchases reflected a calculated use of his prize purse. With newfound confidence, Oros pondered his next move. The initial, childish plan of contacting a house supposedly loyal to House Blackfyre seemed like a death sentence in this dangerous game. Instead, Oros considered whom among the nobility he should strategically "bump" into, hoping to gain favor, a fostering, or perhaps even the coveted position of a squire.
But, as he walked the castle grounds, he couldn't shake the thought of whether he was now a part of a canon timeline within the books or the shows. The concern loomed large – suddenly being a player in the Game of Thrones, navigating a web of intrigue, and determining his role in this tapestry of fantasy.
Okay, maybe his transition into this world wasn't as smooth as all that... not at all...