The Gods of Westeros met in the Aether, a place between the corporeal world and the world of the gods. It was a monumental occasion because no gods get along due to their conflicting faiths and constant warring of their chosen people. They met today to discuss a threat to all their people, the Night King. The misty wasteland surrounding them was full of deities throughout the known world ranging in all shapes and sizes.
"I have gathered you all here today not as enemies but as allies against the false king of frost. We have all seen the visions, and while the boy of fire and ice will succeed where his siblings have failed, I do not wish to see this future come about, nor do I think any of you do as well." Spoke the Crone, one of the many personalities of the Seven-Faced God.
"We could bless a mortal hero. One who could burn his enemies to ash!" said R'hllor, the lord of light.
"And risk the mortals converting to you when your silly prophecy comes true?" Spoke one of the many old gods in attendance.
"Can we not make the prophecy of Ice and Fire come true sooner?" spoke a booming voice over the cacophony of shouts and screams about what to do next.
"No. John Snow still thinks of himself as a mere bastard, and Daenerys acts like a weak girl and does her brother's bidding." Spoke the cold voice of the Stranger, one of the Seven and the god of death worshipped by the Faceless men.
"Then what do you suggest, oh many faces one?" the sky god feared by the iron-born mocks.
"Unlike most of you, I still keep in contact with the Old World, and my father, Hades, spoke about a warrior that the Gods whisper about and fear over there." Death spoke with a reverence few have ever seen.
"Ares is a brash and bull-headed God. He will make the world burn before he fixes anything." Argued an old god with tree roots sticking out of his ears.
"Not Ares, they call the warrior the Godkiller. He has survived Tartarus, fought Ares, Kronos, and many more fierce deities, and all he has bested and survived. The best part is he is no god but merely a half-blood." Many shouts began to rise at this declaration from the Stranger, but all believed him, for he was not known for lies.
"Tell me, who sired this powerful warrior?" a voice in the back asked.
"Poseidon, in his most ancient and powerful form, was worshipped by the Mycenean people. Poseidaen."
"WHAT!" screamed the sky and drowned gods, though for different reasons. "Absolutely not," yelled the Sky god. He will increase my cousin's worship."
"He will not increase the worship of the Iron Islands, for the Godkiller does not tolerate slavery, theft, and rape. Iron-born people are too stubborn to give up their way of life. Nor will he get in the way of any beliefs of this world. He cares not for worship and cares even less for gods. He is the Champion of Hestia and Hades after he requested their thrones back on Olympus, and he has all his father's domains. Earthshaker, Stormbringer, and Seawhisper are among his strongest. Due to the wide variety of domains, most mortals will assume he is a part of their worship."
"I don't see any issues with your suggestion as long as you can guarantee he doesn't wield his blade against us." Spoke R'hllor.
"He only wields his blades against those who wronged him. I suggest staying away from him or those who he cares for."
"Then let's vote all in favor of bringing my brother to help with the rising threat in the North. Raise your hand." Hands were raised throughout the clearing. Even though many hands were not raised, enough were in the air for the ruling to be passed.
"I'll speak to my father to bring him here."
Eddard Stark gasped awake from his unwilling nap under the Weirwood tree. How was he to explain this to his wife?
The 21-year-old son of Poseidon was on his way home from work and was looking to spend time with his new and now pregnant wife. He got a job at the local Marine Life Rescue and Research Center after accidentally saving a head researcher from a panicked and injured dolphin. Just as he was walking up his driveway, a skeletal figure wearing a black flowing cloak walked out of a rift in reality.
"Oh, fuck my life-…" Percy managed to get out before the figure pulled him into the rift.
Annabeth Chase, who was staring out the window just in time to see her husband, who the Fates seem to have it out for, was whisked away into the portal. Quickly running out to the lawn, she looked up to the sky and yelled, "Oh, for fucks sake. Not again. HERA…!" Likely to the confusion of her neighbors.
Rodrick Cassel was not having a good day. His old age was starting to wear him down; his horse likely ate the wrong type of grass, so now he had diarrhea, and a group of Bandits surrounded him. Usually, he would be able to fend off the attackers easily, but a stray dog, for no good reason, decided to attack him as he left the last town.
"Come, you old fart, give us ur gold. I want to see ya, gold dragons. We promise we won't stab ye much." The uneducated bandit wouldn't let the Master of Arms at Winterfell go with his head intact. So, knowing this would be his last stand, he gripped his sword, for he was not going out without a fight, gods be damned.
"Oh, fuck off, assholes pick on someone else." A figure wearing odd clothes walked out of the forest, holding a glowing bronze sword. Even though the clothes clearly weren't a style anyone in Westeros would wear, the stitching indicates he comes from wealth and a lot of it. The bandits clearly didn't miss this hint, though the magical sword gave them pause.
"how bout ya get over here with ol bones, and ye both give yer gold dragons plus yer sword." The bandit leader quipped back to the warrior, who seemed eerily calm about the situation.
"Counteroffer, you drop all your weapons and run before I count to ten." The figure in the weird clothes began to circle the men like a predator who knew he had caught his prey.
"One," the man's eyes began to glow a bright sea green and swirl with untapped power.
"Two," the bandits' limbs began to quack from fear. Even the master of arms was terrified, though his horse calmed down.
"Three," Rodrick didn't give the bandits enough credit. The men seem to be brave—stupid but brave.
"Four." The first bandit attacked, but his head was rolled before his blade was close to the warrior.
"Huh, celestial bronze works on mortals here. Who knew." The warrior looked shocked at his blood-covered sword before stabbing another bandit, who thought to us his momentary distraction through their heart.
"Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten. You're all dead." The warrior spoke fast before shooting forward quicker than anyone should be able to go. Within moments, he was surrounded by a mass of massacred bodies staring at the lone survivor who he had taken off the right arm of just a second prior.
"Shit, what the fuck are ya!" Screamed the man in pain.
The green-eyed man approached the bandit's ear and said, "I am Batman," to the confusion of the other two men.
"Old man, what do you want me to do with him." The warrior asked Rodrick, to his surprise.
"Wench his bleeding and tie him up. He is a wanted man and needs to answer for his crimes."
Within half an hour, the man was tied up and gagged on the horse's back to avoid him running off. He and the unnamed warrior were walking beside the horse, which seemed obsessed with the green-eyed man. Upon closer inspection, the man seemed to have scars covering his entire body and an unnatural grace to his step.
"May I ask you a question?" The man asked Rodrick.
"You may." The Swords master answered.
"What is your name?"
"Rodrick Cassel, Master of Arms at Winterfell." The old man spoke with pride.
"Where is Winterfell, and what is this place?"
"We are on the road between Castle Cerwyn and Winterfell."
"No, I mean what land we are in, what country we are a part of, or what continent we walk on."
"Oh, we are in the continent of Westeros, and more specifically, you are in the seven kingdoms."
Groaning, the man put his face in his hands, and not for the first time since the old man had met this man, he wondered where he was from.
"From experience, there is going to be a war or great travesty that the Gods want me to take care of… I would prepare your family for hard times ahead." The warrior seems to age many years from the defeated look on his face. The look Rodrick has seen before only on men right after a battle. Men who know the world fall onto their shoulders and their shoulders alone.
"You fight in many wars for the Gods?" The young man looked Rodrick in the eyes and said with a cracked voice, "Yes."
After that conversation, the two men didn't talk much about the two-day trip to Winterfell. The bandit didn't make a peep, and with terror in his eyes, every time he looked over to the warrior, who calls himself Percy, it was clear to see why.
"Who goes there?" The guard at the entrance of Winterfell asked the three men.
"Sir Rodrick Cassel, Master of Arms. My friend and Issac Brandon, the known bandit leader."
"Welcome back, Sir Cassel. I assume you would like to speak with Lord Stark?"
"Yes, you are correct with your assessment."
"We will bring the Prisoner to the dungeons. Lord Stark is in the great hall." Spoke the other guard.
As the two men walked through Winterfell, he noticed Percy was taking in every nook and cranny, scanning for potential threats. What saddened him the most was that the young man seemed to do that naturally, as if he was fighting for his whole life. The whores took one look at Percy and seemed to flock to him, trying then failing to get in bed with him. Whether it was due to his well-made clothes or his looks, Cassel knew not.
Ned Stark was quite surprised when the man Sir Rodrick brought with him was a boy no older than twenty and two.
"My Lord, Percy and I have had a long journey and may need rest. May we speak about our adventure tomorrow?" his master of arms asked, though Ned knew from the look on his face that he just wanted to speak alone.
"Percy, my servants will assist you in finding your room. I'll have supper brought up to you in a moment. Rodrick Cassel, stay back. I would like to speak with you further." Ned answered his long-time friend. Percy was no idiot. He knew the two men just wanted to speak freely without him there. He could understand why and followed the maid without a fuss.
"What do you wish to say to me, my friend?" Ned looked at the old man, taking in the slight relaxation of his muscles when the green-eyed man left. It was almost imperceptible, but Ned knew what it meant. Rodrick feared the man. He combined his reaction with the bandit leader's cries in the dungeon and knew the man was more than he seemed.
"My lord. I believe I found the warrior you were looking for." With that realization, the lord held his breath. Since the vision the Old Gods gave him only a month prior, Eddard Stark began searching for the 'God Killer,' though all searching came up for not until now. "Perseus, born of Jack, moved faster than I or any of the bandits he saved me from could perceive. Before he killed all the bandits under Issac, his eyes glowed a sea green."
Meanwhile, in Essos, a young, exiled princess nearly jumped out of her skin when a young, gaunt, pale boy fell from the sky right before her.
"Ah, what the fuck is that! Eww, throw it away. Guards, get this disgusting thing out of my sight!" Viserys yelled at the guards as they closed in on the boy.
"He is just a kid! Give him some slack!" The princess snapped at her brother, hoping to save the young boy's life.
"How dare you talk back to your king! I am the last Dragon!" Viserys yelled at his poor sister before slapping her, forcing her to fall to her knees. The light began to drop as if clouds blocked the sun, though there were none in the sky, and a cold chill began to creep into everyone's bones. The guards who were in the process of picking up the poor kid were dead seconds after the boy suddenly woke up and beheaded them. Moving faster than anyone could react, the boy had a wicked-looking curved sword at Viserys' neck, which pushed him up against a wall.
"I should kill you for how you treat your sister, king." The boy's voice was deadly calm as each note sent further chills down all the survivor's spines.
"Stop! He is my brother. Let him go!" Daenerys looked panicked about her brother's fate. With a conflicted look, the boy let the prince go, and with a wet cough, the eldest living Targaryen collapsed.
"He will be fine. The Stygian Iron only took a fraction of his soul. He'll be at full strength in three days. I'll be your bodyguard until I find my cousin."
As the guards dragged her unconscious brother away, she felt mesmerized by the kind but sad eyes that seemed to glow with a dull light.
"I accept your offer of protection. But sir, what is your name?"
"Nico Di Angelo, and I'm on a quest to find my cousin Percy Jackson." Stated the boy was no older than ten and seven.
"I shall help you find your cousin. Tell me, where do you think he is?" asked the young princess, who seemed eager to get to know the only person who fought for her instead of her brother.
"The God said he is in the land of seven. Whatever the fuck that means."
Ignoring the fact that a GOD was speaking to Nico, she answered, "That sounds like Westeros. My brother and I are on a quest of our own to retake our birthright."
A smile grew on his lips that both encouraged and scared her. "I guess we have our heading."