When I came to next, I was in some sort of medical area, laid out atop a thin sheet of cloth that was just enough for me to not touch the ground. My head was wrapped up in cotton but after a bit of groping about it, there was no wetness. By then, the Sun was settling behind distant mountains rising up from the earth like thorns, and the sky seemed to bleed an odd red as the darkness crept in.
My situation now meant one of two things. Either the damage was minor, and I had a concussion, or that I had been unconscious for long enough that the blood was dry... At least that was what I could come up with, I wasn't trained in the field in any way.
Men lay all around me, some missing limbs, with bandaged stumps, and others with long gashes and deep wounds already on their way to meet their maker, whoever it was. Their empty gazes and lack of life was damning to someone like me. Nurses, I assumed that was what they were, dressed in white tabards over full, long tunics floated about the dreary place, wandering from patient to patient, carrying fresh cloth and water while rough boys in poorly hewn tunics hurried along behind them carrying small bottles I couldn't place.
All of it didn't quite register. My mind struggled to catch up to whatever it was that was going on. And I felt I should've been more panicked, more horrified, but all I could come up with was a quiet 'why' before my thoughts settled on trying to understand my new place.
There was nothing particular about the prior day. I'd been walking down the road on the way to an interview, and then I was in a medieval battlefield. My neat suit was replaced with a dirty gambeson and cracked chestplate, shortsword in hand instead of my phone.
Where even... was I?
I looked around again, almost hoping this was some silly dream or hallucination, and nothing changed. Nothing seemed out of place. My head pulsed with jolts of a distant pain. A ways off, a city of pavilions and tents had been erected, burning with flickering lights and the noise of song and celebration.
Then, came the odd ability to manipulate ice. Even now, I could feel it riling just underneath my skin, ready to gush out the instant I drew on it. I was emanating cold, like it was some kind of bodily function to control it.
Cautiously, I rolled up the sleeve of my roughspun tunic and ran a finger along my naked forearm. It felt cold to the touch, almost like a corpse. I put a hand over my heart. It was beating, but slower. But then, there was no way to tell if it was any different. No one could honestly say they could tell irregularity in their heartbeat.
What was all this?
Where did it come from?
Was there any feasible way to get some actual answers?
A light wind brushed against my cheek, pulling me from spiralling thoughts. Then, someone talked.
"You should thank the Seven you managed to wake."
It was a woman. In her thirties, I presumed. She stared down at me with disinterested grey eyes, and tugged a lock of dirty blonde hair behind her ear. A white tabard hid her form, but I could easily see the womanly contours of her body. She turned to the side and said something to another nun in a hushed whisper. The other woman ran off.
"How are you feeling?" She asked with the sort of casual disregard I'd come to expect from underpaid nurses late into the shift. "Any pains... well, beside the head? Could be something escaped my eyes."
I craned my neck, "No."
"Well enough," She gently prodded my head with long and hard fingers. "There was no wound, so you can be rid of that if you want. Take some care when you move, you did get struck in the head. If there's nothing more, I have others to attend to."
Once she was done, she pulled back and wiped her hands on her sleeve before nodding with finality.
"Someone is coming for you. Do not forget your prayers. The Gods saw fit to spare you much of the pain your fellow men suffered."
Then she wandered off, lost among moaning and dying patients.
That was... an odd woman. But, she was tending to injured after a battle. She had the right to be stingy and serious.
After the nurse left, I didn't have to wait long. Someone else came along, whistling and whirring into the little nursing area with not a care in the world. But, that wasn't what caught my eyes. It was that I recognised him. It was the same man from before. The one who'd tried to warn me.
He'd changed his black ringmail for a burgundy tunic, but kept the leather breeches and high boots.
"Are you good, kid?" He held out a hand, the other at his belt. It was calloused, and scarred behind the palm, but I took it anyway. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. No one seems much too wise about what you did. Well, except the dwarf, but he pays me, so I had to tattle. You understand, don't you?"
I nodded idly as he pulled me to my feet, "What dwarf?"
"The dwarf of Casterly Rock. I imagine you won't find many other dwarfs around these parts with the kind of coin to afford the services of men like me."
Casterly Rock... That was a familiar name too. I'd heard the men shouting it before but the familiarity went deeper now that I thought on it.
My eyes wandered to the roaring lion banner flapping above a tent, and something seemed to click. Yet, I couldn't place it just yet. I had no choice but to follow him when beckoned. I was in an unfamiliar place that looked to be medieval society, and refusing a figure of authority wasn't the best of ideas when I was completely in the dark about the ways of said society.
Yes, I could try to freeze him. But, there was no reason to. And, there was a decent chance someone with even greater power could be called along to end me then and there. As the battle had proved, I valued my own life a bit too much for that.
"Bronn," He introduced himself as he led me.
I hesitated for a moment, then settled, "...Bryce."
"Good name."
The main camp was a stark change from where I'd woken. There were men drinking and jostling, and half-naked women who I could only presume were prostitutes running about. I saw a man carrying a giggling red-haired girl with her breasts hanging out. Campfires burnt bright, and the smell of rich spices and roasted meats carried along with smoke that rose to a gradually darkening sky.
Bronn had led me into the area reserved for nobility, I realised. Banners fluttered to a light breeze and servants hurried about, carrying platters of food and pitchers of drink to and from massive pavilions. Every so often, we would pass one that had a shield struck onto a post with an odd banner.
A purple unicorn, a brindled black-and-white boar, a blue rooster and even a peacock. It was all very gaudy and showy, and in line with how people were in those eras. Humans had always enjoyed being the centre of attention, it was no different here than it was from where I came.
When we finally stopped, it was in front of a grand pavilion with a roaring lion overhead. That was the dominant banner throughout the camp. The banner of the liege lord all of the gathered forces fought under.
Yet, what I found inside was not so grand at all.
There was an actual dwarf waiting for us, or me. With stunted legs, stubby fingers and a jutting forehead. He had thin, flaxen hair combed neatly to the back until his neck, and mismatched eyes of green and black. He wore a loose tunic of expensive make over small cotton breeches.
When he saw me, he smiled. It was an unsettling smile. He seemed to know that.
"So, you're the one." His words were measured, and his speech highborn, like a posh Englishman's. "You don't look like much."
It was true. Bryce was lanky, long-limbed, decent to look at but nothing that spoke of a great warrior that could fell a knight that big. That was, what I was here for, right?
"And yet, Bronn tells me you killed my father's dog." He noted my confusion, twirling a jewelled wine goblet in his hand. "That big fool you toppled. The Mountain That Rides. Well, he shan't be riding any more, I imagine. I'd drink to that. Would you drink to that, Bronn?"
"Aye." Bronn grinned and practically leapt over to the plank table beside the dwarf. He made a show of pouring red wine into two goblets, then held one out to me. I took it, but remained rather confused..
"To my Lord of Lannister." He spun. "And to the man that did in the Mountain. May you escape Lord Tywin's wrath for a moment longer."
"Wait, what?" I croaked out, staring at the goblet in my hand.
It was the dwarf that answered, "We won the first battle, yes. But I fear my father won't be too pleased with losing Sir Gregor Clegane. That is... the man you killed. I've not known Bronn to lie about something like this. Robb Stark will certainly be happy to hear of it however, it is something of an achievement to manage that in our first sortie. It's rather funny. People would never assume the Mountain fell to one of our own."
Okay... I knew where I was now.
O-O
As before, any tips would be welcome. I am quite new to this stuff.