Act 1 Ch 1: Awakening
"Ugh."
Capt. Daniel Ross sighed, his gaze sweeping across the decimated land. After the Ukrainian forces pushed back the Russians, the upper brass deemed a "humanitarian" mission a good PR move. Daniel drew the short straw: delivering supplies to the refugee camps.
Personally, he saw it as a political ploy for sympathy, showcasing their "care" for the NATO-aspiring nation. Despite his reservations about the allocation of resources, his army career had drilled into him: do what you're told, keep your head down, and never question orders. So he kept his mouth shut and followed instructions.
Capt. Daniel slowly strode down the muddy road, taking in the cool autumn air as his men unloaded the trucks, handing supplies to the waiting citizens. The government had poured over sixty-six billion dollars into the conflict, and the Ukrainians, through sheer grit, had expelled the Russian forces. Though Daniel suspected Russia's military ineptitude played a larger role, he was still glad to see innocent civilians receive aid.
As he walked, his first lieutenant, Ethan, approached. Friends since their days at the academy, and were lucky enough to be selected to the same company. Though Daniel found Ethan stiff and humorless, he was one of the few he could have a real conversation with. Ethan reached him after a few moments.
"Captain Ross!" Ethan shouted, snapping his hand to his forehead in a salute.
Daniel returned the salute. "Ethan. At ease, Lieutenant," he said. "Report."
1Lt. Ethan lowered his hand, his posture remaining rigid before his commanding officer. "Sir, our men are handing out the clothes and supplies. I'm happy to report the medical tent and food line are complete."
"Good," Ross nodded approvingly. "The NCOs and I will hold a status meeting with the staff NCOs later today. Ensure you're there with your report so we can update them on remaining tasks."
"Yes sir," Ethan responded resolutely.
"Good," Ross said. "And Ethan?"
"Yes?" Johnson replied.
"Try to lighten up, will you? Enough of the 'sir' crap," Ross said with a smirk. "Dismissed."
The young lieutenant hurried off. The captain continued towards the food lines, his thoughts drifting to the comforts of home. Though he had no family waiting, he missed the familiarity of the U.S., his own bed, and a hot shower.
Truthfully, he missed the quiet of an Army base back home, reading and playing trivia games. When off-duty, he devoured non-fiction: history, theology, politics, finance, technology, and science. His insatiable curiosity had been what propelled him to the top of his Defense and Strategic Studies class at Westpoint.
From a young age, Daniel was fascinated by ancient civilizations. While his teenage classmates pursued dates and movies, he was at the library, researching the development of modern society. Blessed with an extraordinary memory, he cataloged this knowledge in his mind palace. This continued throughout his days in the academy, making him a walking encyclopedia by the time he entered active service.
Just as his thoughts returned to the present, Daniel overheard several enlisted men joking about the refugee women, and their crude intentions for the evening. Frustration filled him as he tightened his grip on the bridge of his nose. He'd have to address this at the briefing. The last thing he needed was a pile of Article 15s to sort through. These young, undisciplined men had been deployed too soon, in his opinion.
His academy squad leader's words echoed in his mind: "Unsupervised privates seek trouble like moths to a flame. That's what NCOs are for."
Just as Daniel was about to call over a sergeant to address the privates, he heard a loud bang in the distance, like distant thunder. Everyone in the encampment turned towards the sound. Suddenly, the whistling of a shell grew louder, culminating in an explosion two hundred yards away, tearing through the refugee camp.
"Incoming!" he shouted, barking orders. "Take cover!"
His men scrambled for cover as women and children fled for safety. Explosions continued to rain down around them as his men ran for their lives. Daniel could only watch helplessly as his men were burned to ashes before his very eyes. As he moved to find better cover, he saw his longtime friend Lt. Ethan lying heavily wounded in the middle of the muddy road.
Mustering all his strength and courage, he charged headfirst into the field to rescue the wounded soldier. As he ran into the open, shells continued to rain down, blasting gravel high into the sky. Once he finally reached Ethan, he checked his condition: severe burns and shrapnel lacerations. He quickly scooped him up, draping Ethan's arm around his neck for support.
Daniel pushed forward, carrying the injured man with all his strength. Just as they neared the building where his other men had taken cover, another large shell struck thirty yards ahead, destroying it and sending both men flying.
Daniel wheezed in pain as consciousness slowly returned, his vision doubled as his ears were filled with ringing. He looked around at burning buildings and dead civilians. The smell of cooked meat hung heavy in the air. When he tried to move, he winced, looking down to see a two-foot-long piece of metal sticking out of his stomach. Blood seeped from the gaping wound as Daniel gently laid back, understanding the hopelessness of his situation.
"Really? So this is how it ends, huh?" he thought, his breath ragged from his burned throat.
He chuckled mirthlessly. He'd survived multiple tours, only to meet his end on a supposed peacekeeping mission. As he lay dying, his life flashed before his eyes: his parents, school, the faces of the men around him, dead or dying. A single tear traced a path down his scarred face.
"There is still so much I still wanted to do," he thought bitterly. "I was supposed to build something permanent."
With that last thought, the whistling of another shell grew louder. Daniel closed his eyes, accepting his fate as fire engulfed him. On October 7th, 2024, Capt. Daniel Ross and his entire outfit were wiped out by enemy artillery. It was an event that would spark a conflict that would forever change Earth's history, but that is a story for another day.
While his body crumbled to ashes, his consciousness was bathed in white light, pulled skyward. After enduring so much grief, Daniel felt it all fade. He had never known such pure euphoria. All stress, struggle, and suffering vanished, replaced by a profound sense of peace.
Daniel enjoyed this existence, feeling an unprecedented freedom, with infinite paths laid out before him.
Suddenly, a bright orange light enveloped his incorporeal form. The feeling was light, gentle, warm, like sitting by the fireplace with his father on a cold winter night.
Slowly, Daniel opened his eyes. The warmth receded, replaced by a pounding headache and nausea. He felt weird, uncomfortable, staring up at a dark stone ceiling.
"What the fuck?" he thought as a piercing ringing filled his ears. His skin was hot and sticky, covered in dried sweat that filled the air with a rank stench. Unable to hold it any longer, Daniel vomited onto the bed quilt. Panting, he wiped his mouth with his elbow and slowly sat up.
"Okay, where the fuck am I?"
He asked aloud, his voice echoing in the large stone room. It was unfamiliar, certainly not a medical tent or hospital. The room was filled with antiquities that looked like something from a Renaissance faire.
Daniel decided to get up, tossing aside the soiled covers. As his feet touched the grey stone floor, a jolt shot through him, and he collapsed onto his hands and knees. He must have been in bed for some time; his calves and quads were cramped. As he tried to stand, he looked down and discovered something distressing. This body definitely wasn't his.
He was shorter, his once-chiseled physique replaced by a slim, untrained one with no muscle tone. Even his skin tone had changed from dark olive to fair.
Seeing a large wall-mounted mirror, Daniel forced his uncooperative body to move, staggering forward for a better look.
Looking into the polished reflection, he was shocked. His short dark brown hair was now golden blonde, shimmering in the candlelight. His hazel eyes were now green, glistening like emeralds, framed by long, girlish eyelashes. His face was attractive, bordering on beautiful.
As he teetered on the edge of a mental breakdown, footsteps approached the room rapidly. Looking around for a weapon, he grabbed a pair of scissors from a wooden table, holding them defensively in a wobbly fighting stance.
The old wooden door burst open. Instead of an enemy soldier, Daniel saw a young woman in an old-fashioned red and brown maid's uniform, carrying a platter with a bowl of steaming water and a cloth.
The maid stopped, her eyes widening in shock, mouth agape as she saw Daniel poised to fight. She dropped the platter, water spilling across the floor.
"My Prince, you're awake!" she shouted, her hand flying to her mouth.
"Huh?" was his confused reply. Then the maid seemed to remember something.
"Wait here! I'll tell the queen!"
Before he could respond, she turned and fled the room. Daniel just stared, bewildered. He slowly set the scissors down, realizing he wasn't in immediate danger.
A few minutes later, he heard rushing footsteps again. An older woman in a red velvet gown burst into the room. As he turned, his eyes widened. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
Tears welled in the blonde woman's eyes as she rushed to the still-dazed Daniel, cupping his head in her soft hands and pulling him against her ample bosom. As much as he enjoyed the sensation, the sound of her crying distracted him.
"Joffrey," she hiccuped. "I'm so glad you're finally awake."
"Wait… Joffrey?"
Daniel's mind reeled as foreign memories, clearly not his own, flooded his consciousness. The resulting migraine was the worst he'd ever experienced, as if his head were being split in half.
He collapsed to the floor, yelling in pain as the alien memories surged through him: castles, knights, tourneys, a giant metal throne destined to be his. The woman looked terrified as her son writhed in pain.
"Why are you just standing there, you stupid sow!" she screamed at the maid. "Get the fucking maester!"
"Right away, Your Grace!" the maid responded, turning and running down the stone hallway. The queen knelt beside Daniel, trying to comfort him.
"Joffrey, what's wrong!" she said, her voice filled with worry. "Speak to me, please!"
But Daniel didn't respond as the images continued to flash: memories of a giant metal throne.
"It can't be, it can't BE, it CAN'T BE! IT CAN'T BE!
He repeated internally as he continued to yell. Finally, the memories stopped, the pain ceased, but not his shock as the realization crashed down.
"Oh my god! I'm in Game of Thrones!"
[Timeskip]
Daniel Ross, now Joffrey Baratheon, lay still on the large feather bed as the castle's Maester Simon inspected him.
"Does it hurt, my prince?" the old man asked, his hands surprisingly rough.
"No, Maester Simon," Daniel replied, shaking his head slightly.
"Hmm," Maester Simon murmured, his brow furrowed as he once again observed the completely healed gash on Joffrey's head.
So, the little shit bit the dust huh, Daniel thought, a shrug of uncomfortable calmness washing over him. He, Daniel, had died alongside his unit, only to be reborn in this fantastical, utterly ridiculous world, his memories intact, like some cliché Manhwa novel.
A part of him clung to the hope that all of this was just a bad dream, that he was in a hospital with some amazing drugs. But the light breeze on his skin, the medieval antiquities, the pervasive smell of grime – it was all too real. Slowly, the unbelievable truth settled: he was reborn, in A Song of Ice and Fire of all places.
Parallel universe? Different dimension? Multiverse theory, a concept he'd subscribed to in his previous life, seemed the most plausible explanation. Yet, a cynical voice whispered that his mind might be fracturing, desperately seeking reason in the inexplicable.
Ultimately, the unanswerable questions felt pointless. Perhaps gratitude was in order – at least it wasn't Warhammer or Elder Scrolls he ended up in instead.
The real Joffrey's memories were a jumbled mess. He and the royal family were traveling north to meet King Robert's old friend Ned Stark, intending to invite him back to the Capital to serve as the new Hand of the King. A stop at a castle near the Twins had devolved after Robert, fueled by copious amounts of the local lord's ale, announced his plan to wed Joffrey to Lord Stark's eldest daughter, a union to solidify the great houses.
The original Joffrey's vehement rejection, calling Sansa a "whore daughter of some northern savage," had triggered Robert's violent rage. A brutal backhand had sent the boy crashing to the stone floor, his head striking stone. The castle's Maester and servants had toiled tirelessly, even summoning aid from neighboring keeps. Finally, Maester Simon had delivered a grim prognosis: if the boy survived the night, he might live, but the hours ahead were perilous.
"There is no further need for concern, your grace," Maester Simon finally addressed the anxious queen pacing the room. "The Seven have blessed your family. The young prince's wound is completely healed, and there doesn't seem to be any lasting damage to his body's motor functions."
Daniel was internally impressed by the old man's anatomical knowledge, remarkable without modern medicine.
"I would ask that you allow him to rest for another two days, avoiding any strenuous activities."
"Very well, Maester Simon, you may leave us." The queen responded, her focus unwavering on her son.
Maester Simon bowed and quickly exited along with a female servant. Once the chamber was cleared, only Daniel and the queen remained. After a brief pause, she strode forward, holding his head tightly against her.
"Oh, Joffrey," she hiccuped, tears welling. "I'm so glad you're finally awake."
"It's okay, mother," Daniel said, trying to console her, ignoring the soft elastic feeling pressed against his face. "I'm fine, truly."
The queen continued to sob, struggling to regain her composure as Daniel awkwardly rubbed her back.
"Actually, mother, could you do something for me?" Cersei immediately perked up, looking intently at him.
"Of course, my sweet, what can your mother do for you?"
"I would like a nice hot bath, if that's possible."
"Of course, of course," she replied, ringing a small bell.
Soon, a beautiful woman in her late twenties to early thirties entered. Senelle, he recalled, one of his mother's personal handmaidens, wore an elegant, low-cut green gown with a corset that emphasized her ample full breasts.
"Prepare a hot bath for my son," Cersei ordered. The red-haired woman bowed and swiftly left. The queen turned back to Daniel.
"Well, I must inform the king of your recovery. I'm sure he'll be relieved that you are awake." A hint of sarcasm colored her tone.
"Please do," Daniel replied, a touch of spite in his own voice.
With that, Cersei reluctantly departed, leaving the new Joffrey alone. Looking down at his frail body, Daniel sighed. This is going to be a lot of work. He began mentally drafting a checklist, with physical conditioning topping the list. Survival in this brutal world would demand it.
After a few moments, Senelle returned. "My prince, your bath is prepared."
He rose, stretching his stiff limbs. "Lead on."
The maid nodded, guiding him down the stone hallway. As they walked Daniel's gaze drifted to her swaying hips, the tight gown outlining her figure. She likely noticed his stare but remained silent, leading him to a large wooden door.
"My prince, the bathroom is just through here. I will prepare fresh garments while you wash."
"Thank you," Daniel responded.
Senelle bowed, her hips swaying exaggeratedly as she walked away, a fleeting smirk playing on her lips.
Daniel sighed, glancing down at his breeches. Fucking teenage hormones, he thought, annoyed by his second run through with puberty. But he refused to be ruled by his libido as a lesser man might have. Calming himself, he entered the bathroom, bolting the door and stripping his stained clothes.
Completely naked, he examined his underdeveloped body. Not emaciated, but clearly untrained. A complete diet and exercise overhaul was going to be essential to regain his former physique.
He slowly lowered himself into the steaming stone bath, the warmth pleasant against his skin. After forty minutes, the grime and stress of reincarnation washing away with the cooling water, he stood and dressed in the fine medieval clothing laid out for him. Next, his attention turned to his long, luscious golden hair, that was far too long for his liking.
"Seriously need a trim," he muttered to his reflection annoyed by the impractical hairstyle. He parted it haphazardly, combing the top over. As he exited the bath chamber, he found a male servant waiting for him.
"My prince, his grace the king awaits you in the great hall…" He announced while Joffrey just nodded, his expression still.
Let's get this over with, he thought.
"Very well," he said aloud. "Take me to him."
The servant bowed. "Yes, my prince."
After navigating the castle corridors, they reached the great hall, a large, cavernous room, impressive in its starkness. Suits of armor lined the walls between medieval weaponry, a sight that drove home the reality of medieval combat.
The hall, capable of holding hundreds, currently held only seven. Daniel's gaze fixed on the king perched on a makeshift throne. He approached slowly, before kneeling before his "father."
The sight of the king left him flabbergasted. Robert Baratheon was without a doubt the fattest man he'd ever seen. The fat stag easily stood over six feet tall and, if Daniel had to guess, weighed at least three hundred pounds. His face was red, likely from drink, with dark circles under his eyes. Long, unkempt dark brown hair reached his nape, mingling with a thick beard.
He wore an elegant black velvet doublet embroidered with a crowned golden stag. Despite his appearance, he held a regal aura around him that commanded respect.
Around him stood six of the seven Kingsguard in their silver armor and white cloaks: Ser Arys Oakheart, Ser Boros Blount, Ser Mandon Moore, Ser Meryn Trant, Ser Preston Greenfield, and the legendary Ser Barristan Selmy. Daniel noted the absence of his "uncle" Jaime, who was likely preoccupied with his mother.
"Your grace," he said, his tone respectful but stoic as he continued to kneel, eyes lowered looking at the floor.
Robert's expression briefly flickered with surprise before settling back into a stern mask. "I see you've finally decided to awaken."
"Yes, your grace."
"No lingering head pains?"
"None, your grace. A true testament to Maester Simon's skill."
An uncomfortable silence stretched between father and son.
"The Maester informs me you require a few more days of rest before travel. See that you get it. I expect you to be ready to ride after that."
"Yes, your grace," Daniel responded, his voice carefully neutral.
"And don't think this little…mishap…has changed my mind about your marriage. I still expect you to perform your duty and marry Lord Stark's daughter when the time comes."
"Of course, your grace. I apologize for my rude and, frankly, shameful remarks from before."
At those words, not only did Robert's eyes widen in shock, but so did those of his Kingsguard, long accustomed to the twat prince's obnoxious behavior. A small smile crept onto the king's face as he nodded in approval.
Maybe I finally knocked some sense into the boy, Robert thought.
"Good. I'm glad you've seen the error of your ways." He actually said.
Joffrey nodded but remained silent, then looked up and met the king's gaze.
"With your permission, your grace, I'd like to take my leave. The days in bed have left me quite hungry, you see."
"Of course, you may go," Robert replied, waving him off dismissively.
Joffrey stood and gave the king a deep, respectful bow before turning and walking out of the hall. As the prince's figure receded, Robert's eyes followed him, a flicker of unease in their depths. He couldn't help but sense something drastically changed within his son. Ultimately, he decided to dismiss those thoughts as he turned to address one of the castle's servants.
"You there! Go and get me some wine!" He shouted to the startled servant.
"R-right away, your grace," the servant stuttered before scurrying out of the room.
As Joffrey walked down the torch-lit corridor, he resolved that after a meal in the kitchens, he would pay a visit to the castle's library. Since the real Joffrey never bothered to familiarize himself with anything besides torturing small animals, he was going to have to catch up on lost time.
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