After the Avengers defeat alien invaders, potentially ending an intergalactic war, Ironman redirected a bomb into outer space. Upon his descent, he falls through a different portal, landing him a world he least excepted, one battling in a game for a...
Varys contemplated in his private study, a chamber of subtle opulence and calculated secrecy, reviewing several alarming scrolls. Candles strategically placed on his mahogany desk cast a warm amber glow. The room seemed to exist in a perpetual state of dusk, an ambiance that suited Varys' penchant for protection through stealth. What he wanted shown, he showed, and what he didn't remained shrouded in mystery. Here, he orchestrated what power he had with meticulous precision.
The walls, draped in heavy crimson velvet, absorbed sound and uttered quiet conversations to his ears alone, ensuring the confidentiality of the information exchanged between him and his little birds, one of which hastened to his side. They whispered urgent tidings into his ear, and he gave them an edible reward for their service. The news tightened and loosened a knot in his stomach as it was not entirely anticipated:
Littlefinger, his most juxtaposing adversary, had made first contact with the stranger. Why was he so eager, Varys wondered. The spymaster thought that Lord Baelish acted too hastily, unless that was what he wanted him to think?
Nevertheless, the stranger was not who they were told, which did not surprise the master of spies in the slightest.
Furthermore, this same stranger had defended Sansa Stark, which could have major consequences for different people, namely the stranger himself; the "King" did not take resilience lightly, nor did he like his toys taken away.
The scrolls seemed to grow heavier in Varys' fingertips, their inky contents doing little to ease the tension:
Stannis Baratheon, brother to the late King Robert and the late King Renly, was working hard to rally troops for his cause, still honoring but more so desiring his birthright to the throne. Daenerys Targaryen, a distant contender, continued to progress in the east, growing her soldiers and followers by the numbers. Varys secretly had his birds' eyes on her for years, but she was not an immediate concern, not yet anyway.
Adding a new layer of intrigue to the mix, Lord Baelish had also been communicating with someone from outside the capital, sharing nearly the exact same information regarding their newest warrior. Varys hadn't the slightest notion as to why. Why would someone want information about an unknown foreigner, unless they held some kind of significance? Ser Rogers was developing quite a reputation for himself, the Spider thought. First at Harrenhal, then at King's Landing with Jaime Lannister, and now with Sansa. If anyone should be expecting consequences, good or bad, it was going to be him. But who could possibly be more important to Littlefinger, other than Littlefinger: a foreign fighter, a middle aged man at war for the throne, a dragon girl across the Narrow Sea, or perhaps a lonely Stark girl.
Despite not knowing Ser Rogers well, a subtle fear crept into the spymaster's thoughts as he contemplated the potential dangers that might befall the strange man. A foreigner, having no real ties to anyone or any house in this wretched city, stood up for someone in need when no one else would. Varys only wished he had been there to see the look on Ser Meryn Trant's face. He believed others would as well.
Silencing the daydream, the Spider scanned through the smaller scrolls for a second read. To his dismay, he hadn't heard any songs regarding the fallen man cloaked in metal of gold and red.
Varys, in a rare moment of vulnerability, found himself silently praying that Lord Baelish hadn't gleaned any dangerous insights that outplayed his own, a flicker of worry agitated his normally composed eyes.
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In the heart of Castle Black, Tony Stark found himself immersed in the cartography of Westeros. Each contour on the map bore the weight of strategic calculations and Sam's intel. The span between Castle Black and King's Landing unfolded as a formidable challenge, measuring an arduous 1,200 to 1,500 miles. By horse, he deduced, could consume an insurmountable 150 to 188 days, a luxury he simply could not afford.
Additionally, his suit remained damaged from prior battles waged and the fall he took, with only two thrusters working on the left and right side functioning properly. The facial recognition glitched and stumbled in its efforts, and the suit grappled with the arduous task of recharging. To add more insult to his suit and its many injuries, he felt branded by his own last name ... which technically his name was brand, in New York, and the rest of his world for that matter ... which also brought on conflicting emotions of admiration and hatred.
That was irrelevant, if anyone saw him flying around, he would be noticed immediately. At least in New York, he was seen as Ironman. Here, he would be seen as a deity or a demon. More problems, but if he flew clumsily high enough, he thought for sure no one would see him, a risk to his own safety and resources. His concentration shattered when he heard one loud horn blast, nearly ripping one of the very delicate maps.
"What the hell is that?!" he said, looking up from the parchment. Sam went to peer out the window at the gate to the giant ice wall, hoping and praying for Jon's, Pyp's, Mormont's, and even Edd's safe return.
"One blast is for friends, two for foes-" he said with a bit of hesitation.
"And?" asked Tony.
"And ... three for White Walkers," he finally said.
"White Walkers? You mean Frosty's evil minions?" Tony sneered. Through Sam's studies with Jarvis, scanning as many scrolls on the subject as he could, he learned they were some kind of ancient, fairytale ice men, creating ice zombies wherever they went with obsidian as their kryptonite. Tony had a hard time believing such a thing in this world existed. Then again, he did help defeat an entire alien army pouring from a hole in the sky. Not to mention his teammates consisted of two heavily trained international assassins, a hundred-year-old super soldier, a man with seven Ph.D.s and the strength of an angry green rage monster, and a lightning-wielding figure from outer space whom Tony's people once actually considered to be a god. He really had no right to judge. Sam eagerly watched through the window as he heard the strong creaking of gears and cracking of ice as the gate lifted.
"What is it, Samwell Tarly?" asked Maester Aemon. Gilly looked in his direction. Brothers of the Night's Watch entered on horse and foot. A white direwolf matching the snow walked alongside them. Sam spotted Ghost and an all too familiar face easily.
"Jon's back!" he said, but his excitement easily dissipated once he saw who was on the horse with him. Jon was supporting a very weak Lord Commander. Sam also noticed fewer men had returned.
"Oh no," he murmured anxiously, grabbed his cloak, and ran down the stairs as fast as he could. Tony's curiosity got the better of him, and he wrapped his borrowed cloak around himself, covering his glowing chest, and followed Samwell. Once they reached the cold outdoors, Tony waited and watched by the door while Sam ran up to Jon, who dismounted. He and Edd helped Mormont down from the horse.
"What happened?" Sam panicked.
"It was shit, wights showed up," said Edd. He and Jon supported Mormont.
"Come on, let's get him inside, we can talk then," said Jon, acting fast.
"I'll tell Maester Aemon," Sam said, trying to help any way he could. Tony stepped aside, watching the four of them come to the Lord Commander's aid. Pyp trailed behind them. Tony stopped him before he entered.
"What happened?" he asked. Pyp felt a bit reluctant to answer, given their first encounter.
"We were attacked, Lord Commander got stabbed," he responded bluntly before leaving. Tony's face dropped a bit. The old man he had blasted across the room was clearly in critical condition. A twinge of guilt joined the shards of shrapnel trying to crawl their way into his chest. Ghost walked up to his side without his knowledge, panting. His soft fur brushed against Tony's fingers, causing him to abruptly pull away. The direwolf that once growled and snarled at him looked up with beady red eyes. Tony desperately wanted to scratch his own inch and give the creature a quippy nickname for scaring him, again. The wolf's sudden and soundless self conjuring, and spooky appearance made his real name all to perfect. The absurdly large canine looked up at him with an almost puppy-like expression.
"Oh, ok Casper. Now you want to be a friendly ghost," Tony finally mocked the big predator, ignoring the cute manipulation before following the rest of the group inside.
