The Thu'um and the Seven Kingdoms

'Why do I feel sand?' was the first thought that came to Tom Brodie's mind when he left the dark depths of sleep and returned to the land of the wakeful. He closed his hands feeling something small and granular gather up in his hand.

Idly he rubbed his fingers over the substance and felt it sift through his fingers, 'Definitely sand.'

He opened his eyes, expecting the dim light of his college dorm room but was instead by the light of a noon day sun. The molasses of sleep that had been gumming his mind evaporated like the morning dew in a desert. He shot up into a seated position while saying, "Oh Shit! I over slept, oh damn I'm in so much... what?"

He stopped in mid rant when he saw that he was not in his dorm room in Atlanta Georgia, he was instead sitting on some strange beach, the sun already fairly high in the sky though still rising from the direction of the ocean if he judged correctly.

Confused, disoriented, and wondering just where the hell he was, he got to his feet and noticed that he was not wearing his pajamas either. Instead he was wearing a pair of blue jeans, his black cross-trainers, a black t-shirt and his thick canvass cloth coat, the last he quickly began to take off when he noticed just how hot is was here. That didn't make any sense either for as far as he knew it was the middle of February and still freezing cold. It shouldn't be feeling like high summer. "Just what the hell's going on here and where the hell am I?" he muttered to himself once he got the coat off.

As he placed the coat down he noticed the corner of a piece of paper tucked into one of the pockets of his coat. He quickly took the paper out and began to examine it hoping that there would be some sort of answer on it. To his relief, there was a note written on his in a hand writing that he didn't recognize but was perfectly legible. He only read a few lines though before he stopped, his eyes widened in shock and lost focus as he began to panic, any sense of relief he had previously felt smashed like a rock, not wanting to believe what he just read, hoping that he was just dreaming and that this would all go away if he just woke up. He closed his eyes counted to ten and when he opened them, he was on the same beach and was looking at the same note, the same collection of damning words written on it.

Slowly, haltingly he forced himself to read the entire note, hoping that there was some sort of answer or maybe a 'fooled ya' at the end of it. As he read he muttered the words out loud, not really noticing as he did so.

Good morning pitiful mortal. Stand tall and behold the glorious sights of Westeros, and the beauty of King's Landing and Blackwater Bay... or at least what might eventually be known as Kings Landing. It is important that is that this land be united. Bad things will happen if its not. What those bad things are, I'm not going to say, but I'd like to encourage you to use your imagination. Of course I'm not going to leave you totally out in the cold. After all, you ain't John Carter and this ain't Mars, so I'm doing you two favors. First, I'm removing the greatest threat to your inevitable conquest (no, no need to thank me!). Second, well, you'll just have to find out now won't you? So have fun, enjoy yourself, and remember, it goes Rape, Pillage, then Burn. Oh, and if you're still wondering what the hell I'm talking about, here's a hint, just repeat after me... Fus Ro Dah.

The moment Tom spoke those last three syllables a blue shock-wave of energy erupted from his mouth and ripped the paper out of his hands and flew along the beach.

Tom stated at his hands for a few seconds, unbelieving of what he saw. Then he realized that the note was flying away, "Dammit! Come back!"

He ran after the paper trying his damnedest process what he had read. Blackwater Bay? King's Landing? Westeros? Those were names and place from a book series he'd recently read, a saga of intrigue, war, love, hate, death, life, honor, and the struggle for power and those who won it or lost it and the consequences thereof. But that was fantasy, it couldn't be real, it just couldn't.

As he ran he kept his eyes dead set on the paper in front of him, hell bound and determined not to let the damn slip of paper get away from him, he failed to pay proper attention to where he was going. His chase was brought to an abrupt halt when he tripped over something large and heavy, his face slamming into the wet sand for his troubles.

He couldn't react for a second, his nose hurting and likely bleeding, the sand muffled a flurry of curses as his temper and frustration flared at the ridiculousness of it all. He raised his head from the sand a trickle of blood already begging to come from one of his nostrils. His eyes scanned the beach in front of him, trying to spot the paper. His efforts proved to be futile, the paper was nowhere to be found and likely never found again. His grit his teeth, clenched his right fist and began to pound the ground in front of him. The air was filled with the muffled thuds of his blows as his curses threatened to turn into a scream of frustration.

His tantrum lasted for about half a minute before he was interrupted from his emotional meltdown by a strange sound. "What was that?" he muttered to himself as he raised his head and strained his ears in the hopes of catching that sound again. The frustration he had felt over losing the paper evaporated and was replaced by confusion and a growing apprehension as the sound had seemed hauntingly similar to a masculine groan of agony.

While he would never admit to it, he felt that he was perfectly in his right to be worried he was unarmed, alone, and had absolutely nothing to defend himself other than his hands and fists, the events that had forced him to run after the paper he failed to bring up, it was too soon and it . While he'd had years of football, folk wrestling, and even a long stint in Taekwondo all of which given him a powerful albeit more than a little flabby physic; all of that fell away as unknown terrors began to haunt his mind. Tom was not a soldier, he was not a trained warrior, though he had held his own in the few tussles he'd had in school and had been more than competent on the gridiron or the mats, actual combat for his life was something he had no experience in and an image of armed thugs torturing some hapless victim and who wouldn't mid another warm carcass to kick around wouldn't leave his mind.

But he was no coward even if he was unblooded and he was not going to curl up and cry waiting for the inevitable. Steeling himself he picked himself up, hefting his 13 stone bulk off the ground and tried to spot the source of the sound. About three or four yards further further down the beach, Tom noted a what looked like a large piece of driftwood, but his eyes all but slid right off of it after the first glance and he continued looking for the source of the groan. His fists clenched in preparation for a fight and along with searching for the maker of the sound his eyes scanned fruitlessly for something that he could use as a weapon.

When he heard it again, he managed to decipher where the general direction the sound came from, he turned his head towards the sound and again all he could see was the piece of driftwood, then he took a close look, and his heart leaped into throat as his eyes widened in shock, he then began to run towards the "driftwood" as he finally recognized it for what it really was.

It was a person, more specifically a man, he was soaked to the bone and his body was covered in sand. When Tom got alongside the seemingly dead man, he flinched at the condition he was in. He was battered and bruised as if he had been slammed against a brick wall by some giant petulant child. His hair was an unique silver-blonde and he had somewhat angular features, what was more worrying was that the man's face was deathly pale and blood was oozing out of both corners of his mouth.

When he knelt down to examine them further, the man flickered his eyes open and striking violet colored eyes looked right into Tom's. Tom flinched yet again but recovered quickly enough when he saw that the man was still alive. He grabbed the man under his shoulders and began to drag him away from the surf he'd just been laying in, although the man had to weigh nearly as much as he did, Tom continued to pull with surprising ease, he powerful legs driving into the sand. When Tom had dragged him a good twenty feet, he bent down and tried to get a response from him. "Hey, buddy you alright? Come on speak to me. What happened?"

Tom continued to fire this barrage of questions in the hopes that if nothing else the sound of his voice would keep the man awake. For easily a minute or so no response seemed to come from the man and right before Tom was about to give up he suddenly heard a response, the man began to speak, his voice was low and cracked, the sheer agony that seemed to lace every word the man spoke boggled Tom's mind at the personal strength the man had to of had. He leaned down closer to the man, never breaking eye contact, as the man spoke, telling him what the young man knew to be his eulogy.

"I am Aegon Targaryen...of Dragonstone...fleet was lost...was a storm..." He stopped as he began to cough fitfully and blood spattered the front of Tom shirt.

Tom flinched in animalistic revulsion nearly vomiting. But he forced his bile down and told Aegon, "Easy now, you'll kill yourself if you keep this up."

That seemed to amuse the man somewhat as a slight smile appeared on his face before he answered, "Already dying... no need to save my strength now...why did this happen...where are Visenya, Rhaenys, Orys..." His speech began to fragment even more so and he started to cough again his entire body shaking this time and his face was wracked with pain, his face became even paler.

"Stop! I get it! Just rest! Please!" Tom's voices grew higher as panic tried to rob him of his calm. White surrounded his usually sedate eyes as he tried to get the man to stop talking and rest, all the while a niggling bit of information gnawed at the back of his head like he was forgetting something incredibly important, but he was so confused by everything that had happened to him that he failed to piece it all together.

Suddenly Aegon's hand shot out and grabbed Tom's in a horrifying death grip and with a shocking burst of strength he bore his fevered eyes into Tom's and said with unbelievable strength, "Find them! Find Visenya! Find Rhaenys! Give you my sword ….please find them! ….swear you do it... swear!" He used his other hand to pull out the huge hand-and-a-half sword that was still cinched to his waist.

Tom tried to snatch his arm out of the other man's grip, panic overriding his calm. But the blonde man's grip was terrifying in its strength and Tom couldn't break free from his grip. Fear driving him, he said, "OK! OK! I'll do it! I'll do it!"

Apparently it wasn't quite enough, "SWEAR!" His eyes where near bulging while his pupils had turned into tiny black pinpricks.

Mind rushing at a thousand miles an hour Tom half shouted out what he hoped would satisfy the man, "I, T-tom Brodie, swear to find Visenya and Rhaenys! May God strike me down if I don't! There is that good?" He asked as he tentatively took the sword, being lighter than he thought it would have been.

All the spirit seemed to leave the man, and the demon strength left his grip as he let go and seemed to collapse in on himself, he took in a deep breath and then spoke one last time, "Thank-you." Then, just like that, he stopped breathing and died.

Tom knelt there in shock for who knew how long, his mind was a confused maelstrom of what he had just seen. Then the pieces snapped together as he finally recognized why the man's name seemed so familiar. This was Aegon Targaryen! The man who, with his dragons would have united the continent of Westeros under a single banner and forged a throne out of the swords of his foes.

His mind flashed back to the note that he'd found on his person and with shocked horror he realized what the note had meant by 'removing your greatest threat'. The entity that had sent him to Westeros had also removed the one who should have done it along with at least two thousand of his followers, as a favor to him! What sick monster would do this? Why do this? Why him?

The only word that could encapsulate this entire situation was a forceful, "Shit!"