AN: Ooohh boy, do I have a lot of idea's for the lore of asoiaf! This is only the introductionary chapter, but rest assured, there will be alot more chapters exploring the vast history of the world of Westeros, hopefully a little longer than this one :)

The Warrior I

A tall man, clad in great armor, with a blood-red cloak majestically flowing behind him, stormed through a great hall, blond hair whipping about his head at his great pace.

Though the hall was larger and more opulent than any mortal hall in any land on Midgard could ever hope to be, the irate man crossed its impressive length in a matter of moments, coming to a stop before a great throne, clad in such brilliantly shining gold it would've made any Lannister green with envy.

"Father!" the blond roared, a great hammer, with a noticeably short handle, clenched tightly in his fist.

The figure on the throne, larger still than the massive warrior in front of him, despite its apparent age, raised its head, snow-white hair parting to reveal a single eye, glaring out with such power and knowing, a mortal man would be unable to meet its gaze.

"Son." The figure acknowledged, the single word slamming throughout the vastness of the empty hall with an almost physical weight to it, even though the figure had not raised his voice.

"The situation on Midgard needs our attention, father! If we do nothing, the lands of Westeros will be swept away by him."

"It is not our way to interfere with the world of Man, son. Not anymore."

"So the mortals must pay for the crimes of my brother-!"

"HE'S NOT YOUR BROTHER!"

A silence fell in the empty hall, the impossibly loud voice shaking the great building to its very foundations. The figure, clad in fantastical armor as well, sat down from the standing position he had shot into, a weary look on his lined face.

"Look around you, my son."

The warrior bowed his head, eyes resting on the floor beneath his booted feet. A sigh could be heard from the aged figure, before it repeated itself more forcefully.

"Look."

Reluctantly, the warrior raised his head, brilliant blue eyes roaming around the empty hall, taking in the spotless floors, the unadorned walls, the empty platters at vacant tables. In a way, the cleanliness of the hall was even worse than the state the hall had originally been in.

But you can only stare at carnage for so long. After several millennia, it simply becomes unbearable. The voice of his Father shook him out of his dreary thoughts.

"When we led the Andals to the lands of the First Men, we thought we were doing something good. And then they waged war on their brethren, the First Men, and we were proven wrong. When the frost giants attacked, we came down to Midgard to save them from a foe they could not hope to match, because surely, this time we were doing the right thing. And then they fell to the deceit of one we called our own, and once again we were proven wrong."

"They are not to blame for falling to his deceit when we fell as well!" The warrior denied vehemently, though the Father only slowly nodded his head in agreement.

"Agreed, we are as much at fault as the mortals in that regard. The creation of the Children, by infusing mortals with the magic of the Old Gods, it sounded so much like a sound decision at the time. We never thought to think why we needed magically charged humans in the first place, if our host was sufficient to drive the Frost Giants back on its own."

"But some good came from them still!"

At this, the Father narrowed its single eye.

"Yes, they were forced to turn on us, their stolen magic proving to be deadly to our life-force, but once we freed them from his control, they turned their gift on the Frost Giants instead! They are now vastly diminished in both power and size; a regular mortal may now be capable of slaying them! Surely you have not forgetting the strength of Man, Father, or do you not remember Commander Roggers?"

"'Vastly diminished in power'? Have you forgotten those events of ages past, my son? Thanks to the Children's magic, combined with rites of his own, they now not only control both the cold, but the dead as well! No, even if Man was capable of spawning another like Commander Roggers, it would not be enough. There is no strength left in them anymore."

The Warrior looked as if his Father had just struck him across the face, mouth open in shock, hammer falling from a loose grip, falling to the ground with the clap of thunder.

"So that's it then? We leave the mortals to their fate? To their doom?!"

The Father sagged further into his golden throne, grief clear in his remaining eye, even as he gave a small nod.

"The Eternal Night for Mankind has come. If not by his hand, then Surtur will make Midgard his own. Already, he has disguised himself as a benevolent god, and has amassed a following amongst the mortals. It is over son."

A silence fell over the empty hall, as the Warrior bowed his head, eyes shut in pain. Turning on his heel, red cloak billowing out behind him, he stormed towards the exit of the hall, biting out his remark over his shoulder even as he walked away.

"Not on my watch, Father. You may judge Man beyond hope, but I will never stop fighting for them. You say there's no strength left in them. If that's true, then I shall lend them my own instead."

"And if you come across your brother? If you come across your brother, and should you continue with this foolhardy venture of yours, you will come meet him, then what shall you do? Try to reason with him, as you have before?! Look around son, and see what that has brought us before! Naught but pain and death and misery!" the Father boomed as he jumped to his feet again, power roiling around him in tumultuous waves, his eyes blazing in anger and loss, his voice shaking the very earth itself.

The warrior paused, but did not look back.

"If Loki and I meet… than I shall slay him where he stands."

At those words, a look of pain flashed across the Father's aged face, before he slowly lowered himself onto his throne again, for the first time truly looking like an old man.

"I hope you do… for all our sakes, even his."

The warrior gave an unseen nod before continuing his walk, one hand stretched behind him, hand splayed open.

"Mjolnir, to me!"

The hammer flew from its place on the floor into the Warrior's hand, faster than any horse, bird or arrow could ever hope to be.

As the giant gilded doors fell shut behind the departing Warrior, the Father whispered into the emptiness of the vast hall, his voice laden with grief.

"Go then with my blessing… Thor Odinson. And please… return to me. Please."

And with those words, Odin All-father closed his eye, a single tear streaking across his wrinkled cheek.

AN: Come on, be honest, who all knew the identities from the get-go? However, how many have a clue of how I plan to integrate the Asgardians with the world of Westeros? I think I've dropped some pretty big clues, but I'm curious how many of you guys picked up on it. Let me know! :)