My nightmare started with a slippery, uneven road, drenched with the fallen autumn rain, and a tired driver.

My girlfriend, Martina, sat in the passenger seat next to me, glancing out the window with resigned wistfulness.

"Why is it raining?" she asked, sighing. "It's the middle of summer and we're in Italy, not England!"

"Hey!" I exclaimed, in mock offense, also in Italian.

"Sorry, love," she laughed, a teasing tilt to her voice.

God, I loved that laugh.

I remember turning to her, a smile on my face, meeting her sea green eyes, which shone with amusement. She had that small, slight grin on her face that accentuated the cheek dimples perfectly. My eyes were off the road for less than two seconds, but it was enough.

A car horn blared. A woman screamed, though her voice seemed far, far away. Was it Martina? It didn't sound like her. Then there was the awful noise of tyres screeching on tarmac. I tried to turn the wheel but a half-second later a mighty crash sounded, and I was jerked forward violently. Pain shot through me and a suffocating darkness descended. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't move and, worst of all, I couldn't see Martina.

Suddenly, there was a flash of blinding light. Then another, and another, until it felt like I was in a strobe lighting effects show. It seemed to go on for hours until, finally, it stopped, and I was steeped in darkness again.

And then I died.

o-O-o

I was drowsy when I came to, and there was a painful thumping in my head. A nauseous, sick feeling was pooled at my gut. I felt weird and uncomfortable; my body seemed different, smaller than it should be. Something was dreadfully wrong, and I opened my eyes warily.

My eyes stung slightly as the light filtered through, but my vision quickly cleared. I was lying on a bed, the silken sheets soft beneath me. An old-style brazier sat in the far corner, next to a wooden door, a small fire blazing merrily in it. There was a criss-cross of garish pink and blue rugs spread across the floor, while the walls were a patchwork of mismatched grey stones, reminiscent of a thirteenth century castle. It was relatively bare, only containing the bed I was lying on, a dresser and a wooden sword that was lent against the far wall.

I was not alone.

There was a man at my bedside, sifting through a large bag. He was heavy-set, with large jowls that fell around his thick neck, but his eyes were an intelligent bright green. He wore a long gown-like garment and a heavy chain with a number of totems hung about his neck. Eventually he found what he was searching for, bringing out a small, clear pot, full to the brim with a blueish substance. The man stared at it for several moments, his face alight with concentration.

At this point I was terrified. Where was I, where was Martina, and, most importantly, who the fuck was this guy? For all I knew this guy had kidnapped me from the scene of the car crash and was about to start carrying out gruesome medical experiments on me.

"Uh… ah… H-H-" I tried to yell for help, but all that came out was a string of incoherent grunts and noises.

The man glanced around, his eyes widening in excitement.

"Lord Aenys!" The man exclaimed. "You're awake! What do you remember, my lord?"

"I…"

Aenys? What the fuck was this? The man was clearly insane.

"My lord?" he asked.

No more words would come, so I just shook my head.

"You seem to be having trouble talking, which isn't too uncommon after a nasty fall," he said, tapping his lip in thought. Then he frowned, worry coming over his face. "Or perhaps remembering? Can you tell me where you are, my lord?"

I shook my head again.

"This is bad," the man murmured to himself, though I could just about hear him. "What about your name, my lord? Could you tell me that?"

"N-No." I finally managed to sound out a whole word, though the voice that came out did not sound like my own.

"Oh, dear," he sighed in reply. "I must inform Lord Elston at once. Rest for now, my lord. With luck this will only be temporary."

The fat man turned to leave.

"W-Wait…" I croaked out.

The man stopped and asked, "Yes, my lord?"

"W-What do… you… think m-my… name… is?"

"You are Aenys Storm, my lord," he said, speaking slowly. "The bastard son of King Aegon Targaryen, Fourth of His Name."

Predictably, I blacked out again.

o-O-o

I dreamt a long while after that. I will not bore you with the details, but needless to say they contained much death, a lot of blood and a couple of dragons. A more fascinating and disturbing nightmare I had not had.

After that I saw snapshots of a childhood that was not my own. First, I was swimming in a calm ocean, as slow waves of a deep royal blue swept around me; then I was running through a hall of stone, as angry shouts chased after me; after that I was facing a boy who looked around ten years old, a deep anger coursing through me, with a wooden sword in my hand; finally the scene changed and I was sitting at the top of a tall stone tower, so high I felt as though I could touch the clouds themselves, with striking blue seas stretched out below me to my right and rolling green hills, wide lakes and shadowed vales to my left.

Memories that were not mine flooded into me. My mind was an absolute mess of conflicting memories, emotions, thoughts and half a hundred other things. It was confusing, and it was painful. In the end I came out with just two overwhelming thoughts in my brain: I was in Westeros, the setting of the A Song of Ice and Fire series, over a hundred years before the event of the book and the show, and my name was Aenys Storm, a bastard of Aegon the Unworthy.

There were several distressing things about that fact that immediately came to me. First of all, Aegon IV- I mean fucking really? Of all the Targaryen kings reigns I had to end up in that twat's reign? And as his own son, no less? I mean I barely knew anything about this period! Secondly, I'm pretty sure there was never an Aenys Storm in George Martin's world. I knew there was Bittersteel, Bloodraven (holy shit I didn't want to meet him), that Seastar girl and of course Daemon Blackfyre himself. There were a couple of others if I recalled correctly but no Aenys Storm.

But more importantly I was questioning how in the hell this happened. Was this a dream? Was I dreaming within a dream? I just couldn't understand how this was possible. I wanted to get back to earth. I wanted to be with Martina. I wanted to go home, not be transported to some quasi fantasy-medieval world where I was likely to be murdered or die of the plague.

This internal battle, more of a meltdown really, went on for a quite a while but eventually I became more accustomed in my brain with this new person or personality or whatever; at least enough to accept just a little more information. It was 183 years after Aegon's Conquest and I was currently eleven years old. Apparently in this different timeline my/Aenys's mother, a Tarth of Evenfall Hall, had visited King's Landing for some tourney or feast and there Aegon Cunt Targaryen had impregnated her with little old me. Barba Bracken, King Aegon's mistress at the time, had made sure we weren't welcome at court, so my pregnant mother had been sent away. My mother had then died giving birth to me (fucking medieval medicine) and I'd been raised at Evenfall Hall ever since by my uncle, Lord Elston Tarth. According to this new wash of memories I hadn't even meet any of my father's family, including Aegon himself. Lord Elston disliked even leaving the island of Tarth, so Aenys had had a pretty sheltered upbringing, which had made him rather morose, even a little angry. That sounded far too much like Bittersteel for my liking and if this little journey turned out to be permanent, I decided, I would put a stop to any of those feelings.

Of course, at that point I still didn't really believe I was actually in Westeros. Alas but I still had so much more to come.

o-O-o

When I next awoke it was dark and I was alone. To my dismay I was still in the same room where the weird old man had called me Aenys, rather than in my apartment in Rome or an Italian hospital. It seemed like this was actually real.

My head still hurt but other than that I felt okay so I sat up slowly. Someone had left me a jug of water at my bedside and I realized my throat was as dry as the Sahara Desert. I reached for it greedily but froze when I saw my own reflection in the still water. All thoughts of thirst vanished from my mind as I gazed on a face that was not mine.

I certainly looked like a Targaryen. I was pale, even paler than I had been as a pasty-faced Brit, with rather beautiful looking silver blonde hair. My new face was beautiful too, even with a lingering of baby fat still around my face. My nose was straight, my lips full and red. It was my eyes that were most striking, however. They shone back at me through the water, violet and indigo clashing together brightly in a mesmerising combination, shining bright like an amethyst. Even as I child I looked elegant.

With a sigh I put the water back on my bedside table and made to stand up. Unfortunately, when I tried that I fell down on my arse rather painfully. It seemed I had to get used to my new body so I spent the next hour or two walking up and down the small room until I could do it without falling over, then jogging, then running, until finally I felt relaxed in this new body.

Then I sat down on the bed and cried. The crushing unfairness of it all bore down on me and I cried and cried, thinking of Martina, my sister and my nieces and nephews, and of earth. Wonderful, clean, safe earth. I must say this went on for longer than I'd like to admit.

Finally, as the first glimmers of light began to shine through the single window in the room, I calmed myself down enough to really think. I was in Westeros, with the Blackfyre rebellion on the horizon. In less than fifteen years, in fact. I had to be ready for it. As a 'Great Bastard' I'd inevitably be drawn into it by both sides, as another child of King Aegon would undoubtedly give legitimacy to which ever side I chose. I suppose I'd go with Daeron seeing as he wins, but perhaps there was a way I could avoid the whole war all together?

My musings were interrupted when the door opened. It was the man from before.

"Maester Arnolf," I said, the name coming to me.

"Lord Aenys!" Maester Arnolf smiled, hesitantly. "You… remember me then?"

"I do," I confirmed. "I'm not quite sure what came over me early. I do apologise most profusely, Maester."

The man blinked in surprise. My memories told me that Aenys was not the politest of children. He was rather quiet and when he did talk at all it was usually something haughty or rude, even to Maester Arnolf who was a rather kindly man, my memories told me. The Aenys of the past eleven years only really cared for one thing: swordplay. Which was something I knew would be necessary but was also dreading with a passion.

"I… I see," the old Maester licked his lips anxiously. "What wonderful news your memories have returned. Lord Elston will be most pleased."

"I'm sure." I smiled at him but that only seemed to unnerve him. Shit, I shouldn't change too much, or they'll be on to me. I morphed my expression into one a little more solemn. "Now, I was hoping to head to the library before breaking fast so…"

"The library?" The man looked nonplussed. Then he seemed to shake himself out of it. "I'm afraid I must examine you first, Lord Aenys. Your memories may have returned but I have not yet deemed you fit to be up and about."

I sighed. "Fine," I said.

The man looked over the back of my head, where apparently there was a thick scar from where I'd fallen down the stairs. He seemed amazed at how quickly it had scarred over and seemed on the verge of giving me some weird looking brown shit to spread over the wound, but I put a stop to that by telling him I felt perfectly fine and that it was his fine work up until now that had saved me. I was not having any of that medieval quack medicine- didn't they used drill holes into people's heads? I couldn't be sure that was true of Westeros too, but I mean come on!

"Very well," Maester Arnolf finally said. "You seem as hale and hearty as ever. You may go to the… library… but no training yard for a week, hear me? And I'll tell Ser Alyn to keep an eye out, too."

"Aye, Maester," I murmured, trying to put on a show of disappointment, even as the relief ran through my veins.

"Alright, go on then. And be careful on the stairs!"

I nodded my thanks once more and rushed out of the room, my mind telling me the way to where I wanted to go. I wanted to get to the library and find a book that related to recent history because I needed to know if there were any other major changes. There could be fifteen other bastards for all I knew. Aenys's memories showed only canon knowledge but I needed to double check. If the library held no answers, I'd have to ask Maester Arnolf.

I walked through tall, white marbled hallways. Large, open windows let the morning sunlight in, illuminating the wide, beautiful arches that ran along the hall, the patchwork medieval tapestries that adorned the wall and the gold furnishings that ornamented it all. Servants hurried out of my path as I walked as fast as I could along two hallways similar to the first one and then up a steep, winding staircase that led me to the top of Maester Arnolf's tower. I passed the door to his quarters and went in the next door.

On the other side was a small, round room, crammed with several bookcases, ancient looking scrolls and old, peeling leather-bound books stacked on top of them. At a guess I'd say there were about seventy tomes there, all in all.

Well then, I'd better get started.

o-O-o

Ser Donnel Tarth found me there several hours later.

I sat reading by lamplight on a small wooden stool in the corner. A half-eaten breakfast on a tray that a servant had brought me lay on the table next to me as I poured over A treatise on the early reign of Aegon the Fourth by Archmaester Aiekin, a rather dry read if I was honest, but also the most contemporary work in the whole libary. As I was just getting to Aegon's rulings on the 'Teats' conflict between the Blackwoods and the Brackens, Lord Elston's eldest son and heir came striding through the door I had left open and marched up to me.

He was a tall man, with broad shoulders, but his pinched face and constantly sour expression gave him the appearance of a squeezed lemon, I thought idly. The young knight was dressed fully in House Tarth colours, a mess of blues and pinks that clashed horribly, despite the rich silks he wore.

"Aenys," he said, stiffly.

"Cousin, it's good to see you." I greeted him with a smile. He frowned, and I cursed myself for being too friendly once more.

"Father would like to see you. Come." He turned abruptly and stalked off.

I sighed, my memories telling me the uptight bastard was always like this; he seemed to think I was House Tarth's 'shame'. Twat. Though of course it didn't help that Aenys, even at age eleven, had beaten him down in the training yard more than once, something he was constantly bitter over.

I still saw no choice but to follow him.

He led me to the great hall, a large cavernous room, glorious in its marble opulence. Statues lined the hall between various wall-hangings, suits of armour and ancient-looking weapons, from longswords to spiked maces. I gulped at the sight of them; medieval warfare had just gotten a little more real. The room looked as though it was intended to fit several hundred, though only four men were there.

Lord Elston sat on a high-backed chair, almost a throne I thought idly, slouched back. He was a thin, nervous man short, salt-and-pepper hair. His small, slanting green eyes blinked constantly and as I gazed on his twitchy face, I felt a pang of sympathy for the man. He was a weak-natured lord who should never really of become the head of his house and had done his best. Aenys's memories showed that Lord Elston could be a kind man and had done his best for the reserved bastard son of his beloved sister.

Around him stood Maester Arnolf, the steward Larys Tarth and the master-at-arms Ser Alyn Tudbury. Larys, a shrivelled old man who was Elston's uncle and therefore Aenys's great-uncle, looked like a twig next to the barrel-chested Ser Alyn. Balding and middle-aged, the grizzled knight still looked fearsome in his plate armour, scabbarded sword resting at his hip.

Ser Donnel and I stopped before them. Lord Elston leaned forwards, a smile, or perhaps a grimace, pulling slightly at his red lips.

"Aenys, my boy," the lord began, "I can't tell you how relieved I am to see you up and about! We were all ever so worried."

"Thank you, my lord," I said, smiling.

It seemed I just couldn't act like a moody child. Oh well.

The Lord of Evenfall Hall started, as did the men around him. It seemed in the past Aenys would have responded to a comment like that, especially one where he was addressed as 'my boy' with a simple grunt or, if he was feeling particularly testy, a 'piss off', which had gotten him several lashes from Ser Alyn more than once.

"Excellent, excellent." Lord Elston's eyes darted left and right. "So, you are feeling fine? Not even an ache of the head?"

"None, my lord," I replied. "A testament of Maester Arnolf's care, I am sure."

"Of course!" Lord Elston smiled. He leaned over to pat the fat maester on the back. "None finer than Maester Arnolf, here."

"You flatter me, my lord."

"Nonsense, nonsense," Lord Elston said with good cheer.

There was a slight pause where Lord Elston seemed unsure of what to say and I just stared back at him. After a few moments, Lord Elston looked around at his counsellors for help. Finally, Ser Alyn stepped forward.

"Fall or no fall I expect you back at the yard as soon as Maester Arnolf deems you fit," Ser Alyn said, his stern demeanour a stark contrast to Lord Elston's merriment. "And in the mean time you can continue your duties as his lordship's squire, as well as a few other duties. I'll put you to work cleaning the armour in the armoury, then you can help out the grooms in the stables. One injury doesn't mean you can shirk your duties."

I grimaced, trying to ignore Ser Donnel's smirk next to me.

"I had hoped to spend some more time in the library tomorrow, Ser," I said with gritted teeth.

"Since when have you ever enjoyed spending time in the damn library?" Ser Donnel snorted contemptuously.

"Peace, son, peace." Lord Elston laughed nervously.

"Ser Donnel is not completely wrong, however, my lord," Larys put in. "Why this sudden interest, young Aenys?"

I frowned, picking my words carefully.

"I had a… revelation… of a sort while bedridden," I said. "Nothing particularly life changing, mind, my lord, but I did almost die, and it made me realise how much I have wasted opportunities, and how much knowledge is out there, I guess." I shrugged. "It just made me want to read a book. I imagine it's only temporary."

"How commendable!" Lord Elston grinned, as his son shot me an incredulous look. "Yes, yes. Ser Alyn do make sure you give my nephew time to visit the library tomorrow. An interest in books is to be encouraged, don't you think, Arnolf?"

"I do, my lord." The maester bowed his head.

"As long as this new… interest does not interfere with his swordsmanship tutelage, I foresee no issues," Ser Alyn grumbled, eyeing me up suspiciously.

I thought of the upcoming war on the horizon that I probably wouldn't be able to stop and how essential learning to fight was to ensure my own survival. I looked Ser Alyn dead in the eye.

"I assure you, Ser, nothing comes before my martial training. In fact, I shall work at it even harder than I did before."

He nodded, satisfied.

After some inane chitchat with my uncle at the others I was finally dismissed and allowed to go on my way. I spent the rest of the day working through several more books, before beginning my 'duties' (basically child slavery) again. I polished Lord Elston's disused armour (he was hardly a military man), as well as making sure his various ornate swords, scabbards, daggers and shields were in perfect condition.

Eventually, after doing more manual labour than I had ever done in my previous life, I crawled back to my room, collapsed into bed and cried myself to sleep.