Author's note: Well, a sudden urge took me to write, and here we are. I have no idea if any of you would even like this but we will see and depending on it, I may continue it or just delete it. I have been toying with this idea for a while and to be frank, I know what I want to do but I tend to make things up as I go along. Let the story unfold organically. Of course, I may just end up abandoning it but I have no intention to and I hope I can finish this.

Also, if anyone wishes to Beta-read this, I welcome you to join me.

Yes, finger's crossed, let's get into this.

Summary: It is said that the Great Game is all there is. Knights swing their swords yet the game remains. Lords rise and fall yet the game remains. Kings live and die yet the game remains. Wars are fought and won yet the game remains. A stranger makes Westeros his home and the game is changed.

The Storm Prince

Let it be known to all, Draqorno Dirrar is no coward. He thought to himself, he was a pirate, a raider... a legendary warrior of the sea whose name shall be sung every corner of the known world. Draqorno was born on a ship and he meant to live and die on one. Things like home, Kingdom, or loyalty had no place in his heart, the only thing he knew was to fight, to sail, and to plunder. That was the life he inherited, the life he was meant to live yet he yearned for more. To make his legend, known far and wide... and so he decided, he would sail to Valyria and loot it for all its riches and secrets.

Many a thousand had tried, and many a thousand had failed for their folly... but he was not many, he was the one. He had Valyrian blood coursing through his veins, his mother had often told him so... that would be the deciding factor in his legend. Where many had failed, he would succeed, his blood made him special, descended from the Blackfyres, he would sail Valyria and plunder it for all its worth. Let the Kings and Lords rule their petty land and little castle, for I shall rule the 14 seas!

They would call him the Storm King of the seas and the Wind Draqorno decided, but before that could come to pass he must make the journey. All people had goals, but no plans in their heads... that rendered their goals to be mere dreams. Draqorno had no intention of letting his goals die as dreams, he had a plan, or at the least an idea that could shape a path towards his goal. First, he would need Gold to buy resources and men, sellswords. Convincing sellsword parties to sail to Valyria would need a lot of Gold and promise of plunder, his current fleet of 5 ships and near 100 men would not be enough by itself. He meant to sail in strength, he found in his years of sailing that men found courage in numbers.

Besides, when he was successful, he would need strength to protect his plunder from Pirates and raiders on the sea. Ambitious he might be, stupid he was not. He knew countless others would love to plunder Valyria, and love, even more, to simply have the rewards without doing the work over his expense. He would not hire any big sellsword companies that could rival his own fleet's strength, or perhaps surpass it... instead he would hire several smaller and weaker companies, and lone sellswords to make his strength. After he had plundered Valryira and returned successfully, he would sow discord and cause the smaller companies to fight amongst themselves with the promise of bigger shares. After the companies would wipe each other out, his fleet would wipe whoever remained and keep the rewards for themselves. It was a simple plan... but an effective one... he knew that from experience. He trusted his fleet of men, many would call him a fool for it but he raised men himself.

Draqorno was no fool, he knew he could never buy loyalty with Gold, so he sailed with those who owed all to him. Draqorno sailed all the seas from the shores of Asshai to Westeros, everywhere he went, he took boys as much as he took Gold. These boys, he raised on his ship, he raised them to know nothing but obedience to him and his fleet. They would hold to him he had seen to that.

In his travels, closer to Westeros, to North specifically he had heard tales of sailors. Tales of a wildling city built 600 years ago... tales of how the city had faced some unknown disaster, a disaster of fiery nature. Many believed it was the work of Gods, others thought it to be a natural calamity... Draqorno knew it better. It was the work of Valyrians. That kind of a fiery disaster could only be the work of Dragons.

Many sailors boasted sailing there and claimed stories of caves full of gold under the once Wildling city. Draqorno doubted their boasts but he could not deny that there must be some value there if the Valyrians laid waste to it. Yet he did not mean to stake all his hopes on a myth, no he had a more tangible plan. Wildings were far and plenty... their numbers over one hundred thousand if rumors were to be believed... yet they knew not how to fight, and had no steel for their weapons. Draqorno meant to take the cattle to slaver's bay.

That is how he found himself beneath the infamous wildling ruin of a city... or what should have been a ruin of a city. Instead what they found was a huge city. Bigger than his eye could see, it had walls so high no siege engine would ever reach the top, littered with strange symbols of a tongue who could not read... the towers in along the walls as far as the eye could see peering through to the sky. As far as his eye saw, there were no lines in the walls where stone met, it was almost as if the stone melded together... like the Valyrians were said to do. That was when it struck him, the rumors must be true. This must have been a Valyrian outpost of the old.

The streets of the city were wide, stone steps lined the roads. The houses in the city were made a mixture of stone and wood, and much like the walls, they were magnificent. The longer he walked these streets, the more apparent it became, someone, must have been here, the city was far too... tidy for an abandoned outpost. After spending two days searching the huge city, yet finding no trace of life, but only empty houses with not but chairs inside... Draqorno decided it must have been some Wildlings seeking shelter who had moved on.

The city was magnificent, that he could not deny, its fountains and its houses... it was tempting to claim it as his. Yet Draqorno decided against it, he was no Lord, he was a raider, it would not be wise to spread his numbers thin to defend an empty city at the end of the world.

A day later, Draqono found himself traveling beneath the earth. Within the caverns of Hardhome. He had left half his men to guard the ships, another quarter to man the walls. The rest along with his trusted Captains found themselves exploring the vast network of caverns.

Upon hours of walking, he realized the caverns were much more vast than he had anticipated. He would need far more men to search through them, high and low yet he could not turn back. Draqorno's word was iron.

As the caves split into different paths, more than any man could keep track of, he decided to have them marked. Draqorno even left some men behind with a torch to keep them company along on many different turns he took... They would guard his rear and light the way for his return. The men were afraid, he realized... the water dripping from the roof looked like blood in light of the fire, the shrilly wind made a sound akin to that of a woman's wailing. Suddenly, these brave men found themselves cowering at the legends of ghosts of Hardhome. Draqorno was no coward he reminded himself.

Draqorno was not certain when he realized they were descending. Maybe, it was an hour or maybe it was ten. Time had little meaning here, the only thing that was certain he was going deeper into the ground. What they found was something Draqorno found utterly fantastic. It was an open cavern under the ground. They could see not but darkness, either front or back or up yet they could feel its vastness. The light illuminated no roof in site. One of the men shot an arrow on fire at his command yet the fire died and the arrow sunk before it ever reached the roof. Draqorno found this strange, this place he was in must have been several hundred feet deep yet he did not realize he was descending so far down. The water had stopped dripping yet the wind persisted so, ever so shrilly yet it seemed much closer now than it had an hour prior... they must be close to the other side.

"Draqorno should lead the men back I am thinking," spoke Belaphy Bahys, he was his right-hand man. The first pirate to join his fleet, back when he but a deck boy and Belaphy was a man running a ship for the Saan family. Their desire to be something more than men of the Saan family was the only thing they had in common and what led to their partnership. No other man would live whole after questioning his decision openly but Belaphy.

"Does the darkness frightens you so much? say so and Draqorno shall lead you to safety." He replied without so much as a glance back.

"Belaphy finds a distinction between fear and caution," The older man with a scarred eye answered, "Our men tire, yet we march with no end in sight? Let us end this folly, for there is nothing here but dark."

"Draqorno saw forward to bring food and blankets to rest did he not?" Draqorno turned back to look at the men following behind and indeed, they did look tired. "Do you still feel the wind, do you not? Tell the men to eat and rest. Then we march forward until we reach the hot wind. It is closer every moment I can feel it."

Indeed he could, this wind was almost violent now. He could feel his robe rustle, his hair flowing freely, this wind was almost at his back.

"This was folly," Belaphy insisted causing his ire to rise, "Draqorno should have stuck to selling slaves. This place is not natural I am saying. The path is too clean and the ground too straight, there no ragged rocks nor narrow slits. These caverns are unnatural. Men fear they hear voices, the growling of beasts, and monsters. Let it end, Draqorno should take twice as many slaves as he intended I am thinking... there is no gold here."

Draqorno could see the reason in his words and yet... "Who will believe Draqorno's word should he turn at the first sign of trouble, we are near the other side. You are feeling the hot wind I am sure." a conflicted look was his only answer, this wind was too close. He was getting warm, sweating under his wool cloaks.

"Going back takes hours, going forward takes less I am sure you are seeing." A look of utter terror greeted him in response. "Does the terror of the dark grips you?" He asked once more before he looked around to see the rest of his men having the same expression of cold terror. The wind was almost over his neck now, it was warm and wet... almost as if someone was breathing down his neck.

Gripping his sword Draqorno turned around and his bowels left him. He felt water running down his legs when the creature shrieked. Draqorno could feel his men running and screaming, Belaphy trying to pull on his arm but all the fight had left him. This thing was tall, was it a dragon his mind whispered... no, another part answered. It was too slim and had no wings to be a Dragon.

'Draqorno was a coward after all.' He realized in his last moments, its bright shiny eyes in the dark and its tongue was the last thing he saw before darkness consumed them all.

Bronn

The chatter stopped the moment the stranger had entered the inn. Bronn could feel a dozen pairs of eyes upon him at the same time. Some stared hungrily, checking, probing for a weakness, for any valuables they might loot. Others were warier, perhaps fearful of unsavory individuals. The innkeeper in particular was a rather shook woman he noticed. His large cloak covering him from head to toe would certainly be a part of it he supposed.

"Lookin' for shelter, milord?" the woman asked, the sight of eyes unsettled him he could tell.

He shook his head in response. "Just something to eat and drink, and I am no lord." That did not please her he could tell. The chance of a confrontation unsettled the woman.

"Please sit ser, I have rabbit stew and grilled fish." He muttered a polite thanks took the opposite table from their group who had resumed talking loudly. Bronn ignored the chatter of those around him, he surveyed the inn, the war seemed to have taken a toll on the business. There was no music, nor were there any common folk around, only three different groups of armed men it would seem. First, there were 2 men by the door, dressed in poor ill-fitting armor made of pieces from different sets, old, fat with rusted swords. Hedge Knights, he decided.

Then there were three more on the farthest side, near the counter. Their armors were better but not good enough to be that of Knights in a Lord's service, their swords seemed to be of castle steel, those men were fit for battle. Soldiers he decided. Their pouches that were full of the coin that tinkered with every laughter and sip of ale as they drank... and the hastily hidden banner of red and black beneath the floor a few feet from them told him enough of who they owed allegiance to.

The third group was the most likely to cause trouble, his group. There were six of them, a few were lightly armored in chain mail, a few had helmets but most had naught but tunics and breeches. Yet there was a hungry glint in their eyes when they looked around the inn. They did not drink, nor did they eat, merely waiting and watching. Sellswords, eyeing the coin of the rapidly drunk soldiers. Bronn himself was a young boy, but he had always been quick to learn, agile, and had a way with weapons. Bronn did not know if he could fight, but he knew he could kill... it did not take long to convince this sorry lot of that. Even at his age, he knew he could kill most of the men he was traveling with... but beggars could not be choosers. He needed a passage into Essos, these men could take him. As soon as he was there, he meant to ditch them and make his fortune.

"Look at 'is eyes," Toman pointed out, he was of the West Bronn knew from his name, "Purple, like the Targaryens." He was right, Bronn could see the stranger's eyes shine bright even from a distance, he had always had good sight. Maybe this cloaked man was a Lord? Bronn did not care, he would be no good for a ransom if he was traveling alone.

"If we capture 'im," Another answered, this one was of the Vale but Bronn did not know his name, they are mostly deserters from the war, "Maybe the new King will reward us?"

"Aye, right after he cuts your head off." It was the Essosi who had promised these deserters gold and glory in Essos if they joined him. He was one of the few remaining men from some sellsword company that was destroyed in the war Bronn had gathered. His name was even harder to remember... so he always called him a Lord, that pleased the fat man. "You lot pillaged through the Crownlands and raped a dozen women and ran from the war."

"He doesn't know that!" It was Duncan who answered, named after the Tall Knight Bronn thought with mirth, though he had no skill he had brute strength. He was something of a leader among this sorry party. "Look at 'im, any o' us can take him, he is too skinny." Bronn saw that he was, the stranger was neither very tall nor particularly big, he was only a little taller than him. Bronn could see pale skin with those purple eyes, and if he squinted his eyes, Bronn could even see some strands of hair. Hair so red they looked they were made of blood. He was too pretty to be a soldier Bronn could admit that but even if his eyes were right, his hair was wrong for a Targaryen. He would not tell Duncan that, once the tall man made his mind, it was better not to try and stop him... the severed head he had left at the last inn was a good reminder of that.

"He will when he asks why you are not with your commanders." The Essosi answered, "If you are lucky, maybe he will make it quick."

"Or he'll make us rich and pardon us for bringing him Dragonspawn," Toman answered and that did it for Duncan. The rumors were spreading far and wide. About how the stag King had laughed seeing the dead children of the Dragon Prince. The men were moving before Bronn had realized, he quickly fell behind them where he usually stayed. He wore chainmail over his tunic and the bastard sword he had taken off the corpse he had replaced among this group, that and his dirk. The only thing he owned.

"Can I help you?" The stranger spoke calmly without lifting his head as he sat eating, his voice was firm and there was no fear in it of the men who had surrounded him. Was he a fool or just brave Bronn wondered... he quickly looked to see that the Hedge Knights by the gate had already runoff. The drunk soldiers could not even stand straight to take a piss, there would no help from them. Had the stranger left guards in the stables? Evens still, he would be long dead before any could come to his aid.

"We have some friends who want to meet you, boy." Duncan sneered in response.

He was very young when he raised his head Bronn realized. Mayhaps, only a few years older than himself.

"Bring them here and they can meet me all they want."

Something was wrong Bronn realized with uncertainty pooling in his stomach and sweat rolling off his head. There was no fear in his eyes, nor on his face. "I think not," Duncan laughed and the men were laughing with him... all but him. "The stag King would reward us greatly for bringing him a purple-eyed bastard!"

It all happened in an instant. One moment Duncan made for the stranger's head, the next he was on the ground clutching his bleeding throat, gurgling with blood, something, a dagger stuck in his throat. It was too round to be a dagger and had no handle Bronn noted in the heat of the moment. It was all so quick, the table was flying and Toman was sputtering when his head fell off his shoulder.

The Essosi was a bit fast, having managed to grab his battle axe from his back but the stranger's sword... dark as night and black as coal cut through this axe and opened him from shoulder to groin in one swing all the same. The Valeman was on his knees, piss flowing from his breeches praying when the stranger grabbed his head. For a moment he stood there, looking him in the eye almost as if reading his thoughts before he beheaded him with one lazy swing. He was far stronger than his appearance suggested Bronn noted with terror gripping his very being.

Bronn touched his rear without shame when he smelled shit... and to his relief and it was not him but one of the drunk soldiers on the ground face white as a sheet. The innkeeper had stopped screaming by the time the stranger kneeled over the dead Valeman and used his tunic and clean his sword. He dropped his sword and raised his hands in surrender.

"I am n-not one of t-them, I swear they forced me to j-join." Bronn bit his cheek hard to stop himself from stuttering like a fool, the taste of blood filled his mouth but it served its purpose.

"You are not a good liar." The stranger answered, his red hair flowing down to his shoulders, he never raised his head to look at him. For a moment Bronn was tempted to stab him with his dirk but the fear stopped him. "What is your name?" He asked standing up.

"Jon stone."

"What is your name?"

"Rolland sand," Bronn answered with hesitation. Something planted itself in the ground right before his feet. It was the same type of dagger that killed Duncan, looking close, it looked like a rod. He wondered how the man could use something with no grip?

"One more lie and the next one goes through your leg," The man threatened, Bronn believed him. He didn't look the type to make idles threats. Despite the situation and very real possibility of him dying, the terror that gripped him fled. Oddly enough, the idea that he may die today in this lonely inn seemed comforting. Only the innkeeper remained, the soldiers had fled.

"My name is Bronn."

"Why should I let you live, Bronn?" The man answer bluntly, "You seem to keep bad company."

There is no good company to keep Bronn wanted to say... instead, he held his tongue. "I had no choice. They stopped to raid the farm I had been working on, one of them wanted to kill me so I killed him first. Their leader, the tall one you killed first liked me enough and told me to join them. He'd have killed me if I didn't." Bronn admitted, not the entire truth but it served well enough. "They... they were going to take me to Essos, maybe, I could serve you instead milord? I could squire for you?"

"It's 'my lord,'" The man corrected, "And I am no Lord nor am I knight. I am just a traveler."

"Then I could travel with you?" Bronn offered, he hoped he didn't sound as desperate as he was. "The roads are dangerous, we'd be safe in numbers."

"You think I need your safety?" He shook his head, "What use is the company of a liar?" Bronn winced, he saw right through me. "Why do you really want to join me, Bronn? I killed your... companions, I could simply kill you too."

Bronn's hand went to his dirk idly, his heart was thundering in his chest now. "I-I have nowhere else to go," Bronn admitted the truth. He felt those eyes on him, peering deep into his very being and the truth just came pouring out. "My father was a serving-man at Duskendale. When the Lord took the Mad King hostage they put a sword in his hand and sent him to die. Barristan the Bold cut through him like cutting through butter." Bronn did not remember when was the last time he had told this tale, "Ever since then, I have cheated, I have stolen, I have killed to survive. The farm... where they found me, I was planning on robbing them of their food and coin but Duncan saw to it first. I was hoping to find a passage across the sea with them and make my way as a sellsword... now I have no other path left but some soldier's sword through me."

"You have been stealing for years," The man shrugged, "You said it yourself, why worry now?"

"I never stole or made a nuisance big enough to catch any Lord's attention." Bronn explained, he had always made sure to stay discrete, "Duncan, on the other hand, had been raping and pillaging all through the countryside to Gulltown. With the war, he figured he could steal some coin and escape to Essos before any of the Lords got their shit together. He was wrong, there used to be fifteen men in his party... now there were only six. Some soldiers fell on them before they found me."

"Now those who ran from this inn saw what happened here... they will run to their Lords and soon enough, one of them will catch me and hang me for everything Duncan's gang did."

"You think I can keep you safe." The man responded, it was no question.

"I... I think I stand a better chance with you than I do on my own." Bronn responded, "I have no Gold nor any food. I doubt you would be leaving me any coin from Duncan's corpse... maybe I can take a risk. Run for Gulltown or maybe turn around for Maidenpool, beg for some ship captain to take me along but one misstep, and I am dead. I-I am no dead weight, I don't know what is it that you do but I can help you, I know how to fight, how to hunt."

The man was silent for a long time before he spoke, "Did they bring any horses?"

"Five, four for each man, I had to share one with the Valeman. We were the two youngest and smallest."

"We'll take two," The man spoke and Bronn was filled with relief, "You can keep the other three as payment... for our food and this mess." The stranger spoke to the innkeeper. Bronn had forgotten about her, she did not respond. She was shaking, terrified with fear, no doubt the blood scared the wits out of her.

The stranger sighed tiredly, "I take it Duncan kept all the Gold on him?" Bronn nodded, "Take the Gold and saddle the two strongest and sturdiest horses, I'll be along shortly." And so Bronn did. He fumbled through Duncan's cloak to find the pouch of gold, silver, and copper coins. The man walked by him towards the innkeeper who had fallen on her rear and was loudly praying to the seven and pissing herself. The red-head merely put his hand upon her head... for a moment he looked back to Bronn... and so he left the inn as fast as he could.

It was dark out, Bronn had lost time. For a moment, Bronn was tempted to just take the Gold and leave... then he thought better of it. This was a test, he realized, the stranger wanted to see what he would do. It was a lot of Gold... if he rode to Gulltown mayhaps... no, it was too risky. Given how close he was to Gulltown, chances are those soldiers were from there in the first place. Maybe he could go to Maidenpool, ride hard through the night but a raven could fly faster from Gulltown to Maidenpool... and this stranger may fall upon him in the night.

No, this man... whoever he was was his best chance at staying alive. He did not even know his name Bronn thought idly as he saddled two horses. He was too pretty to be a peasant but the way he fought, that was not how Lordlings or Knights fought. Bronn had seen his fair share of bloodshed yet the speed of that man, the power behind his swings. In the heat of the moment, Bronn had not realized... but this man was too short and thin to have cut through a battle axe and open up a fat man like the Essosi from shoulder to groin with a one-handed strike. Not even Duncan could do that, maybe the famed Mountain could.

Maybe it was his sword, that blade of his, dark as night and black as coal with a plain silver hilt with a red ruby at its center. Maybe it was Valyrian steel? Maybe he really was some long lost Targaryen bastard, maybe that's why he was hiding under a cloak and traveling alone... running from the stag king.

"I had half expected you to run." Bronn turned to face him as he entered the stables. In the moonlight, his eyes shone brightly He does look like a Valyrian King.

"You would have chased me down." Bronn tried to sound as nonchalant as possible, "I meant what I said in there, I may be a thief, but I have no intention of throwing away my life by betraying you." The man did not respond, he merely nodded, "What did you do with the woman?"

"Made sure she will not speak of us to anyone."

He has killed her Bronn thought and he looked him over, he was shrouded in his dark cloak again save for his head. He has killed five men in front of my eyes and a woman behind me yet there is not one drop of blood on him... how?

"Not that I am not grateful, why did you not just kill me?" Bronn asked, "You killed everyone else."

"Let's just say I have a soft spot for orphans of war." Bronn wondered what that meant, maybe he was an orphan himself.

"When we reach the next village, you need to get some new clothes." The man broke him from his musing.

"Why?"

"You smell."

Bronn frowned he did not smell but thought better of saying something back. "What am I to call you? I do not know your name."

"Nagato." Bronn tried saying it, it felt queer on his tongue, it was a strange name, he said as much.

"I am from a strange land."

"From far east?" Nagato groaned, and Bronn wondered if he took it as a slight and may retaliate. He mentally slapped himself, one day his tongue would get him killed.

"Is it really such a strange name?" He asked, "That any who asks it marks me a stranger and foreigner?" Bronn nodded. People of Westeros were sheep to the faith, a foreigner with a strange name would arise suspicion and earn no trust of them... peasants and high born alike.

"Duncan then... call me Duncan."

Bronn frowned, it felt strange to call such a short man Duncan but he complied all the same. "Where are we going... Duncan?"

"We are going to King's Landing." Bronn did a double-take. He nearly fell over from shock, he had thought this man smarter.

"What in the bloody hells for?" Bronn asked, and the stranger smiled the first time since he met him, a smile that did not reach his eyes.

"We are going topple a Mountain... still sure you wish to join me?"

Bronn wondered what he had gotten himself into.

Author's note: I wanted to do something different. I don't see anywhere near enough of Nagato, a character I really like and find fascinating in crossovers... especially like this. Initially, I wanted Naruto or Sasuke as the main character but the kind of plot I am going for does not work with either of them, it works for Nagato. This was just a teaser to introduce Nagato and Hardhome. You might think you know exactly what is happening or why or how Hardhome is a city... trust me you don't.

I have read a few fics with characters crossing over and deciding to become Kings beyond the wall or in Essos... the idea appeals to me but it is nothing so simple. You will see eventually, I merely ask you do not simply dismiss it as Nagato takes Westeros.

That said... if you liked the prologue and found it appealing, follow and favorite the story and leave me a review. Peace out.