Torrhen the Thunderbolt

The first thing I noticed was the cold. A chill that seemed to seep into my very bones, so different from the warm California weather I'd grown accustomed to. Then came the pain—a sharp, searing sensation that lanced through my skull. I grasped my temples, my fingers tangling in long hair that definitely wasn't mine.

As I opened my eyes, a flood of unfamiliar memories cascaded through my mind. Stone walls. Howling winds. Snow-capped mountains. And a name:

**Torrhen Stark.**

"What the hell?" I muttered, my voice deeper than I remembered, tinged with an accent I'd never had before.

I blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of my surroundings. I was in a large, circular room with rough stone walls. A fire crackled in a hearth nearby, casting flickering shadows across the room. And there, seated around a heavy wooden table, were three people staring at me with concern.

Two men, one older than the other, both with long faces, brown hair, and piercing grey eyes that seemed to look right through me. And a woman, beautiful despite her obvious exhaustion, with long dark hair and familiar features that tugged at my new memories.

My new... *brothers.* And *sister.*

"Torrhen?" the younger man—Benjen, my mind supplied—spoke hesitantly. "Are you alright?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. How could I explain that I wasn't Torrhen? That just moments ago, I'd been Samuel Carter, a 17-year-old Medical sciences student at Stanford, preparing for my final exams?

"I... I'm fine," I managed to croak out. "Just a headache."

The older man—Eddard, or Ned as he was called—nodded gravely. "These are trying times for us all, brother. Robert's Rebellion has ended, but at great cost."

The words triggered another flood of memories. A war. Our father and eldest brother, dead. And Lyanna... my eyes darted to the woman at the table. She was alive, but her survival was a closely guarded secret.

"Ned," Lyanna spoke, her voice hoarse. "We need to discuss Jon. He can't stay here."

Jon. Eddard's bastard. No, Lyanna's bastard. The son of Rhaegar Targaryen, hidden away as Ned's illegitimate child to protect him from Robert Baratheon's wrath.

The weight of these revelations, of this new world I'd been thrust into, suddenly felt overwhelming. I needed space, time to think.

"I... I need some air," I said, standing abruptly. "Excuse me."

I squeezed Lyanna's shoulder as I passed, an instinctive gesture of comfort from Torrhen's memories. As I walked out of the room, my mind reeled. Just hours ago—or was it a lifetime?—I'd been stressing about my Java programming project and planning a date with my girlfriend, Ana.

Ana. My chest tightened at the thought of her. Would I ever see her again? Or my parents, who had sacrificed so much to send me to Stanford? All those years of hard work, the dreams of Silicon Valley... gone in an instant.

I found myself in a long, drafty corridor. Torches flickered in iron sconces along the walls, illuminating tapestries depicting scenes of battle and hunt. My feet, clad in heavy leather boots, moved of their own accord, guiding me to a familiar door.

My chambers. Or rather, Torrhen's.

I pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped inside. The room was sparse but comfortable, with a large four-poster bed, a writing desk, and a window overlooking a snow-covered courtyard.

As the reality of my situation truly sank in, I felt my legs give way. I collapsed onto the bed, clutching a fur pillow to my chest. And for the first time since I could remember, I cried.

I cried for the life I'd lost, for the family I might never see again, for the future that had been ripped away from me. But most of all, I cried because I was alone—truly alone—in a world I barely understood, in a body that wasn't my own.

As my sobs subsided, I took a deep, shuddering breath. I was Torrhen Stark now, for better or worse. And in this world of political intrigue and impending danger, I couldn't afford to be weak.

"Pull yourself together, Mark," I whispered to myself. "You've got a new life to figure out."

With that thought, I pushed myself up, wiped my eyes, and walked to the window. Beyond the walls of Winterfell, the vast, untamed North stretched out before me. A new world, full of challenges and possibilities.

Whatever came next, I knew one thing for certain: life as Torrhen Stark would be anything but boring.

The Next Morning

I slowly woke up, taking in my surroundings. The stone room had a chill to it, and I clutched my blanket to my face to shield it from the pale northern light filtering through the window. Just as I was about to drift back to sleep, my door swung open, and Lyanna walked in.

I felt her sit on the edge of my bed near the top right side and gently shake me—a gesture that seemed uncharacteristically gentle, according to my new memories.

"Torr, wake up. Benjen's going to depart soon," she spoke softly.

I grumbled in response, burrowing deeper into the furs.

"Oi, wake up!" she suddenly yelled in my ear, more in line with the Lyanna I was coming to know.

"I'm up, I'm up," I mumbled back, reluctantly opening my eyes.

"I want you down in the Great Hall in five minutes!" she declared as she strode out the door.

"She's a handful, alright," I muttered to myself, running a hand through my hair as I got up. I went through the motions of Torrhen's morning routine, grateful for the muscle memory that guided me through the unfamiliar tasks.

As I walked down the hallway towards the courtyard, I sifted through Torrhen's memories. Fourteen years old, the youngest of the Starks, and considered a man grown in this world. Brunette, grey eyes, somewhat long face—the Stark look through and through. Trained in court etiquette, dance, and swordsmanship, as was customary for a highborn lord. Good with numbers and skilled in oratory.

"Thank God I have his experience and instincts as well," I muttered to myself, realizing how lost I'd be without them.

I entered the Great Hall, immediately noticing six men in black armor. Among them stood Benjen, now dressed in the same somber attire.

"Brother, you really are going then," I said, deciding to maintain Torrhen's persona, who had tried to dissuade Benjen from this path.

"I am," Benjen replied, turning to face me. He continued speaking, offering words of wisdom to Eddard, which I mostly tuned out. As they embraced, I stepped forward to do the same.

"Take care of yourself and Lyanna," Benjen muttered to me.

"I will," I promised. "Take care of yourself too, and don't freeze your pecker off at the Wall." Benjen chuckled at that, the sound tinged with a hint of sadness.

He looked at Lyanna one last time before exiting the hall. We watched as he mounted his horse alongside his new brothers and rode away, the hoofbeats fading into the distance.

Lyanna emerged from the shadows as Benjen disappeared from view. "He really went to the Wall, didn't he?" she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"He did," Eddard confirmed, his tone grave.

"Let's go eat something. I'm starving," I spoke up, trying to lighten the mood as I walked towards the dining room. My attempt earned me a light smack to the head from Lyanna.

Half an hour later, the three of us sat in the dining room, having broken our fast. The mood was somber, the absence of Benjen keenly felt.

"Torrhen," Eddard began, breaking the silence, "since you are a man now, which lordship will you take? Moat Cailin or Sea Dragon Point?"

I considered my options carefully. Both had their pros and cons.

Sea Dragon Point wasn't in shambles, which was a plus. But it was cold as fuck and had little to no trade options.

Moat Cailin, on the other hand, had access to the Narrow Sea and was a choke point on the Kingsroad, meaning major trade routes and the potential for tolls and taxes. The land could potentially be treated from a swamp to fertile cropland. However, the castle was in ruins, and transforming the swampy land would require a significant investment.

The decision hinged on one crucial factor. "Ned, how much coin will I get to start with?" I asked.

"Ten thousand gold dragons," Eddard answered.

With that sum, the choice was clear. "Moat Cailin, it is," I declared. "Although, we should discuss the elephant in the room first." I looked pointedly at Lyanna, inadvertently insulting her with the comparison.

Her eyes narrowed at the perceived slight, but I pressed on.

"What about her?" Eddard asked, his voice low and cautious.

"She's alive, Ned. Thank the gods for that," I began, choosing my words carefully. "But if Robert found out about her and that... that child, it could mean war. And your wife will arrive here within two months at most."

I hesitated to call Jon a bastard, even though technically he was. But I had to maintain Torrhen's persona, at least for now.

Eddard's face darkened at my words. "What do you suggest, brother?"

I took a deep breath, knowing my next words could shape the future of not just our family, but potentially the entire Seven Kingdoms.

"We need a plan," I said firmly. "A way to protect Lyanna and Jon while maintaining the peace Robert has won. And we need to figure out how to introduce Lyanna to your wife without raising suspicion."

Lyanna leaned forward, her earlier annoyance forgotten in the face of this crucial discussion. "I've been thinking about that," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "What if... what if I wasn't Lyanna Stark anymore?"

Eddard and I exchanged a puzzled glance. "What do you mean, sister?" Eddard asked.

"What if Lyanna Stark died in that tower, as everyone believes?" she continued, her eyes shining with a mix of determination and fear. "And I... I could be someone else. A cousin, perhaps, or a ward of the family who's come to help care for Jon."

I shook my head firmly, my mind racing with the potential pitfalls of her plan. "No, that's too risky, Lyanna. Creating a false identity and a backstory... there are too many ways it could fall apart. One slip, one person asking the wrong question, and everything crumbles."

Eddard nodded slowly, his face etched with concern. "Torrhen's right. The risk is too great."

Lyanna's eyes flashed with frustration. "Then what do you suggest? We can't just pretend nothing has happened!"

"And we can't claim Jon as Brandon's son either," I added, seeing the thought form in Lyanna's eyes. "The timeline doesn't add up. People would ask questions we couldn't answer."

The room fell into a tense silence as we all grappled with the enormity of our dilemma. Then, an idea struck me.

"What if..." I began slowly, "what if Lyanna dyed her hair and disguised herself as a slave? One that Eddard freed during the war?"

Lyanna's eyes widened, and Eddard leaned forward, intrigued.

I continued, the plan forming as I spoke. "She could come with me to Moat Cailin. It would further decrease the chances of her being discovered. And Jon... Jon would still be Eddard's bastard son, as the realm already believes."

Eddard's face was a mask of conflicting emotions. "It's not ideal," he said softly, "but it might be our best option to keep everyone safe."

Lyanna sat back, her fingers absently twirling a strand of her dark hair. "Dye my hair? Pretend to be a slave?" She sounded uncertain, but I could see the wheels turning in her mind.

"It would be a drastic change," I acknowledged, "but it's far less risky than creating a false identity from scratch. And it gives you a chance to be near Jon, even if you can't claim him as your own."

As we delved into the details of this audacious plan, I couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and trepidation. This was it—my first real step into the dangerous world of Westerosi politics. And as Torrhen Stark, soon-to-be Lord of Moat Cailin, I was determined to play the game and win.

The stakes were higher than I'd ever imagined in my old life. This wasn't just about personal success anymore; it was about protecting my family and potentially shaping the future of the entire realm. As I looked at Lyanna's determined face and Eddard's grim nod of approval, I knew that our lives would never be the same.

The game of thrones had begun, and we were now players in a dangerous dance of deception and survival.