Chapter 2: What Year?

… 'Aegon? Game of Thrones Aegon?' It was then it struck me, the revelation hitting me like a ton of bricks . . . or a speeding car. 

…

'Hot damn. I'm a Targaryen, aren't I?' Or more specifically, Young Griff, for that was just what it looked like. His blue hair, those girly eyelashes, and the fact one of the older men also had blue hair. 

'Oh fuck me.'

Ok, that wasn't something I expected. I . . . something happened and I found myself in the body of a boy whose forefathers… who could be called incestuous pompous twats and be completely correct in that insult. 

Whoever had the body before me didn't have any marks of inbreeding, but yet again, neither did the characters of whatever world he was thrown in. 

TV shows or books. This should be interesting. Hell, I could have been thrown into a fanfiction. I considered the latter the scariest.

Waking up in a completely different world and location, in a body that wasn't mine and with a million thoughts going through my mind, the first words that escaped my mouth were, "Oh."

Then I collapsed.

...

My eyes fluttered.

On their knees above me were the two men. It took a moment to focus and the world to become less of a blur. 

One was slim with a clean-shaven lined face. His hair was pulled back into a knot behind his head and he had grey eyes. 

The other man, likewise, was clean-shaven. Though like myself, his hair was dyed blue. 

Beneath I could see red roots and he had blue eyes. Pale-blue. I could now understand why Tyrion was unnerved in the books. There was something about them I couldn't help but avert my eyes to.

"H-hi," I said awkwardly, looking down and relieved they covered me in a blanket at the very least. 

At my awakening, the larger of the two men embraced me, his hold stronger than anything I'd experienced before. I struggled against it, fighting back a grimace. I never liked being touched, especially from a stranger. 

"Ugh . . . who are you?" I had an inkling, but it never hurt to get the name from the person themselves.

The man froze and backed away, his eyes staring at me. Once more, my own eyes averted. "You know." I shook my head shyly. 

"Griff . . . Jon. Jon Connington. I raised you since you were a child. Surely you remember. Are . . . are you saying you don't remember me?"

I simply shook my head once more. I knew of him. Knowing him, however, was a different matter altogether. I knew that he was the exiled lord of Griffin's Roost. 

An exiled knight who was in love with Prince Rhaegar, as well as being guilty over what he saw as his failures during Robert's Rebellion. 

I knew little else of the man. It was strange knowing some of the characters secrets and the like, but not knowing much else beyond that point.

He turned to Haldon. "What happened to him? What happened?" The words became louder and I pried myself from his grasp.

Haldon Halfmaester shrugged. "I don't know. I've never heard of a fever making one forget. Mayhaps he knocked his head? Tell me, lad. Do you remember anything? What do you remember before you woke up?"

I shrugged. I could remember the car, and everything before that point, well, bits of it anyway. So I got hit and found myself in Essos. 

It had to be. I didn't think I got to the point of the War of the Five Kings. Hopefully it won't start any time soon. 

"Nothing really," I lied, trying to form words. How could I explain I came from another world so different from their own? To complete strangers nonetheless. Well, I knew them from the books . . . if only in part. 

"J-Jon . . . may I ask something? What year is it?"

"Year?" It was Haldon who answered. "The year is two-hundred-four-and-ninety, after Aegon's conquest of Westeros. Why do you ask, Griffin?"

Griffin? When I remembered I should be keeping my identity secret, well, the identity of the boy I somehow possessed. 

"Just . . . something that was on my mind. I think I need some rest. I don't feel well."

"A wise idea," the Halfmaester responded eagerly. "Have some rest and Septa Lemore will bring you some soup. I'm sure you're still recovering. It was a nasty fever you had. Make you have enough sleep and eat. Hopefully it'll all come back to you."

I was feeling hungry, but in no way was I tired. 

Far from it. The knowledge of being thrown into a world populated by zombies and dragons and ice elves wasn't going to allow me to have a good night's rest. 

If anything, I wanted to explore and learn about this world. If this was truly happening, if I was truly here, I needed to prepare. I couldn't afford to go in blind.

That's what I did. While Haldon and Jon Connington asked – fairly strictly – that I remain inside the small shack built on the side of the river, I didn't sleep. 

Instead I requested some books and was surprised to learn that they were written in English, well, at least those in the common tongue. 

Which to be honest, I was most thankful for. One language dealt with at least.

I was midway through reading about the Seven Kingdoms when Septa Lemore walked in. 

She wore dull grey robes with a veil that covered her hair. Around her neck was a loose lace and on it dangled one of the crystals used by the faith. 

She was a fair looking woman. Her hair and eyes were dark while her skin was tanned from the sun. 

Something I noted quickly was that her eyes weren't purple, they were brown. They concluded it was unlikely to be Ashara Dayne of Starfall.

"How are you, child?" she asked, her voice soothing. The septa took a seat beside me, patted down her garbs and looked down at the book I was reading. Her eyes skimmed through it. 

"The houses of the Crownlands." She hummed a sound and cupped my cheek. Her hands were warm, though the skin of her fingers were coarse.