**Chapter 2: Realization**
**Location:** Westeros, North, The Last Hearth **
**Time:** 274 AC **
**POV (Alaric)**
It has been four years since I found myself in Westeros, a world that many recognize from the Tv show of Game of Thrones. Waking up in this unfamiliar body in an alien world was a jarring experience. The food is dismal, living conditions are deplorable, and even the chamber pots are horrendous.
Observing my house, I've come to realize how dire our situation truly is. We barely resemble a noble house; the title doesn't fit us given our meager income and primitive lifestyle. Our castle, if it can even be called that, is nothing more than a fortified village. The largest, yes, but still a far cry from the grandeur I had expected.
Initially, I panicked. The strangeness of it all overwhelmed me. But as time passed, I accepted my situation, embracing the challenge of adapting to this harsh reality. At least here, I can use my skills to better myself. However, I had hoped for some advantages, some golden opportunities, some cheats from higher being that would distinguish me in this world, but received none, except for a large body, significantly bigger than the average newborn even among the other umber's children. Like some peculiar TikTok reel where a small lady has a sumo-sized child, that's me in this case, an oddity among the newborns of Westeros.
I continue to pretend to be a child, playing the role meticulously. Revealing my true nature would lead to my demise. In this medieval world, they'd label me a 'demon' and burn me at the stake without a second thought. Therefore, I maintain the facade of innocence, even though I am an adult in my mind.
Despite my careful facade, my situation is not without its challenges. The people of Westeros, especially in the North, are deeply rooted in tradition and superstition. They're wary of anything unusual, especially a child displaying an intellect beyond his years. I can't afford to be seen as different, not in a world where conformity is the norm.
I can't fathom to understand how some fanfiction shows their MC who were mere two-name day old to begin developing the likes of paper and glasses, to change the political governing of Westeros who were deeply rooted for 8000 years.
Like seriously Dude!. What they have not achieved in 8000 years, you are going to solve in a mere two years without knowing of its surrounding elements.
That's a red flag right there. If I have a two-year son who began inventing fucking antimatter technology without knowing how far the sun is, I am sure as hell I will burn that fucker alive.
I highly doubt the chemistry and chemical composition of elements were as same as they were on Earth, because of the presence of magic albeit minimal in the surroundings.
It's one thing to be ambitious, but it's quite another to leapfrog millennia of human knowledge and achievement.
*************
As I observe my father, Greatjon Umber,engaging in combat training with other household guards in the sparring grounds,I am truly astounded by his remarkable strength. When it comes to Greatjon Umber, You can't help but acknowledge that he is an absolute force of a nature, akin to the legendary Ronnie Coleman, albeit with exceptional fighting skills. His Physical prowess is undeniable, and he possesses the combat power to match. There is no denying the fact that Greatjon Umber is a force to be reckoned with, both in sheer Might and Martial skills.
In the North, strength is revered above all else. Lords can't afford to be idle here; they must demonstrate their power to command respect.
As much as I admire him, there's a distance between us, not just in physical stature but in understanding. I'm not his child, not truly. The memories of my past life still linger in my mind, shaping my perspective in ways he could never comprehend.
"Alaric, get over here!" my mother, Branda, calls out, her tone more authoritative than maternal. It's still difficult to refer to her as 'mother.' She's much younger than me, her youth a stark contrast to the role she plays. But titles and appearances must be maintained. I hurry to her side, the large body I inhabit moving with an agility that defies its size.
"Yes, mother?" I respond, my voice laced with innocence, a facade I've perfected over the years.
She studies me for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You're growing fast, Alaric," she says, her tone a mix of concern and pride.
Well, please madam if I don't grow, I will begin questioning my body.
"Soon, you'll need to start your learning with the measter."She turns and heads to move towards maester's room.
I nod, feigning excitement at the prospect and continued following her. In truth, I've been reading in secret. My father's strength is impressive, but I've come to understand that survival in this world requires more than physical prowess alone. Strategy, cunning, and knowledge are equally vital.
Take Tyrion Lannister as an example despite being a dwarf that fucker manages to survive the whole season. As for my father, where was he at that time?, dying at the hand of a man who probably hadn't lifted his sword for his entire life except for the lower one. Man being a Frey has its own perk at least you got to fuck some gals, and keep loitering in the Twin Tower. Those fuckers were geniuses let me tell you, You don't have to deal with anything and still could earn money. That's the dream of every capitalist. You have to give credit where it's due.
*****Author Note*****
Hey guys I hope you are still reading this fanfiction. It's my original creation and hope you guys are loving it. I want to give the reader an absolute masterpiece story and not waste their time.
Kindly leave your comment in the comment section and I will answer your queries.
And at last Shower me with POWER STONE..