Genesis of the Empire - A Game of Thrones Fanfic

A man is sitting in a fireplace, staring deep into the flames as he delved deeper into his thoughts. Over the past years the tone of his home has gone darker. Much colder, more so than the normal coolness of this far Northern Island during the summer.

The reason for this change is that the population has significantly decreased. When he was just a boy of 6 he vividly remembers playing with other children, visiting his aunt's and uncle's.

Now though there's just the two of them. Him and his father.

It started the day his Mother died, he remembers it only so little now, of how she hugged him one last time, looked him in the eye and said meekly 'I love you my dear Marcie.'

It was the last time he saw his mothers' eyes.

Soon after uncle Jace died, then uncle Dan, and all the others. An uncurable disease, got each of us until Me and my Father are left.

And for years we moved on, we did our best planting seeds on the farms our Ancestors built, Fished on the shores of this little Island we call home, we built a new house, one for the two of us. And then he trained me in the art of swordfighting, readied me to wield Astra. He taught me how to use the Bow, how to plan strategies, how to manage an army, how to maintain a campaign.

But most of all he drilled into me the History of our House, it's past glories, the many battles where our Ancestors put their enemies to heel, He taught me our culture, our tradition, and i embraced it.

He went on to tell me a story. Of how 5 Families fled to this Island, us - the Atlas'- as the main branch, and the 4 other familied as the side branch. For millenias we endured and endured. We sowed the land, we made farms, we built homes, but now we fell. Again. Not due to our enemies, but because of nature herself.

Maybe what they say about us millenias ago was not true. Either way the future of our line is up to me, and considering the amount of women in this Island, i'd say the future is grim.

But before the 5 families fled to this Island, before farms, before small villages, we ruled the known world. My Ancestors looked upon every piece of land and sea, and they brought it down to heel. They reached the stars and the heavens became their slave.

But the Empire did not last forever. This great Empire of the old fell, the reason unknown, my Ancestors burned the scrolls of the downfall's History and forbade anyone of ever speaking of it again. Father says it's to not take revenge, some of my uncle said it's to make us set our sights in the future and not in the past. But nevertheless, the Empire did fall.

Furthermore, my Ancestors burned the scrolls of our Empire's History, the culture, the growth, the historic battles, the names of the Emperors, everything. Only leaving some to carry it ourselves, for our future generstions to learn. They forbade the Maesters of the Citadel of ever speaking of it again, and the Maesters obliged. Because we created them. The living proof of this is that in the last 10,000 Years no one has ever set foot on this Island besides us.

As he muses in his thoughts he remembered his father, sick and may be on his death bed.

He picked up the glass of tea and drank it, stood up and walked with calmness to where his Father resided. His demeanor is not normal, for a person losing his only companion for most of his life it is not. It is as though he has accepted it, which in fact he has.

As he sat beside his father and made his presence known, his father lifted up his weak hands and took Marcellus' hands.

"Have you made your decision Marcie?"

"Not yet, Father." He answered solemnly.

"I will let you seek it out on your own, But i wish you to have a good life. There is still plenty of years ahead of you, don't spend it in this Island." He adviced weakly.

"I will think on it Father" his voice shaking.

"Good. I have gave you lessons, lessons i know you will embrace and keep. Now, you'll become the Head of House Atlas." He finished while spending all of his strength standing, refusing Marcellus' hand for assistance.

"Here is Astra." while getting a sword beside his bed.

"Kneel." he said in a rasp voice.

Marcellus did so without a word.

He pulled out the sword, it was a long sword, it's sharp metal glowing bright Silver, the Hilt is colored black, the crossguards silver, with engravings in it. The sword had a Diamond as it's pommel, representing a Star.

The Sword was made of Damascus Steel, a Steel greater than even Valyrian Steel. When you look closely at the sword you will see engravings in the language of their old Empire.

"I regis regum, fati domini" which translates to

"I belong to the King of Kings, Master's of Fate."

As Marcellus kneeled, His father held out Astra, using both of his hands offering the sword to him.

"I, Octacius Atlas, Head of House Atlas, Descendant of Alexander Atlas, hereby passes on Astra, the Sword of the King of Kings, A symbol of power, to Marcellus Atlas, son of Octacius Atlas, do you accept?" His father's voice getting weaker and weaker each word.

"I accept." Marcellus answered curtly.

Reducing to a whisper, his father continued "Do you swear, to use this great sword against those who oppose you, to use it to protect your allies and friends, and to use it to the benefit of House Atlas?"

"I swear."

"Then I name you Head of House Atlas, King of Kings, as is my right."

Marcellus took the sword and stood up. Knees buckling.

"Tame fate my son, 'The Stars you Form' will forever shine bright in the Heavens. Do what you must." and with final words, His father died, Marcellus catching him.

A single tear escaped his eyes, and none escaped again.