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The girl of ice and fire (Re Zero/ ASOIAF Crossover)

Chapter 1

Accelerator

Well-known member
Author
James looked at the rats, scurrying around him.

He looked at the dirt and mud, caking the streets of Kings Landing, in Flea bottom.

He looked at the blood flowing out from within him, onto the ground, slowly mixing with the mud and turning it into a reddish brown sludge. His vision began to fade, and his body began to feel heavy. He was dying. He could feel it. This was the end for him, huh? Dying alone in an empty alley at fleabottom, with his body soon to be thrown into a ditch and devoured by rats. Born into stink and shit, and dying in it as well. Darned.

He had been so bloody stupid...

He had been called.... James the knight. It was a jest, at first. A mockery. But he took it up, all the same. It was a title, after all, and titles always had power. Just look at the goldcloaks and the nobility. He had found a sword, finding on the corpse of a sellsword that was lying dead in a back alley behind the whorehouse. Poor bastard must have taken one of the girls out to the back, before she stabbed him and left him for dead. He didn't have any coins left with him, but he still had a sword. And, well, in Flea bottom one took any advantage they could get. Even if the advantage was a poorly made bastard sword that was barely a sharpened hunk of metal.

He had taken to bringing it around for show, swaggering to show it off. Using it to intimidate other people to give him a wide berth. Used it to scare off a bunch of punks hoping to cause trouble. Even then, he had started to practice swinging it, pretending to be a knight. Finding out and figuring out how to best use it to slash, stab, and kill. He even managed to score a few kills using it, further cementing his reputation and his street cred. He had a name now. James Falseknight. Piss him off, and he'll gut you with that sword he's using. People began to respect him now. Began to even call him 'sir'. Hah!

Then he forgot that overconfidence was a slow and insidious killer, and got shanked in the stomach by a street urchin while his buddies distracted him.

"Am I going to die here, like a dog? Like a sack of garbage with no hope, nor future?" He wondered. He could even hear voices now.

"Are you alright? What happened? Its ok, I'll save you!" Ah, what a beautiful voice. Like silver bells. Was that the angels of the seven, that his mother had told him about so long ago? Or was it the maiden? He felt his body being rolled over, and for a moment, he faced the sky. And then he saw the angel.

Beautiful. Silver hair, with purple eyes. Lips that looked so soft and alluring. A face, filled to the brim with concern. Concern for him. This was the first time he had seen such an expression directed to him. He felt two hands placed on his stomach, and a warm feeling travel across the stab wound.

"Its too late. I'm going to die." He thought. But it was still a nice feeling, though.

The last thing he saw, before the world went black, is the girl turning her face, and.... pointed ears?
 
Chapter 2
James awoke.

He was... alive?

He wasn't in the seven hells? Then that means that what he saw before his sight faded must have been a dream. A nice dream, though. Seven hells, that girl was beautiful.

"You shouldn't move too much after a stabbing like that. The bleeding might have been stopped, but moving too much or acting to strenuously might cause you unnecessary injuries. For now, just rest."

A voice like silver bells... wait, what on earth?

It was at this point that he realized his position. He was still lying on his back, facing up. But the wound on his stomach no longer burned, and he longer felt himself weakening. Instead, except for a dull ache, the stab itself no longer hurt. He was still in that filthy alley, still covered in blood.... and as he looked up, he saw himself looking up to one of the most beautiful girls he had ever seen.

Pale, creamy and smooth skin. Purple eyes gazed down upon him, somehow exotic yet filled to the brim with concern. Silver hair surrounded her face, pale white, making her look appear angelic. Like that of the Targaryens, or the rumored prostitutes of Lys.

The prettiest girl he had ever seen..... and he was lying on her lap. It was so comfortable. He felt as if he could just lie there forever....

"Hey, you better not be thinking dirty thoughts about my daughter! Otherwise, I'll have to freeze several of your body parts off!" A high pitched voice appeared out of nowhere, startled, James leapt to his feet, abandoning that extremely comfortable position to look around. He saw noone, no one that could have spoken yet remained hidden. Where was he? Where was the threat?

"Puck, don't startle him. He's just been injured. Give him a break." The girl's voice rang out, with a note of admonishment towards the speaker. Then he saw who had spoken. A strange, ferret like creature, was.... floating in the air? It was small, enough to fit in his hand, with a tail several times its body length. Its fur, was grey and white. A small purple accessory was hanging on its shoulder. And it was... talking and floating?

"A demon? Or a spirit?" He asked, stupefied by the sight before him. Old man Septon had always warned against beings like this, monsters guised in unremarkable or even attractive forms, hoping to tempt men away from the Light of the Seven. At least, that as what he said when he wasn't chugging down wine or being stone cold drunk. Was this what he meant? But the girl had saved his life. Surely it couldn't be all that bad.

"I don't know what you're thinking of, but don't be so scared. As long as you're not a danger to my daughter, I don't really care about you." the creature was now winking at him, spinning around in the air without a care in the world. It didn't look dangerous, but you could never tell with magic. And that would explain how he was still alive. He only hoped that it didn't render him sterile. Or later transform him into a withered husk of a man. "So.... you're friendly? Not going to cripple my limbs, blind me, or render me sterile? Nor transform me into a withered corpse?"

That prompted a retort from the girl. "Of course not. Puck would never do such a thing. Besides, I need something from you." Of course. No one helped another for help. Not in Kings Landing. Especially not in Flea bottom. What would she ask for? Coin? Money? Service? Be her slave? Nobles like her were always capricious and unreasonable. Whatever. If it was too much, he'll just kill her. Not like sorcerers are good in close combat, anyway.

"I would like you to tell me where I am. Just a few minutes ago, I was in the forest. And then I suddenly found myself within this city. Tell me, where am I in Lugnica?" The girl seemed to be.... totally lost. In fact, she didn't seem to even know that this was the capital. James had never heard of Lugnica. If it existed, it was very very far from Kings Landing.

"I'm afraid.... that I've never heard of that place. If it exists, its quite far from here. I'm afraid that if you go there, you'll probably need to either hire a wagon or take a ship." This did not seem to surprise nor deter the girl. Brushing her skirts, she began to leave. "Thank you for your help. Let us meet again."

"Wait! Is that all? You saved my life! Aren't you going to ask for more? I didn't even help you!" James didn't usually look a gift horse in the mouth. But this was a new thing for him. Someone had helped him, even saved his life... and did not ask for anything in compensation. This had literally never happened before. People don't help each other in Flea Bottom. The entire place was rotten, from top to bottom. For goodness sake, he had seen men kicking children's corpses into ditches without anyone even raising an eyebrow! Even if James was no her, he couldn't stand the thought of having his life saved and not doing anything with it.

"Do you even know where this place is?" A shake of the head confirmed his suspicions. "This is Flea Bottom, of Kings Landing. This is a total shithole. I don't know what kind of magic you have. But if you're not prepared here, you'll get enslaved, robbed, killed, or worse. At the very least, let me escort you around. They call me the False Knight. People tend to give me a wide berth. Or at the very least, let me bring you back to my place. Unless you have someone waiting for you back at home?"

The girl blinked, and replied. "No, I have no family nor friends back there. Its just a familiar environment. Though.... this place does seem rather run down." She glanced at the dirty walls and the trash littering the streets. "There's no need for you to invite me back. Its just a small thing I did-"

"Small thing!" This time, James was almost shouting, but he held himself back. "You saved my life. I admit it, I'm not a good person. Nor a decent one. But let it never be said that I am ungrateful." With that, she could only nod, albeit hesitantly. "Oh, and by the way, what's your name? Mine's James."

"Emilia."

"That's a wonderful name." he said absentmindedly. "Also another thing. With that appearance of yours, please cover your face. It'll get you killed or kidnapped over here."

A/N: Please review. Especially the dialogue.
 
The introductions was finished, and now back to work. First of all, was the greatest of all needs. Food. "You got any money on you?" asked James. She shook her head, holding out a pair of open palms, signifying that she had nothing.


Nothing but the clothes on her back, huh? That was unfortunate. But… there were ways and means of getting money. Even in Flea bottom. Or at least a meal. He took her hand, and pulled her up. "I know a way that you can find work," He said, to her face. "But you gotta be careful. Most people…. If they knew what you could do, they would kidnap you, and enslave you. Be discreet, okay?" She nodded, her innocent eyes wide.


They went out, back into the street. He remembered. Old man Lan. A… shady character, but honourable in his own way. He remembered how he couldn't run much anymore, since he got that infection on his leg. A sore. One that leaked pus and ran red. The maester had said that it was untreatable, but with this girl's abilites….


They passed by several alleys and backs of houses, and each time Emilia saw a body or a child, she stopped, and he had to pull her away. Stupid girl. If you stopped for everyone, you would never be able to do anything. And you'll die, too. He pulled her on her hands, pulling her away from a child begging for money in a corner, his hands held out forlornly, his blind eyes staring unblinking.



"You can't help them yet." He whispered, trying to keep himself calm. This girl was going to kill herself. "Help yourself. Then help them. You are no use dead." The girl could only shake her head, probably out of stubbornness. Nevermind then.


They got to a door. A small house, barely a few rooms, sandwiched between a bar and an inn. The house looked rickety, but the windows and door was barred with stout steel. The owner, did not want anyone to break in by force. He knew what to do. Taking the door knocker, he knocked a short rhythm, that would designate him as a friend. He waited for a short while, fidgeting along with Emilia. The city around him bustled, the stink pricking his nostrils more than usual. He could feel Emilia's hand in his own, as it moved as she looked back and forth, seemingly in shock 'Never seen such suffering before, eh? Girl'. He thought smugly to himself.


The door opened, and they went in. Behind them, the door swung shut, and was barred with a metal latch and a wooden block. The air was musty, and lighted up with dirty candles. The room was dirty, filthy, covered from corner to corner with miscellaneous items. Baubles, swords, staves, jewellery, clothes… all of it piled up in haphazard piles, in some strange sort of organization. He had come here before, and long since given up on discerning Old Man Lan's pattern or figuring out how he knew where his stuff was. Now, his purpose was food. And contacts.


The man in question, was a balding man with grey hairs and a stout, strong body. His eyes were half-closed, as if he had spent too much time squinting with them and forgotten how to look normal. His nose was bent, with a scar across his right cheek that was a deep, angry red. Arms were burly with work moving heavy goods back and forth. But that image of strength was false. As the image of masculinity moved, it was hesitant and jerky. Old Man Lan had a limp. Probably from some dirty water or something. Maybe a wound from a pin or a knife. But it didn't matter. Being wounded or crippled in Flea Bottom was a death sentence, and everyone knew it. That was why there was the door knocker and the barricades. People were already eying his territory, and no one was willing to risk his neck for Old Man. His days were numbered, until someone worked up the courage to break the door down and slit his throat while he stood there helpless; until his wound was healed.


Jaime put on his best smile, and waved. "Hey, Old Man. Long time no see. Got any food?"


"None for you, damned kid. You cleaned out my stocks. Besides, who's that. Some noble or merchant? Damn you, if you get the goldcloaks on me, I'll rat you out." As always, he was grumpy. But he didn't throw him out. Good sign.


"Nah. He's just some mysterious medicine man. Remember all those rumours of the magix and grumpkins? Those tricks made by those old crones? He can do it." Lan looked at him like he was an idiot, or insane. He couldn't blame him. The past few hours made him think he was dreaming. He turned to look at Emilia, looking at her eyes hidden beneath the hood, telling her to play along.


"You got a wound, right? Mind if you show it to us?" He looked at him for a moment, then bent down, to show the wound. The sore was festering, releasing pus from the hole, the surrounding skin an angry red. The sore itself was the size of a thumbnail, and as he watched, some…. Filthy liquid oozed from it. That was bad.


He pointed it to Emilia, hoping that she would get the message. She bent down, hands over the wound. And a glow erupted from her hand, streaming over the sore. First was a wave of energy that cleansed away the black gunk and the pus filling it, and the red colour faded from the skin. Then a green light shone, and the broken skin began to mend itself back together. After the glow faded, nothing was left, except for flawless skin. It was as if nothing had happened there.


Old Man Lan bent over, looking at his leg, and took a few steps. "What! Its as if nothing had happened!" He took a few more steps, walking in a circle. He looked at Emilia, hidden under her hood with new eyes. "Heya, sir, why don't you fix up this scar? It always hurts when the day's cold." Emilia complied, her hands reaching up to his face. Another glow, and the angry red scar, poorly stitched shut, was gone, with only smooth skin. He rubbed his face, blinking and looking at his hand.


He went to the back, and came back, with some polished hand mirror. Looking into it, he spied on his cheek, feeling for the scar. Nothing happened. Lan placed the mirror on a counter, looking at Jaime and Emilia. "Well…. That's certainly something. You've earned your keep, kid. Maybe food for a week?"


A week. That was good. But he couldn't just let that get by. "A week? How many maesters are willing to do work for a wharf scum like you? Who has the skill to fix up the scar, and heal that sore? How much money does it cost, even, for the medicines. Besides, we know that you couldn't defend yourself with a bad leg like that. More."


Old Man Lan grimaced at that, and his eyes burned with anger for a moment. But only for a moment. Then he shrugged. "So how much?"


"A month."


"Deal."


They walked out of the shop, chewing on cheese and bread. He grinned at Emilia, and he saw that she returned it, her cheeks stuffed with food. He swung an arm over her shoulder, putting his head alongside hers. "See, Emilia? That's you do business. And backscratching."


"Backscratching?" her words were still muffled with the food.


"Yep. Scratch my back, I scratch yours. That's how you survive in hell. You saved me. I give you a home, and teach you stuff. You heal someone, they give you food. That's how you get around and don't die. Maybe you heal a bunch of mercenaries, and they'll protect you or somethin'. Or for coin." she nodded at that. Good. Maybe she won't be a walking target for everyone with a shiv.


"Anyway, let's just go home now."


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They went home, barring the door behind them. By this time, the sun had already set, and the night itself was darkening. Emilia had helped this time, again, with her magic, a light had sprung from her hand. The walk back home had been surprisingly… secure, without needing to fear an attack springing from the shadows, and being able to actually watch out for any detritus was a boon that James hadn't predicted.


The trip back was without incident, and as they turned to retire, entering the room he had in his house. Until James realized something.


There was only one bed.


Truly, it was not much of a bed. A small bunch of crates and boxes of equal height, stacked together to form a flat, hard surface on the floor, above the rats and the dirt. And then covered by stolen sheets, rags, and such. And then padded with several bags of cotton he had somehow stolen, and a pillow he had taken from a merchant house had broken into.


It wasn't much. But it was his. One of the few luxuries he had. The problem was, was that he couldn't even imagine ordering Emilia to sleep on the dirty floor. The very idea of that beautiful skin and pale white clothing even laying to rest on the filthy floor brought shivers to his body. He suppressed the sudden nausea. Yet, he didn't want to lie on the floor, either!


"What's wrong?" a voice asked, beautiful in the night. He looked at her. She had seated there, on a crate beside the bed, the wooden box acting like a chair.


Even in the dim candle light, she was beautiful. Her face, one masked with concern. She had pulled her hood down, and her hair now spilled across her shoulders, the silver shining the darkness, only matched by the paleness of her skin. Her purple eyes, her lips…. He could barely describe it. He made his decision. She had saved his life, and been the first…. friend he had. He had run about with the boys at the pub, and had a few acquaintances at the seedier taverns. But nothing like this.


"There's only one bed. You take it. I'll… find another way." He sighed internally. He supposed that he'll have to take the floor. He sighed, and motioned for her to take the bed.


She looked at it, seemingly puzzled. "Why don't we simply share?" She asked, as if she hadn't just asked him something absurd. He looked at her, wondering if she was truly this sheltered. Does she truly know? Where on earth was she here, before she came in Flea bottom? Some kind of Convent? Most definitely not of the Silent Sisters… some sheltered nobleman's bastard daughter, hidden from the world?


"Urm…." James fumbled, for the first time in his life feeling anxious and awkward at someone before him. He always had a quip or a one-liner, but before Emilia's wide eyes and tilted head, he suddenly felt that it would be far too…. Unholy to tell her of these things. Perhaps he could simply try and tell her in a roundabout way?


"Well, let's just say that…. Falling asleep, beside a man, in a strange location, may be bad for you. You might get hurt, or something. Basically, normally women don't sleep next to strange men, because of danger." He tried to articulate his words, trying to get the message across.


It didn't work.


"Are you going to hurt me, James?" The question was mischievous, and he could see those eyes looking at him. By the Seven, those beautiful eyes. "Never."


She giggled at that, her face lighting up into a smile, and James felt something flutter within his stomach. Embarrassment, or panic? Did he say something stupid? Was she thinking him a miserable fool, or an idiot at best?


She stood up suddenly, and grabbed onto his arm. Surprised, he lost his balance, and fell onto the bed with a soft 'Oomph'. He looked at Emilia, her eyes looking at him wide with excitement. She made a motion with her hand, and the candles went out, plunging them into darkness.


"Goodnight, James."


"…… Goodnight, Emilia."
 
The girl awoke, and stirred as the clamor of morning began outside the small house she found herself in. Eyes adjusting to the darkness, she propped herself up on her elbow, looking upon the boy sleeping beside her. His face was, in the dim light, serene, devoid of that usual smirk and sneer on his face. A feeling stirred within her. Ah, friendship. That must be it.

She patted his head, and whispered a morning greeting to him, watching him as he started to twist and turn from the disturbance, his face frowning.

And then, she went out, into the world she had found herself in. The place was, as usual, dirty and smelly. On the streets, humanity roamed. Street urchins and men with shifty eyes. Men and women in rags, head bowed down, and rough looking men covered in scars. On the wayside, a man with a crutch and a bowl before him, begging for money. Over the din of humanity, a man was speaking in a loud voice. A preacher.

She remembered the cult of the hero.

She ducked into a deserted alleyway, making sure that no one was inside. No one noticed. Everyone's eyes were avoiding each other, as if to stick out was to court death. She had covered her white-covered cloak with a more dirty one made of brown, making sure that she did not attract attention.

From James' reaction, magic here was disliked and feared. Such things were not unheard of, and so it was imperative that no one saw her when she was on her morning rituals.

Keeping herself to a secluded corner, she clasped her hands to her chest, and began to softly chant, soft pink lips enunciating the words that please the spirits. Surrounding her, lights began to appear. Shaking, laughing, jittering like fireflies, the spirits of the world, though somehow weakened, still existed. Still remembered the contract.

Morning ritual completed, she stood out from the alleyway. She had watched James, as he had carried out his work yesterday. Negotiate. Set prices high. Act outraged. Look for people with personal connections he could leverage. Get favours. Haggle. That was enough for her. She started to walk.

---------------------------------------------
She heard the commotion before she saw it. Three men, beating up another, on the ground. The men were rough-looking, muscled and scarred. Their victim was different. Greying hair, with sunken cheekbones. His arms were over his head, shielding his skull and face from the vicious kicks and stomp his attackers were launching upon him. Already, she could see blood runing from a cut on his forehead. Meanwhile, his attackers were screaming. "Where the hell is the gold you took from us, asshole! What, did you swallow it or something? Do you want us to cut open that fat belly of yours? Or is it just alcohol by now?"

She could take this no more. Channeling mana through her gate, water vapour surrounding her condensed into ice, appearing from seemingly thin air. The projectiles were blunt, and hovered there at her command.

She gave one warning. "Halt! I cannot allow you to go further. Release that man!"

One of the thugs turned around, and glared at her. "Who the hell are you? Besides, this guy stole money from us!" The man on the ground peeked at her, from beneath his arms, his eyes watering and a trickle of blood going down his face.

She shook her head. "Go. Now." At that, she launched half her projectiles at them, striking the wall and shattering the stone. "Maleficarium!" shouted one of the men. The others just gaped, and fled from her, swiftly rounding about a corner.

She sprinted to the injured man on the ground, and held a hand towards his temple, a soft glow closing the cut. "Are you ok-"

"Phew! I can't believe I got away with it!" He shouted, fishing a hand inside his cloak. Out came.... a pouch, with a clinking sound. He grinned at it, a smirk on his face. "Thanks, friend! I don't know what kind of thing you did, but you scared them off! How about this? Half for me, and half for uurrrrgghhhh???" The air temperature dropped like a stone. The man's breathe misted in the air as he croaked, whether in shock or fear, none were sure. The mud-caked street froze, the mud freezing solid and becoming slippery, and the surrounding stonework began to slowly turn white.

Emilia, on her part, was furious with herself. A storm of emotions roared within her, as she realised that she had inadverently caused injustice and had aided a robber. She had been too hasty and stupid, and had attacked and threatened three.... likely innocent men. She gritted her teeth, and glared at the man she had came to heal. The healing glow disappeared from her hand, and she summoned the remaining half of her ice projectiles, using mana to warp and twist their shapes. The cylinders were transformed into sharp spikes, wicked points glinting wickedly in the morning light.

"Aaaarrrrrgggghhh!!!" Screamed the man as he saw the sharpened ice spikes pointing directly at him. He scrambled backwards, his hands and feet slipping on the frozen ground as he desperately tried to put some distance between himself and his saviour-turned soon to be murderer. His face became a mask of terror, and his eyes widened as he saw that the ice spikes simply drifted closer to him, until he had backed up into the wall, with nowhere to escape.

"Wait.... wait... wait! You can take it all! Take it all! Don't kill me!" He raised his hands, pleading. "Please don't kill me! I'll work for you! Just don't kill me!"

Emilia sighed, as she looked upon the pathetic sight and smell. With a mental command, she turned the ice into water, and it fell, dropping onto the street with a splash. The man looked at her, hope appearing on his face.

She pointed to where the previous thugs had fled. "Go. Return it to them now."

"But..."

"Return it. Now. What do you need the money for, anyway?"

"I'm thirsty. Been a long time since I had some honeywine."

"So alcohol? Even more inexcusable. Return it now."

------------------------------------​

"I suppose we should thank you for getting him to return it to us. Though you needn't have bothered. We weren't going to kill him. Just rough him up a bit. Hank's always been an idiot when it came to drink. Just... give him some stuff, and then he'll just be out of your hair."

The man talking to her was from before, Marcus, was a man with black hair, a chiselled face, and an angry red scar running down his cheek. She detected a slight nervousness from him. Maybe he was still afraid after the show of power? It seems that mages here were rare....

Even in the darkness of the tavern she had found herself in, 'the drunken clam', it was called. She could see Hank. He was drinking from a cup, given to him after he mumbled an apology. It seems taht his friends were... rather forgiving fellows.

"I apologize. I thought that I was seeing a robbery occurring, and acted hastily. My selfishness and rashness caused you hurt."

"Nah, its... ok, I guess. I'm sure that we can all start up a deal for compensation both parties can be satisfied with." he turned to his two friends beside him, each with their own drinks, and they nodded.

Emilia realized, that this was her chance. Both to get a reputation, carry out reparations, and get contacts. "That scar.... does it hurt?" She pointed at it, the line an angry red.

Marcus put a hand up to it, tracing it with a finger. "No need to worry about it, my friend. You should have seen the other guy." Emilia pushed forward. "So.... it hurts, right? That red tinge is a mark of infection and inflammation. It might rot and kill you. How say that I heal it?"

Marcus grinned, and said. "So... a maester or a healer? Nice. Though I checked the resident healer. She said it should be down by a week or so, and won't get infected. Besides, it'll leave a good scar. Women love that, don't ya know?"

Emilia nodded at that, trying to search for more excuses. "So... how about healing it now? I see you wincing and twitching. The scar hurts, doesn't it? Its painful to talk, and even worse to eat and drink, right? Would you accept having it healed right now, as compensation?"

Marcus could only grin, and nodded. "If you can actually do it. Never heard of a potion or paste that could heal so fast."

"Its not a potion."

Emilia's hand went up to Marcus' cheek, right beside the scar, and began to glow a soft green. "Heal."
 
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