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A/N: My Own Prompt: I have an idea for a story, that should be quite interesting to fans of Worm and Game of Thrones:

Scion arrives on Planetos at the finale of Robert's Rebellion, the moment after Robert strikes down Rhaegar. The battle stops as everyone stares at this golden god. The Father, the Warrior... it doesn't really matter what they think he is, exactly: he is now the avatar of their religion. Scion moves around the world doing much the same as he does in Worm: helping people as needed while secretly allowing shards of himself to bud off into the local populace. Instead of parahumans, they're called something esoteric and arcane. Instead of the Protectorate and PRT, people only answer to their noble families, or themselves.


On the left side is the character, and the right side is the power they're getting. People who are boldfaced have triggered by the start of this chapter.

Eddard Stark: August Prince
Catelyn Stark: Panacea
Brynden Tully: Hookline
Benjen Stark: Shadowstalker
Robb Stark: Uber & Jouster
Bran Stark: Aiden & Gallant
Hodor: Clairvoyant
Rickon Stark: Bitch
Sansa Stark: Tattletale
Arya Stark: Imp & Grue
Jon Snow: Dauntless
Samwell Tarly: Leet
Rodrik Cassel: Adamant
Lyanna Mormont: Vista

Robert Baratheon: Assault & Auroch
Gendry: Ballistic
Wisdom Hallyne: Bakuda
Wisdom Rossart: Pyrotechnical

Tywin Lannister: Coil
Kevan Lannister: Eleventh Hour
Jaime Lannister: Legend
Cersei Lannister: Heartbreaker
Joffrey: Jack Slash
Tonmen: Cherish
Myrcella: Glory Girl
Tyrion Lannister: Frenja + Menja
Ser Bronn: Fletchette
Ilyn Payne: King
Gregor Clegane: Crawler
Sandor Clegane: Animos
Amory Lorch: Victor
Maester Qyburn: Bonesaw & Cask
Roose Bolton: Festering Wounds
Ramsay Snow: Butcher

Petyr Baelish: Accord
Lysa Arryn: Codex
Ros the Whore: Citrine

Stannis Baratheon: Kaiser & Hookwolf
Renly Baratheon: Epoch
Olenna Redwyne: Blasto
Loras Tyrell: Quarrel & Operator Red
Maergary Tyrell: Canary
Brienne of Tarth: Alexandria
Ser Berric Dondarrion: Crusader
Thoros of Myr: Scapegoat
Selyse Florent: Purity
Shireen Baratheon: Dinah Alcott
Patchface: Circus
Ser Davos Seaworth: Stormtiger
Edric Storm: Battery
Melissandre: Glastig Ulaine [Rhaegar Targaryen: Eidolon]

Euron Greyjoy: Marquis (Kimimaro)
Balon Greyjoy Hemmorhagia (Kurona)
Yara Greyjoy: Narwhal
Theon Greyjoy: Spree

Mance Rayder: Teacher
Tormund Giantsbane: Aegis
Ygritte: Burnscar
Howlette: Wolverine
Mag Mar Tun Doh Weg: Weld
Wun Weg Wun Dar Wun: Mog

Craster: Nilbog

Daenarys Targaryen: Null (Valefor FROM Illyrio Mopatis)
Viserys Targaryen: Two
Ser Arthur Dayne: Chevalier & Armsmaster
Elia Martel: Claire Bennet
Khal Drogo: Lung
Daario Naharis: Hatchet Face
Ser Jorah Mormont: Strider
Doreah: Othello
Missandei: Othalla
Grey Worm: Bakugou
Ser Barristan Selmy: Black Kaze


Chapter 1

Winterfell

"Bran, you get down from there right now!" called out Catelyn Stark. Her son grumbled but did as was asked of him, leaving behind the battlements of his ancestral castle in favor of not garnering her ire. She grabbed him up in her arms before he could escape, a stern yet fond expression upon her face..

Her breath was only barely visible in front of her face as she looked her son over, making sure he was presentable. She had long since gotten used to the frigid climate of the North.

"I saw them coming," he tried to get out, though his words were muffled against her bosom. "They're almost here!"

The Starks of Winterfell had been waiting for the King to arrive for the past week, counting down the days until he was supposed to arrive. Luckily they were well prepared to host a feast, despite the absurdly short notice they got. You'd think, seeing how the entire royal entourage was on the Kingsroad for over three months, that they would have had ample time to forewarn their hosts of their intentions (and imposition), but apparently not.

The King, it seemed, didn't care much for propriety any more.

"Then we had best get ready," she answered, hearing him just fine despite how little of his voice got through. "Run along now; let your brothers and sisters know that it's time."

"Aye!" he called as he broke away from her, scampering away. She could hear him letting the whole of Winterfell know that the King's entourage was on the way.

A small smile wormed its way onto her face, and she turned on her heel. Making her way, she started giving orders to various servants to help with any last minute preparations that needed to be made. By the time she was in the courtyard, most of her family were already there.

She took her place next to her stoic husband without much ado, her eyes focusing outward.

Lord Eddard Stark was wearing leather boots and gloves, a grey jerkin, and a grey fur cloak with the house sigil stitched into it. It looked good on him.

"Stop it Arya!" came a fierce whisper from Sansa, who appeared to be embarrassed over something.

"Girls!" came the harsh admonishment from the Septa, whose flashing eyes weren't quite punishing enough to get the sisters to calm down.

They continued for another dozen seconds or so until Catelyn cleared her throat, which prompted them to immediately stop what they were doing.

Nobody knew exactly what had happened between the two girls, nor could anybody truly be sure of who started what first. Typical.

Robb smirked at his two younger brothers, Bran and Rickon, but no sound came from them. Jon Stark, her noble husband's bastard son (and the only speck against his honor), was standing silently behind Arya and Theon, who was sporting a bandage over his ribs. Ser Rodrik stood near them, nodding briefly at Robb for staying quiet, though his mustache twitched in silent amusement as well..

They stood in the courtyard for several long, silent minutes.

It wasn't too long before the King's entourage finally arrived. Soon the enormous wheelhouse came to a stop before the Starks.

"King Robert Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Realm, and King of the Seven Kingdoms!" called out the King's crier.

The King exited the carriage with a boisterous grin on his face, though it became a blank slate as he eyed his quarry. His wife and children, as well as his royal guardsmen, exited behind him. He walked up to one of his best friends in the world, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, Warden of the North.

The two men eyed each other in silence, no doubt drinking in all the differences between their current selves and their memories from almost a decade ago, during the laughably short Greyjoy Rebellion. There was a pregnant pause, as everyone waited with baited breath to see what the King would say to the Lord, their first words exchanged in person in nearly a decade. Surely it would be of great import-

"You got fat," said the King, sounded disappointed.

Everyone listening in hid their shock and outrage, offended on behalf of the beloved Lord. However, their scandalized inner monologues quickly gave way to amused surprise as the Stark Head did something nigh inconceivable:

With a poignantly raised brow, the slightest of amused quirks on his lips, Eddard gave a pointed glance to the King's enormous gut. He didn't say anything, however. He didn't need to.

Robert let out a gruff bark of a laugh, before clapping the Northern Lord on his shoulder. "Never change, Ned, never change. Now, who do we have we here?" he said, approaching his friend's eldest son.

"Robb Stark, your Grace."

"Ah, I thought you might be. You look mighty strong, young man, mighty strong. Now, I've heard tell that you are one of Us, eh?" came the King's reply, a glint coming into his eye as he sized the young man up. Ever since the appearance of the Golden God, his integration into the Faith of the Seven as the Father, and the emergence of empowered individuals, people tended to look up to the empowered.

And it went without saying that the empowered looked down on the unpowered.

"Aye, that I am," said Robb assertively, thinking back to that day, three years ago when it happened..


Robb snarled as he came at his half-brother with a practice sword, still unable to land a hit on the other boy. Despite being trueborn, despite being older, despite training harder… he just couldn't measure up to his bastard of a brother.

Jon weaved through all of Robb's strikes, before merely sticking a foot out to trip him.

Robb fell on his ass, the wind rushing out of him as he felt a deep but dull pain in his tailbone starting up. He could feel some tears trying to come to his eyes, but he forced them back down. He would not cry over this.

"You know," said one of the Stark guardsmen, a new soldier who hadn't been around for long enough to keep his thoughts to himself, "-you almost get the feeling that Robb's the bastard, from how he fights."

Robb felt his face flushing red with anger, but he bit down a retort as he forced himself back onto his feet.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the only thing that the guard was going to say. "Or, at the very least, Jon Snow must be at least a few months older than him. Maybe Ned could legitimize him to-"

In that brief moment, something terrifying and large engulfed Robb's vision. Two enormous celestial entities, larger than the entirety of Westeros and more complex than anything he'd ever envisioned, were twisting around one another in an eternal dance.

They were bending and zooming the space and time around them, beings that existed within and without both concepts, whose impossible scale, breadth, depth, and scope were breaking Robb's mind, if only temporarily.

DESTINATION?
AGREEMENT.

TRAJECTORY?
AGREEMENT.

Then the vision was gone, like a dream that you couldn't quite remember. Robb's fury flashed through him, cold and deadly like a blizzard.

Swordsmanship?

The skill dropped into his mind like an ice block down a waterfall, before heating up and melting like it was in a natural hotspring. Suddenly… he knew. He knew how to use his sword, knew that he could do it perfectly.

Then the sparring continued…


"Aye, that you are," said King Robert, grinning down at his best friend's heir. "I've heard that you can become a master of any skill at any moment. I'd like to see that in action some time, young man," to which the young man merely smiled and nodded. "I've also heard that your weapon strikes can do odd things when you want them to...?" the King remarked, obviously waiting for the answer to his as-of-yet unasked question.

"Aye, Your Grace. I can make fire, ice, lightning, concussive blasts, suction, and disintegration, among other things."

Robert smiled at that, stroking his wiry black beard as if he were deep in thought. "Interesting..." he said, more to himself than anybody else. A drunkard and a whoremonger he might be, but he was far from stupid. Perhaps he didn't have the smarts to get into the Citadel, but he was the bloody king and didn't need to.

Without elaboration on his ruminations, he continued down the line, telling the older twin Bran that he'd make an excellent soldier. Before long, he came upon the younger twin Rickon, who he'd also taken a keen interest in.

"You, boy. You have a strength to you," said Robert, eyeing the young boy, who despite being minutes apart from his brother in age, appeared to be almost an entire year younger..

Rickon gave a sharp grin at that, "Aye," was all he said, and all that was needing to be said. Ever since his triggering, he wasn't as social. But that was fine, considering his tradeoff was definitely worth it.

Lord Eddard spoke up on his son's behalf, "Several weeks ago, while my sons and I went off to execute a traitor and oathbreaker, we came across a dead direwolf, which had eight pups. When we were talking about what we should do with them…"


"We should put them out of their misery," said Ser Rodrik, unhappy about killing the pups but not seeing any other choice in the matter.

Without waiting for confirmation, Theon started reaching for the pup in Rickon's arms. "Give it here," he said, carelessly waving his dagger around.

Rickon stepped backward, flinching away from the Ironborn. "No, you can't have Shaggy Dog!"

"Let him keep it," said Jon, rolling his eyes at Theon's behavior. "It won't hurt nobody."

Theon promptly ignored Jon's suggestion, seeing how they were currently feuding over something outside the current conversation. Jon frowned over at Robb, who hesitated for a brief second.

That indecision allowed Theon to grab a hold of the pup by its paw, and drive his dagger right through its stomach.

Things went pear-shaped quickly after that.

"No!" was all the warning Rickon gave, before the direwolf pup started to grow. Within seconds it was larger than Theon, with a symmetrical covering of bony plates and spikes, exposed muscles and calcified flesh, and a prehensile tail. It was the single scariest sight that any of the men present had ever seen.

The direwolf bit down on Theon's arm, instantly breaking it and almost ripping it out of its socket. Theon screamed and tried to plunge the dagger in his free hand into the creature's impenetrable hide. It went about as well as could be expected.

The blade bounced off the pup like a drop of rain off a suit of armor, the force of its rebound causing the dagger to go flying out of his hand. Seeming to realize that its opponent had tried to stab it again, the wolf was understandably mad at Theon.

It casually ripped his fucking arm off.

Everyone present drew their weapons, and began advancing towards the beast that was finished hurting the Stark family's political ward (who was by now well and truly passed out from the pain..

"Stop!" said Rickon. Everyone present paused for the briefest of moments, enough time to witness the dog did as it was told. It froze, staring back at Rickon as if it were a puppy that didn't know any better. Actually, that's exactly what the monster was.

"Drop it!" he commanded, and the best did as it was told, letting Theon's mangled arm out of its powerful mouth, a pool of blood coming out of the appendage, almost matching volume for volume the amount that was around its old stump..

"Come here!" came the call, which was heeded by the beast. Everyone watched warily as ti returned to Rickon's side. and promptly sat on its hindquarters.

A stony silence fell as everybody processed what just happened. Theon was whimpering as he stared at the monstrous wolf, a nasty puddle of piss growing on the ground between his legs.

"... Nobody harm the pups," said Stark, his expression grim. If this event was what he thought it was...

"Milord, there's at least one for each of your children, and three can stay with Rickon…".

"The direwolf is the sigil of your house, after all, Lord Stark. Perhaps it was fate for us to come across these pups. I think the Starks are meant to have them," said Jon, his eyes not straying away from Rickon.

Lord Stark looked from Theon to Rickon, before coming to a decision. Nodding softly, he commanded "... You'll train them yourselves." Ned's youngest son smiled a watery smile at that, hugging the monster closer to him.

"They'll need training at the very least," said Ser Rodrik, a small frown on his face. "If they aren't, they'll kill someone. Hell, even if they are..."

All of the Stark sons looked perturbed at the thought of being responsible for such a ferocious creature, but were shook out of their thoughts by their father's next words. "... you'll feed them yourselves," he said, staring sternly from one son to another, "... and if they die, you'll bury them yourselves."

Rickon relaxed at that, and Shaggy Dog began to shrink back down to his original size, shedding all the extra biomass that he'd grown not even a minute ago. Pulling the pup out of the pile with a nasty squelching noise, everybody was shocked to see that its wounds were practically nonexistent.

Robb and Jon carefully walked over to their youngest brother, before clapping him on his shoulders in perfect synchronization.

"You're one of us now, Rickon."

"One of us."

Flashback End


"I felt that sending you a raven while you were already on your way here would be a waste of time, your grace," finished Lord Stark, a proudness to his lips as he looked at his son.

"So you empower wolves, boy?" asked Robert, sizing up the youth.

Rickon merely nodded at that. Robb spoke up on his brother's behalf, "He's been different ever since he triggered. He doesn't talk much. But his power also works on hounds too. He can control, train, and heal them with his power... Ah, but it works better on wolves, and best on direwolves."

Robert looked over at Robb, nodding his understanding at that. It was well known, after all, that the gaining powers could permanently change a person, both physically and mentally. But damn if that was a useful ability.

"How many can he do?" asked King Robert, his eyes going to Lord Eddard.

"We haven't found a limit yet," admitted the Warden of the North. At one point, Rickon's power was affecting every canine in Winterfell, which numbered in the hundreds. However, once they all returned to normal, the boy passed out from exertion slamming into him.

"Aye. If I had a son with such great power…"

Queen Cersei's face twisted at that, but smoothed out before anybody could dwell on it. It was well known that Robert tended to favor those who were Empowered.

Robert made his way down further down the line, commenting on how the classic Tully beauty was coming out of Sansa, before pausing and staring at Arya for a long time, before muttering that she looked just like her aunt Lyanna.

At this, Cersei had a look of actual distaste and annoyance, though it was focused more on Robert than on Arya, thankfully.

Then the King looked at Theon, his face a mixture of annoyance and pity.


Flashback Begin

Saltwater splashed against Robert's face, the wind howling as it tried to break against his navy. But the wind broke before it could hit any of his ships due to the interference of Davos Seaworth. Ser Davos could control the air around him, increasing the effectiveness of his senses and allowing him to keep the sea steady, at the very least.

Regardless, even if the wind were capable of affecting the ships, they were made of steel thanks to Stannis.

The Seven Kingdoms possessed the most advanced armada in the world thanks to their Master of Ships, Stannis Baratheon, who could create steel from nothing, shaped into whatever form he deemed necessary. When combined with Wyldfire 'bomb-engines' created by Wisdom Hallyne, they created an engine of war, unmatched throughout the entire world.

And there was a whole fleet of them.

The Ironborn Armada was just ahead of the Dragonstone Fleet, approaching Robert's navy at a breakneck pace. They probably thought that the plumes of flame billowing forth from the steel ships were out-of-control fires that they could take advantage of. But rather than a plague, it was merely exhaust from their advanced engines.

Robert Baratheon exchanged a look with Ned Stark, whose presence on his ship meant that he had little to fear in regards to immediate reprisals; Ned was immune to violence, after all.

Grinning a manic, murderous grin, Robert reached for the pile of steel spheres that were next to him, supplied by Stannis. He picked one of them up, bent back his index finger, then aimed it at the Ironborn's flagship. Without another word, he flicked the cannonball.

Crashing thunder shook the world, though there was no lightning accompanying it. A grey line crossed the battlefield in a single heartbeat, disappearing as soon as it appeared.

The flagship exploded, instantly torn asunder by the deadly payload. A steel ball, weighing approximately ten pounds was accelerated beyond the speed of sound itself, moving so fast that it probably melted well before it actually struck its target.

Balon Greyjoy was probably beginning to regret starting this little 'Rebellion.' Actually, the entire Ironborn Armada slowed down, now that their largest ship was out of commission.

A crimson pillar rose out of the water, the tip of which Balon himself was standing on...

... Robert grabbed another cannonball.

Flashback End


Having gone through all of the introductions, the King returned to his best friend. "Ned, I think it's about time that I pay my respects to the dead!"

From behind him Cersei finally spoke up, "My Love, perhaps it would be best if we-"

"I'm paying my respects to the dead," he cut her off, not even bothering to look over at his wife. Beautiful as she was, her luster had long since lost its appeal to the man, and the feelings were equally reciprocated, if at the very least tempered for their audience.

Deciding not to dwell on the slight, the Queen approached Catelyn Stark with a practiced smile upon her regal face.

But Sansa and Arya were not paying attention to the noble women. Their attention now fell solely on Jaime Lannister, the Legend. It was known that he once was known as an Oathbreaker and Kingslayer, back before the story of what the Mad King planned to do to King's Landing had come out. He, like all the Kingsguard around him, was wearing their sacred order's signature all-white cloaks, and gold armor with extensive white enameling.

He was renowned as one of the most powerful empowered in the world, well beyond almost anyone else. His only competitors in that category were Brienne of Tarth, Jon Stark in a few more years, a mysterious group in Essos called the Three Blasphemies, a roaming group of bandits calling themselves the Slaughterhouse Nine, someone near Quarth called the Sleeper, someone in the great grass sea called Ash Beast, and a group well into Asshai known only as Akatsuki of Yangban.

It was rumored that Jaime could emanate beams of light that carried various magical effects, could fly around, and could even become light itself.

Of course, Sansa didn't care about any of that: Jaime was also known as the most beautiful man in Westeros, and she could see why. The blond-haired, blue-eyed, tan-skinned man was tall and muscular, with a regal face and a charismatic smile.

But while Sansa swooned at his physical appearance, Arya was much more interested in his powers. They sounded like something out of Old Nan's stories, back from the Age of Heroes.

Jaime nodded at the girls, causing both to blush fiercely. Joffrey tried to throw a charming smile Sansa's way, but she didn't notice it in favor of the Crown Prince's uncle.

"Where's the giant dwarf?" asked Arya, not realizing that it was somewhat rude of her to say this to the man before they'd even been properly introduced.

Ignoring the potential faux pas for what it was, Jaime answered, "Oh, I'm sure he'll be here by the time the feast starts. Perhaps I should go find him, now that we're all here..."

Across the Narrow Sea

Daenarys Targaryn stared at herself in the mirror, nude as the day she was born. She had the thick, silvery blonde hair that her family was known for, as well as the deep, wide violet eyes that set her ancestors apart from everyone else. Here face was elfin and doll-like, with high rouged cheekbones, full luscious red lips, and a narrow but soft nose. Her neck was long, her shoulders were thin, and her collar bone stuck out just a bit.

Her breasts were large and full, yet perky with soft pink nipples. Her stomach was skinny, with the barest lines of developed feminine abdominal muscles. Her waist was small, her hips were wide, her legs were long, and her ass was big and curvy. She was physically everything that a man could ask for.

But her brother, Viserys, would still find something wrong with her appearance. She smelled of lilacs and vanilla thanks to the perfumed soaps and oils that were used to bathe her, her hair as soft and strong as spun silk, and her skin as smooth as that of a baby.

Yet she still worried about his wrath. She was going to be wedded today, after all, and she needed to look absolutely perfect for her future husband.

Thinking about Khal Drogo filled her with an intense interest and anxiety that she hadn't quite come to terms with yet: it was rumored that, while in battle, her soon-to-be husband transformed into an actual firebreathing dragon, much like the ones that her family was tied to not so long ago.

Everybody kept mentioning, behind Viserys's back, that it was ironic, for her to be marrying a man who could become a dragon so that her family could regain its old strength, though she failed to see why. Taming dragons was in her blood after all.

She sighed as she noticed her brother behind her, staring at her figure with an odd combination of love and hate on his face. Likely he was thinking of the old tales, in which Targaryen siblings would come together to foster offspring, the tales that he himself had told her, once they were out of sight. However, even he wasn't crazy enough to risk her virginity, and by extension her betrothed's ire.

He wanted so desperately to reclaim the Iron Throne.

Still, her eyes unfocused, she thought back to the only home she knew: that house in Braavos, the one with the red door, the home that she shared with Ser Willem and Ser Arthur, the one where her Aunt Elia baked bread every morning. For a brief moment, she wondered if Ser Arthur was still alive, out there in the world looking for her and her brother, along with her aunt Elia.

She'd worry about Elia's health, but there was nothing in this world that could kill that woman.

Danaerys Stormborn of House Targaryen was soon to be the Khaleesi, a title she was sure wouldn't be too bad...


A/N: Instead of parahumans, they are called empowered. I will be going back and editing the first chapter after I post this one to fix this.

To recap: Robb triggered while sparring with Jon. Rickon triggered when they found the direwolves, so this is all still pretty knew for him at this point. The Greyjoy Rebellion was soundly defeated by a combination of Robert and Stannis Baratheon, Wisdom Hallyne (the Pyromancer), Ser Davos Seaworth, and Ned Stark's powers.

I've also shown that the empowered are considered to be blessed by the Seven, meaning that there will be no witch hunts. This is further reason for any person who triggers, regardless of their station in life, being instantly ennobled. This keeps the empowered happy with the status quo enough not to challenge it, but it's just a stopgap measure (not that the people in charge know that); eventually the number of empowered people will make this system unviable.

Class warfare (without religious backing), on the other hand, between the empowered and the unpowered is a distinct possibility. I've also done some worldbuilding: Westeros will end up looking a lot like the Fire Nation from Avatar: the Last Airbender, technology wise. However, it is still good ol' Westeros.

This story is going to get real dark, real fast. Neither Worm or GoT are happy worlds to live in, so meshing them will be... interesting, to say the least. This story probably won't focus too hard on the Others and the Endbringers, but it very well could. I've got ideas for that, but it'll have to wait a little while, depending on how my life goes and whether this story gets popular enough to warrant the investment of time that leads to updates.

Is there a character you think deserves a power? Is there a power you think deserves a character? Let me know in a review. Do you agree with my character-power groupings, and if so/not why?