Foulkeep

Li Qing, when he woke up.

What he felt was a bone-chilling cold and the lingering, damp, earthy stench in the air.

He was in a crude stone room.

Through a narrow arrow slit, he could see the gloomy sky outside and a stretch of yellowed river grass.

He struggled to trace back to the moment before he lost consciousness, but it was all a blur.

He saw—a massive point of light in the sky from his memory.

It was hurtling toward him, and that was no ordinary light.

It was a burning, ever-expanding giant object falling from the heavens!

Faintly, he heard the exclamation of a mother and daughter passing by: "Mom, look! A shooting star! Such a big one!"

Immediately after, there was an indescribable sensation where all consciousness, perception, and even existence vanished.

So I really did die. Though, to be crushed by a meteor—my luck is truly maxed out, dying in such an unexpected way.

When Li Qing was alive, he had once read trivia from clickbait articles.

In history, there was only one person recorded as having been injured by a meteorite; he never expected to become the first person in history to be killed by one.

But it was fine; he had been all alone, perhaps just a transient in his original world.

A loner with no one to rely on, he only hoped he hadn't frightened that mother and daughter.

Suddenly, an intense sense of vertigo and tearing erupted within his perception.

A flood of strange memories, countless scenes of a lifetime.

Like a dam bursting, they poured into his mind: the life of a young man named Suleiman.

He had transmigrated, arriving in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire, penned by George R.R. Martin.

He had become an insignificant minor knight under House Deddings, a lord in the lower reaches of the Green Fork in the Riverlands.

Following that came a painful, bloody memory, slicing through his consciousness like a sharp blade.

Tears flowed involuntarily; this was the instinctive reaction of this body.

It was iron and fire, despair and death.

The Greyjoy Rebellion!

That Balon Greyjoy had declared himself king, and the Riverlands served as the front line against the Ironborn invasion.

When the "Kraken" banner appeared in the waters off Seaguard.

The entire Riverlands received the summons from Lord Tully.

Suleiman's father, the original owner of this body.

That taciturn, stern man, his face permanently etched with the marks of wind and frost, the Knight of Foulkeep, Blei.

Even though their house was destitute and their smallfolk few.

He still responded without hesitation, the first to answer the call of Lord Deddings.

He gathered every man in the household who could hold a sword: his two older brothers, sixteen-year-old Suleiman.

And fifteen sturdy farmers.

They had spent their entire family fortune to purchase tattered leather armor, rusted and damaged swords, and spears.

They couldn't even manage to equip everyone fully.

Suleiman's mother, in that damp and dark tower.

With eyes full of sorrow, she watched as the father, the brothers, and Suleiman donned their worn leather armor, carrying their rusted swords and spears.

They stepped onto the muddy path leading toward Seaguard.

The memory then shifted to the meat grinder of close-quarters combat, where flesh was mangled and limbs flew.

The Ironborn were terrifying enemies; they were like wolves and tigers, skilled in melee combat, seemingly devoid of any fear of death.

His father, wielding a notched longsword, led the charge, cutting down two Ironborn who were close by.

But he was quickly surrounded by more enemies; though his knighthood came from managing waste.

He fought like a true lion.

In the memory, Suleiman saw his father's arm severed by an Ironborn wielding a short-handled axe.

Yet he still swung his sword with one hand, until another axe split his skull open.

His eldest brother, the strong Lorent, the heir to the house, rushed forward to save their father.

He swung his longsword with all his might, but in the chaotic melee, he was struck by several Ironborn longswords.

He collapsed beside his father's corpse with a wail, his blood staining the muddy earth.

His second brother, Beren, witnessed the tragic state of his father and eldest brother; his eyes bloodshot, he charged at the Ironborn like a madman.

He managed to hack one Ironborn to death, but before he could do anything more.

He was hooked by the neck from behind by another Ironborn, and then several men swarmed him, hacking him to death with a flurry of weapons.

Suleiman was nearby at the time; terrified out of his wits by the scene before him, he could only watch blankly as his kin fell.

An Ironborn swung a warhammer, smashing it fiercely against his head.

A sharp, agonizing pain struck instantly, the world went black for Suleiman, and his body collapsed limply into the mud, losing consciousness.

Yet, miraculously, Suleiman, who had been presumed dead in battle, had only been left critically wounded by that heavy blow.

His eldest brother, the strong Lorent, had fastened the only intact and sturdy helmet onto his head before the fighting began.

His taciturn brother had given him one final smile.

When the dust settled on the coastal defense and the victorious Riverlands soldiers began to clear the battlefield.

They discovered Suleiman, still breathing faintly, amidst the mud and corpses, and he was rescued.

Maester Walder of the Green Fork believed it was unlikely anyone could survive such injuries.

Lord Balon Dating sighed and ordered Suleiman to be sent back to Foulkeep.

That landing battle had been brutal. Of the fifteen farmers who had followed them, thirteen died on the beach.

Only two wounded farmers survived.

They brought the heartbreaking news back to Foulkeep:

"The Lord Knight is dead, Master Lorent is dead, Master Beren is dead, and young Master Suleiman is dead as well."

The news struck like a bolt of lightning, shattering the last of Suleiman's mother's hope.

She had lost her husband and three sons.

All her kin, all her support, had vanished into nothingness in this war.

Despair and grief swallowed her like a rising tide.

On that night filled with despair and sorrow.

Suleiman's mother leaped from the top of that low, gloomy stone tower.

Li Qing, or rather Suleiman, was still digesting the overwhelming flood of memories and information in his mind.

"The Knight of Foulkeep"—this was the title their family was most widely known by abroad, a moniker filled with mockery and insult.

What was even more unbelievable, according to the memories he had integrated.

This name "Foulkeep," which seemed to carry its own stench, was actually the name of their family.

It was even a symbol of family "honor," spoken of with pride by members of the house.

Their ancestors had been manservants for generations, serving the Dating family, the Lords of the Green Fork.

But behind the word "manservant" lay a history that was as embarrassing as it was trusted.

They were not ordinary manservants who swept courtyards or saddled horses.

They were "fecal manservants" responsible for handling the most "troublesome" daily affairs of the Dating lords—specifically, assisting the lord with his toilet and disposing of his waste.

The position sounded utterly base.

Yet, to be allowed to stay by a lord's side during his most vulnerable and private moments, handling such intimate and repulsive matters, required an extraordinary level of trust and loyalty.

They were not merely servants; they were absolute confidants to whom the lord could entrust his most unsightly, fragile, and secret self.

It was precisely because of this generational "loyalty" and "service" that provided such comfort.

About a hundred years ago, Leonor Dating, in recognition and reward for their ancestors, granted them this barren land surrounded by low-lying marshes along the Green Fork, along with that pathetic three-story stone tower.

He dubbed their home "Foulkeep" and bestowed upon them the title of knight.

That place in his memory called "Foulkeep" was less of a castle.

It was more of a solitary three-story tower standing on the edge of the wetlands.

It was short, dark, surrounded by endless swamps and countless river reeds, and rarely saw the sun.

The air was perpetually filled with the scent of dampness and decay.

From then on, the descendants of servants who had handled waste for their lords for generations were transformed into nobility.

But their starting point was so low.

Their fief was so barren and poorly situated, and their title stemmed from such a "service."

So much so that this small tower.

Was given a more direct and harsher nickname by other nobles, who used it with jest and mockery—"Dungfort."

And their family, naturally, became the laughable "Dung Knights" in the mouths of the nobility.

Their family possessed no wealth, no prominent marriage alliances, and no formidable military strength.

They didn't even have guards, and their subjects numbered only fifty-odd people.

They were dependents of the Dating family, and among all the vassals of the Dating house, their status was the most lowly.

He was a figure relegated to the corner of the banquet, ignored by everyone.

Despite the mockery and exclusion from other vassals, Suleiman's memories told him otherwise.

His family held a special status within the inner circle of House Deddings—not one of power, but of trust.

That trust stemmed from the most loyal and comfortable service their ancestors had provided during the lord's most unguarded moments.

In the world of Westeros, the hierarchy was rigid and the barriers were high, acting like invisible chasms that separated people into different classes.

Achieving class mobility was an almost impossible task.

Noble bloodlines, ancient glory, and wealth and power passed down through generations.

Eight thousand years of history had constructed an unshakable upper world.

Yet, Suleiman's family had traversed this ironclad class system in a way that the world viewed as alternative, even absurdly laughable.

Their ancestors, once a family of male servants attending to the lord, had received a miraculous favor.

They were granted a hereditary title and a fiefdom.

Because of this, the family motto was not just a slogan, but the cornerstone and soul of their existence.

Etched into their bones, every word weighing a Thousand Jun, passed down through generations.

"Grace Endures."

This grace referred to that Lord Leonor Deddings from a century ago, who, within this strictly stratified noble system, had generously bestowed a title and land upon their lowly ancestors, changing the family's fate forever.

"Young Master Suleiman!"

An aged voice, filled with incredulous surprise and trembling, interrupted Suleiman's thoughts.

An old man with white hair and a face etched with wrinkles rushed to the bedside.

His eyes were filled with murky tears, streaming down his face.

He gripped Suleiman's hand, which lay outside the quilt, as if afraid that all of this was a hallucination.

This was Old Nicken, the family's old steward, who had spent his entire life serving House Foulkeep at Foulkeep.

"How long have I been asleep?" Suleiman asked hoarsely, his voice weak.

Having merged with the memories, he knew this old man had served the family his entire life and could be trusted.

"By the Seven! Young Master Suleiman, you have finally awakened! You have been in a coma for a month," Old Nicken wept, kneeling by the bed.

"Maester Walder said you wouldn't make it. This old servant thought, thought you wouldn't pull through either, and that House Foulkeep would be left without an heir."

He choked up, unable to continue, and finally broke down into loud sobs.

Suleiman weakly raised his hand and placed it on the back of Old Nicken's trembling hand. "I am fine now. I just slept for a long time."

Upon hearing this, Old Nicken felt a sense of relief, but then he remembered something, and his expression became complex and conflicted. "Young Master, there are some things you need to know."

Suleiman knew what he was going to say; when he was being escorted back to Foulkeep while in a coma, he had already heard the escorting soldiers discussing the tragedy that had occurred at Foulkeep.

The pain in this body's heart welled up once again.

"I know everything. Father, my brothers, and Mother."

Old Nicken's body jolted violently. Looking into Suleiman's calm eyes, his tears broke through the dam once more, yet he no longer knew what words to say.