*Author's Note: I do not own Game of Thrones. I must apologize. I just couldn't resist. I've been playing League of Legends for the past week when an idea came to me. What if Garen went into Westeros? I asked my younger brother. We looked at each other and imagined the Westerosi, Dothraki and Essosi getting cut up by his giant sword. Cooooooool… Anyways so that's why I'm starting a third story coz I couldn't get it out of my head. I won't be putting this in the Crossover section coz I want people to READ it haha.

(Updated: 2/15/2017)

I edited a few things here. Lowered the number of men as I did not originally know the canon number of troops the Freys had. This was then pointed out by Sceonn and Gremlin Jack. My thanks to them.

Chapter 1

Demacian-Noxian Border

The sun was setting, it's rays illuminating the unnamed fields sharing the border between Noxus and Demacia. These fields had seen battles small and large waged over them. Skeletons could be found still gripping their rusted weapons. These remains would be added to as the two kingdoms fought again and again. New bones and new armor would be added time and again.

Today was no different. The ground was once again soaked with blood and gore as two armies battered at each other. For five days the armies fought. On one side stood the proud army of Demacia numbering ten thousand at the beginning, led by Garen Crownguard, the Might of Demacia himself.
He was here today with orders to crush the enemy army led by Vladimir, the Crimson Reaper, who had been terrorizing the area.

Following his orders he led the 2nd Steel Legion to these fields. Little did he know that this was a trap, laid by the enemy's Master Tactician Swain. His forces engaged nine thousand men of the Crimson Reaper who pulled back slowly allowing the Demacians to advance. The trap's bait lured the Steel Legion a bit deeper into Noxian territory. A great line of timber concealed from view the trap's jaws. Twenty thousand men under the direct command of the Hand of Noxus, Darius, awaited.

Once the Demacians were at the designated point, the Noxian ambush sprung. Twenty thousand men smashed into the Demacian flanks. They enveloped the Demacians and slowly pushed them into a tight circle.

Even surrounded and outnumbered the Demacians fought relentlessly. They would not give an inch. All they had to do was look at their commander. Garen fought on, his face showing his determination. He would do his duty. Inwardly he was cursing. His instincts were going haywire even before they came into sight of the Crimson Reaper's troops. This must have been what they were warning of.

"We will not falter. For Demacia!" He shouted and his men echoed him in a roar as they fought. They knew that they were not going to live long. But they were men of Demacia. They would never retreat, they would never surrender, they would do their duty and die on the field.

For three days they kept fighting until at last only Garen remained. He stood atop a mountain of corpses, corpses of the soldiers of Noxus and his own brave Demacians. In his right hand he gripped his mighty sword, in his left he held aloft the Aegis of the Legion, the standard's fist moving with the breeze.

He thought of his life, how he had risen through the ranks, how he had fought for so long without an equal. He had become the Might of Demacia and none could stand in his path. Then he had met Katarina. She had been able to match his strength by employing her speed and technique. It had been… interesting fighting her. The only other man who had matched him was now striding forward.

Darius, the Hand of Noxus, carried his large axe easily with one hand. He strode forward with purpose until he stood at the foot of the mountain of bodies.

"Darius." Garen said in greeting.


"It was a trap." Darius nodded.

"My heart and sword, always for Demacia." He straightened to his full height. "Shall we finish this?"

Darius smiled. "It's already finished." Garen felt a pain in his right side. He turned to look at it and saw a blade stuck into his ribcage. His eyes followed the blades handle to a pale skinned hand. As his knees gave way he shifted to face his killer.

Katarina smiled at him sadly. "It had to be done. You could not be here if we were to crush Demacia."

Garen grimaced. "Leave… the.. banner where.. it is… for Demacia.." Each word was a struggle as the darkness enveloped him.

He had done his duty to the best of his ability. Now he would rest, he thought as he settle back into the darkness. Then a woman's voice spoke softly in his ear though he could see nothing.

"No, Champion. It is not yet time for you to rest."

Garen frowned. "Have I not earned it?" he asked.

Musical laughter wafted into his ear. "Yes you have, my champion. However another land has need of you. Will you deny the innocent of your strength?"

He didn't need to think about that. If innocents were in need then he would go, even if it meant he would not receive his rest. "I will not. It is my duty as a Demacian."

He could almost hear a smile in her words. "I chose you well. I shall send you to the lands of Westeros. There you will be reborn as a babe. Be warned all will not be as it seems and you will endure great pain and trials." He shrugged at that. He had endured pain before, it would be no different.

"May I ask who you are, my lady?"

"In the world you will enter I am known as the Maiden. I cannot abide the suffering that wil come upon the innocent. That is why I took you as you died. I ask you, will you champion the innocent? Will you defend the weak?"

"I shall do my duty, my lady, like any son of Demacia would." Garen felt a warm hand over his heart.

"Farewell for now, champion. May we meet again."

The next thing he knew, he was wet, warm and uncomfortable. He felt walls squeezing him and cried out in pain. He tried to push against the walls but found his arms weak and the walls slippery. He felt the walls squeeze him along a short passage then felt his head being grasped by a giant hand. He roared his protest or rather tried to. The roar came out as a babe's crying to his ears. He frowned.

"Oh it's a boy. Aww… look at his face. He's frowning." The giant's hand was joined by another as he was cupped and handed over to someone. He struggled against them but couldn't. Angry he slowly forced his eyes open.

His eyes took in the kindly face of a woman who was rather large if he was not mistaken. Her feature were delicate, her skin pale. Her nose matched his own in his former life though. Her hair was brown and fell in rivulets. Her brown eyes gazed into his.

"Look, look he opened his eyes." The gasps and chatter increased. He turned his head around to see what was happening. He was in a birthing room, surrounded by women in grey clothing. He turned back to the face of the person that was his mother in this world. Her tired face lit up as she seemed to recognize the intelligence in his eyes.

"This one will be great. What shall I name you, little one?" She thought for a moment. "How about Gerrold, hmmm?"

Garen shook his head as emphatically as he could. The women surrounding his mother gasped and exclaimed over his apparent understanding as his mother went on to suggest several names. Garen was becoming quite exasperated when he felt a familiar presence. He saw the Maiden in ethereal form, unseen by the other occupants of the room glide in to stand beside his mother. She leaned over to her ear and whispered.

"Oh I know. How about Garen?" His mother exclaimed as the idea caught.

He smiled and nodded. His mother shook her head and laughed. "Well then. Garn it is. Garen Frey. I know you will become a great man. May the Seven watch over you always."


Garen grew fast and true to his mother's expectations proved himself to be intelligent beyond his years. This was probably because he was implanted into a new born babe. He began learning to speak as soon as he was weaned. He hated having to rely on his mother for sustenance. When he reached the age of four he snuck into one of the courtyards to train. He wanted to get back to his former strength as soon as possible.

His mother caught him one day as he lifted a wooden sword twice his size and thwacked away at a training dummy with difficulty. The men-at-arms who had seen him sneak in had only watched in amusement. His mother attempted to forbid him from going to the training yard until he was older but he refused.

A year passed and he became strong enough to lift the training sword with only minimal difficulty. News of his doings spread all over the Twins, which he learned was the seat of his family. He was summoned by his father, Lord Walder Frey, patriarch of the Frey family and ruler of the Crossing.

When Garen came into his presence he thought he would find a middle aged man. He was sorely disappointed to see his father was a wrinkled old man with a coarse tongue.

"So you're the brat my men are talking about." His father's beady eyes narrowed.

"I am Garen, my lord." Garen decided to be polite since he was under this man's roof.

"Hmmmph… How old are you boy?"

"I am five, my lord." Garen replied. His father grumbled something about manner at that age and dismissed him. He immediately went back to training but found several of his older relatives waiting for him.

One of them pushed him to the dirt. "You are a brat. Go away and leave the real men to train."

Garen had never backed down in his life but when he looked at the height of his tormentor he decided that it wouldn't be backing down it would rather be using his brain. He left quietly to find a spot to train. This routine continued until he was twelve. He would sneak into the courtyard and train before the crack of dawn. The older members of his family would find him and beat him up for disobeying. He would then go off on his own and train some more. After that he would go to the castle's library and educate himself.

The castle's maester, Maester Errun, took a liking to him as he was an apt pupil and listened with rapt attention to everything the maester taught him. He learned of the Great Houses of the history of Westeros, of the wars that plagued the lands especially the war that began when he was born, Robert's Rebellion. He promised himself he would avoid becoming a tool for anyone unless he chose to be their tool.

A few days after his twelfth name day his mother, Cyranna Swann, took ill and died. He had grown to love her as she had taken care of him and made sure he had most of his needs answered. He was the fifth child to be born to her and his abundance of siblings did nothing to help him in his sorrow. To make matters worse, his mother was not yet cold in the grave when his father took up another to wed.

Garen's anger boiled when he received the news and he went to the courtyard to train. Again he was surrounded. Among his tormenters today were Emmon and Aenys along with several of his cousins.
"How many times have I told you boy never to come here?" Emmon demanded, shoving him back.
"Get out of my way, Emmon." Garen growled.

Emmon and the rest laughed. "Oh look at those teeth. You got a mouth on you boy. Maybe we need to remove it." He drew his sword. Garen drew the blunted bastard sword he was using to practice. Emmon scoffed as the sword was taller than Garen. He drew his own sharp longsword and prepared to teach Garen a lesson. He was joined by the rest of the gangas they circled around Garen who stood stoically in the center of their formation.

The men training in the yard stopped what they were doing to see the spectacle. Garen took a deep breath and waited. Emmon was the first to charge. He sidestepped the blow and swung his sword. Even as a child he was strong and the blow hit Emmon's stomach, driving the air out of him and reduced him to coughing.

Giving the rest no time to recover from the surprise Garen pressed the attack. The guards saw a spectacle that day. Eight tall youths, some of them grown men, hard pressed to defend themselves a boy of twelve who wielded a bastard sword taller than himself.

He knocked a weak stab aside and brought the flat of his blade down on the attacker's head, knocking him out cold. He spun around and caught a downward chop that would have cleaved him in two if it had connected. Letting it slide off his sword he delivered a kick to the balls that made all the spectators wince.

Giving the same treatmeant to Aenys he swerved to avoid another sword and brought the flat of his sword to meet the man's nose. Blood spurted out as the man fell, clutching his nose. Garen turned to face the three that remained standing. They wore frightened looks on their faces. They had expected a weakling. Even if he had gone for none lethal blows he had still beaten them. They wavered as Emmon got to his feet.

"Well what are you cowards waiting for? Kill him." He growled. Seeing they were afraid Emmon decided to do it himself and attacked with his sword raised in the air. Garen ducked the blow, causing it to sail harmlessly past him. He then brought his sword down on Emmon's left wrist. The bastard sword, though blunted, was used with enough force to cut right through the limb, lopping Emmon's hand right off.

Ignoring Emmon's screams, Garen turned to the spectators. "They attacked me, a few days after my mother dies. If any dispute my right to defend my honor, then come forward and taste steel." Silence reigned in the courtyard for what seem like an eternity interrupted only by Emmon's screaming sobs.
"Gods boy. Your great grandmother must have been raped by a Clegane to have that strength." The shrill voice of his father rang in the courtyard. Garen looked impassively at his father who had his new wife under his arm.

"To use on your own flesh and blood too."

"They attacked me. Honor demands I defend myself." Garen snapped.

"Maybe a Stark raped your grandmother as well since you can't stop spouting honor this and honor that."

Garen turned his back on his father and walked away. From then on the rest of the bullies learned to avoid Garen. The later sibling, nieces and nephews that came learned that if they wanted to be safe from harm all they had to do was gather around Garen. He entertained them with stories of his life as the Might of Demacia, which he of course didn't mention that he was the hero in the story.

Garen led by example and the house was soon divided between those of Emmon's ilk and Garen's pack. Emmon, of course, never forgot the insult and injury done to him and neither did the seven that were with him. They formed the core of the group that always harassed the little ones when they could. They however seemed to avoid anything physical when Garen was around. Walder Frey did not know or care what happened.

Garen was ten when the Greyjoy rebelled. His father was called to his liege's banner. Garen watched his father ride out of the Twins with his men behind him. Walder Frey, true to his nature, left only at the last possible moment and moved a snail's pace to answer his liege's call. Garen snorted in disgust. Steffon Frey stood behind him with an amused smirk on his face.

"No wonder they call him the Late Lord Frey huh?" Garen smiled. Steffon always knew how to put a smile back on his grandfather's face or rather his grand uncle, as Garen insisted he call him. It was certainly confusing to try to keep track of who was who as the Freys had so many among their number and were still growing. Despite almost all the youths who followed Garen were older than him, they remained loyal to him. Garen was almost as tall as the rest of them so it didn't seem that much.

"No matter while he is gone we can proceed with our plans." The boys had made plans with several of their fellows. It was clear that Walder Frey did nothing to provide lands for the rest of his brood so they decided to build their own. They had studied a map of the Frey holdings and picked a spot near the border of the lands of House Reed along the coast.

There they planned to build a small fort that they could later enlarge into a proper castle. From there Garen planned to add a harbor to. Eventually he hoped to have a castle to rival the Twins. Their group rode out the moment Lord Walder's party was out of sight. They had begun putting their plans into action the moment Garen heard of the Ironborn raids. They had gathered men willing and able to aid them in their endeavor.

After several days of riding they came upon a bandit camp situated on a hill. The hill commanded a vantage point over which miles and miles of terrain could be seen. Once he saw it Garen decided it would be there they would build. It was perfect. The hill already provided a natural view and the castle would overlook both the land around it and the sea.

There were two hundred men with them including the various Frey relatives outnumbering the bandits three to one but Garen declined to send them into battle. He wanted to wipe the stigma of his father's action from their name. He asked for ten volunteers to follow him into the bandit camp. The men looked at him like he was crazy.

"If I do not lead from the front how do I expect you to follow me?" Garen replied before walking up the hill. At first he thought none would follow him that the cowardly attitude and influence of his father had prevailed among his blood. Then Steffon fell into step beside him followed by nine others, most of them Freys. Perhaps all was not lost, Garen thought, a smile fixed on his face.

A few moments later they stood at the entrance to the bandit camp. The bandits swarmed out of their tents and gaped at the audacity of ten men attacking fifty.

Garen turned his head to his men.

"First To the Frey!' He shouted drawing his sword. His men drew their swords and echoed his cry.

"First to the Frey!" The bandits were slaughtered with no casualties whatsoever among the Freys.

Garen gathered the entire party that accompanied him and addressed them.

"Listen men. Throughout the lands our house is mocked. We are the late, the never there and the cowardly. Today that changes. First to the Frey, last to leave. We will wipe the smirks off their faces. We will give them no reason to doubt our honor, our courage or our skill."

His men raised their swords in the air and roared their appreciation to his words. Garen wasted no time putting the men to work. He had brought along mason and carpenters as well. During the months that followed they work from the crack of dawn until dusk. They dug a deep cellar for the storage of food. Next they built a large keep of stone hewn from a nearby quarry they established. The keep took two months to build, for Garen it took too long but according to the masons they had never seen a keep rise to fast. Next they built a barracks, a smithy, a greenhouse and a stable. Around this they built a temporary wall of earth and wood.

The walls were completed just in time for news of Balon Greyjoy's surrender. Their lord father was returning.

A/N: Tell me what you guys think. The continuation of the story will depend on the positive feedback so please read and review. And there. Only minor editing required.