Chapter 2

The Great Hall of Winterfell, moments ago filled with the sounds of merriment and celebration, now echoed with the clash of steel and the grunts of exertion. The feast had devolved into chaos, with lords and ladies scrambling to the edges of the room, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and fascination as they watched the unfolding spectacle.

At the center of this maelstrom stood Soldier Boy, his green suit a blur of motion as he effortlessly dispatched guard after guard. His movements were fluid, almost dance-like, a stark contrast to the more rigid, formal fighting style of the Northmen with what seemed to be medieval weaponry.

"Come on, boys!" Soldier Boy taunted, ducking under a wild sword swing and countering with a palm strike that sent a burly guard flying back into a table laden with food. "I've had tougher workouts with senior citizens!"

His accented quips, strange and incomprehensible to the Westerosi ears, only served to further enrage his opponents. A pair of guards attempted to flank him, thinking to overwhelm him with numbers. Soldier Boy merely grinned, waiting until the last moment before leaping straight up, allowing the two men to crash into each other.

"Ooh, that's gotta hurt," he winced mockingly, landing lightly on his feet. "Maybe try looking where you're going next time, fellas."

From his position at the high table, Lord Eddard Stark, watched the scene unfold with a mixture of concern and grudging admiration. This stranger, bizarre as he might be, was clearly a warrior of exceptional skill. Yet Ned could not allow this disruption to continue.

"Jory!" he called to his captain of the guards. "Take him down!"

Jory Cassel, a skilled swordsman in his own right, nodded grimly and drew his blade. He approached Soldier Boy cautiously, noting how the stranger had already disabled over a dozen men without breaking a sweat.

"Surrender, intruder," Jory demanded, his sword pointed steadily at Soldier Boy's chest. "You're outnumbered and in violation of guest right. Come quietly, and Lord Stark may show mercy."

Soldier Boy raised an eyebrow, looking almost amused. "Outnumbered? Buddy, I'm not sure you've been paying attention." He gestured to the groaning guards scattered around him. "But I'll tell you what - you seem like a stand-up guy. How about we skip the part where I embarrass you in front of your boss, and the hotties watching? You just point me towards whoever's in charge around here?"

Jory's face hardened at the insult. With a cry, he lunged forward, his blade a silver arc in the torchlight. To the astonishment of all watching, Soldier Boy didn't even attempt to dodge. Instead, he caught the blade between his palms, stopping it cold mere inches from his face.

"Okay," Soldier Boy sighed, his tone disappointed. "Guess we're doing this the hard way."

With a twist of his wrists, he wrenched the sword from Jory's grasp. Before the captain could react, Soldier Boy had spun him around, using the man's own momentum to send him sprawling across the rushes.

"And that, kids," Soldier Boy announced to the stunned onlookers, "is why you should always wear a cup."

A young guard, more brave than wise, saw an opening and charged at Soldier Boy from behind, mace raised high. Without even turning, Soldier Boy sidestepped the clumsy attack. The guard's momentum carried him forward, and Soldier Boy casually stuck out a foot, sending the man tumbling.

As the guard tried to rise, he found himself pinned to the ground, a heavy weight on his back. Soldier Boy had placed his shield - a 600-pound, triangular metallic weapon adorned with an eagle emblem - squarely on the man's back.

"Stay down, Lancelot," Soldier Boy advised. "That shield weighs more than you ever fathom lifting. Tungsten's a bitch like that."

The hall remained silent, save for the groans of the fallen guards and the nervous whispers of the nobles. Soldier Boy stood in the center of the room, untouched and seemingly unperturbed by the chaos he'd caused.

It was then that Lord Eddard Stark finally rose from his seat, his grey eyes fixed firmly on the strange intruder. The Lord of Winterfell cut an imposing figure, his hand resting on the pommel of his great sword, Ice.

"Enough," Ned's voice, though not raised, carried the weight of command. "You have disrupted our feast, attacked my men, and violated the sacred laws of hospitality. Who are you, stranger, and what is your purpose here?"

"Why are you talking like that?" Soldier Boy turned to face Lord Stark, his cocky grin fading slightly as he noticed the confused faces of others, and the frown deepen on this "Lord Stark's" face.

For the first time since his arrival, he seemed to truly take in his surroundings - the medieval decor, the formal attire of the nobles, the ancient stonework of the hall.

"Well, shit," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "I don't think we're in Nicaragua anymore..."

Then, squaring his shoulders and adopting a more formal tone (or as formal as Soldier Boy ever got), he addressed Lord Stark directly.

"The name's Soldier Boy, your... Lordship?" he ventured, guessing at the proper form of address. "As for my purpose, well, I'm a little fuzzy on that myself. One minute I'm minding my own business on an operation with my team, the next I'm waking up on a beach that sure as hell isn't anything I recognize. So how about we start with you telling me exactly where I am, and we'll go from there?"

Lord Stark's brow furrowed, his expression a mixture of confusion and wariness. "You stand in Winterfell, stranger. The seat of House Stark and capital of the North. If you truly do not know this, then you are either mad or... something else entirely."

Soldier Boy's eyes widened slightly. Winterfell? The North? These names meant nothing to him, but the medieval setting and the lord's formal speech were starting to paint a very strange picture.

"Winterfell," he repeated, his usual bravado faltering for a moment. "Never heard of it. And the North? Like, Canada? Because this sure as hell doesn't look like any Canada I've ever seen."

His words were met with blank stares and confused murmurs. Clearly, his references meant nothing to these people. But for Soldier Boy, the reality of his situation was beginning to sink in. Somehow, impossibly, he had landed in a world entirely foreign to him.

"Oh boy," he muttered, running a hand through brown his hair. "What kind of mess have I gotten myself into this time?"

Lord Stark, seeing the genuine confusion in the stranger's eyes, made a decision. With a gesture, he called off the remaining guards who had been tensed to attack.

"It seems," Ned said slowly, "that we have much to discuss, 'Soldier Boy'. Perhaps it would be best if we continued this conversation in private."

As Lord Stark descended from the high table, the crowd parted before him. He approached Soldier Boy, his face impassive but his eyes keen and assessing.

"You will come with me," he said, his tone making it clear this was not a request. "And you will explain yourself fully. The safety of my people depends on it."

Soldier Boy, for once, didn't have a quip ready. Instead, he simply nodded. Normally, someone talking to him like that would be missing a jaw. But, if he really is a lord, you can't look like a pussy after someone just stormed into your domain. 

"Lead the way, Lord Stark," he said, his voice uncharacteristically subdued. "We've both got some explaining to do."

As they exited the Great Hall, leaving behind a wake of stunned silence and overturned tables, both men knew that nothing would ever be the same again.