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Sean Bean Saves Westeros - Book 1: Sean Lends a Hand by High Plains Drifter
 A song of Ice and Fire & Game of Thrones Xover Rated: M, English, Adventure, Eddard S./Ned, Eddard S., Words: 109k+, Favs: 1k+, Follows: 737, Published: Jul 22, 2014 Updated: Feb 1, 2015  423Chapter 16
After watching the Hacking Lord and the Butcher Pig scurry off on their horses to report back to the Bitch Queen and her nasty son, not Ned turned back to the others gathered near him. "Lord Jon, Lord Roose, kindly take Ser Jaime," and the knightly rank dripped with contempt, "somewhere and clean him up. Make sure he appears as one becoming the honorable station of a Kingsguard. When his dear, dear sister first lays eyes on him, we wouldn't want her to think we've mistreated the noble fellow." Sean flashed a wicked grin and jerked his head towards the siege line.
"Right, you are, my Lord," the Greatjon chirped cheerfully, easing his massive arse off the the Kingslayer's back and then practically picking the prisoner up out of the mud and muck he'd been plastered into.
"I'll see to his finger wound," Bolton droned pleasantly. "A leech or two will make sure nothing festers.
Beside the actor, Lancel shivered slightly at the mention of the proposed course of treatment.
"Please do, Lord Roose. Very considerate of you to take such a personal interest," not Ned answered.
"Fuck you, Stark," the Kingslayer snarled.
"Wash his eyes too, I think he mistakes me for his sister," the actor retorted.
"Others take you, you black hearted …"
Not Ned tilted his head slightly to turn an icy gaze on the Greatjon, who responded instantly by thumping the Lannister on his skull and shutting him up.
"Now Lord Edmure, I think a drink is in order. Would you please escort our guest, Lord Lancel here, to my pavilion and see to the libations? I'll be along shortly to join you," Sean said cheerily, purposefully ignoring the spectacle of the half conscious Kingslayer being dragged off.
"Assuredly, Lord Eddard," not Ned's not goodbrother answered. "Please come, good Ser. I believe we still have an unopened bottle of Arbor gold we might avail ourselves of. If we hurry, we might drink most of it before other, less discerning palates arrive to clamor for a taste."
The pimply Lannister sprog nodded his head petulantly in agreement, clearly unhappy with all that had been occurring. Nevertheless he did march off with an alacrity that suggested a sense of relief at being parted, if only temporarily, from the Lord of Winterfell's company.
With both guests departed, the other nobles still remaining about tightened up about Sean. "So my lords, sers, were you satisfied with my performance?" the actor inquired.
The brothers Glover and Lord Cerwyn coughed nervously, not wanting to respond.
"I could not tell if you were a madman or a brilliant mummer, my lord," the Blackfish courageously answered. "Perhaps all mummers are a tad mad?"
'You have no idea,' Sean thought. "Indeed," he replied. "It was a stroke of luck Cersei sent her young cousin Lancel as a member of the embassy. He can safely be relied upon to be a slender reed."
"Your ploy last night, milord," old Ser Stevron said approvingly. "The lions, snakes, and spiders have come home to roost. The Pride Queen has too few left to trust, so she sends a boy."
Sean scratched his scruffy, itchy beard. "Yes, a boy," he agreed with an evil smile. "A boy set to inherit Casterly Rock."
"But, my lord," Rickard Karstark interjected. "I thought?"
"No, to the Wall and the Silent Sisters, if they live. But Lancel? If he survives the sack?" And the evil smile grew wider yet. "Who among you has an eligible daughter?"
Medger Cerwyn broke out first. "My Jonelle is a fair maiden."
"And as long in the tooth as she is drab," fat Wylis Manderly declared. "Now my Wylla is a proper colt, with more than enough spirit to tame that wee cub."
"Lord Greatjon isn't here," said Robb, chiming in. "T'would be amiss to not mention he has a pair of eligible daughters. Or at least I think they're still eligible."
Jason Mallister chuckled, "For Casterly Rock, I think the Greatjon would happily rid himself of an inconvenient goodson." The comment raised laughter out of all the lordlings.
"Why should only the North be allowed contenders for such a prize?" asked Ser Stevron with sly amiability.
Brynden Tully scowled. "The Freys are already in line to inherit through your brother Emmon. 'Tis marriage to Winterfell not enough? Must your father's brood also rule Casterly Rock."
The other lords of the Riverlands barked their agreement with the Blackfish's viewpoint until Jonos Bracken piped up. "My Stone Hedge has been ravaged, and me with five daughters to dower. A red filly of my house would pair well with a golden lion."
"And all Casterly Rock's gold would marry well with your treasure chest too, wouldn't it Bracken?" Tytos Blackwood snapped.
"And what of it?" Lord Jonos complained loudly.
"My Wayfarer's Rest is just as ruined as your Stone Hedge, Bracken. I've daughters too and my lands are closer to the Westerlands. I've a better claim, man," cried Karyl Vance.
"And what of Pinkmaiden?" Marq Piper demanded. "My father has no daughters to whore to the Lannisters. Who will give us gold to rebuild?"
A tumult threatened. "My Lords! Sers!" barked Sean in his best command voice. "Behave yourselves. The Lannisters will pay for their crimes against you and your smallfolk in blood and gold, fear not. Lord .. King Stannis is known as a just man. But understand this, while none of us will get as much as we each think we deserve; the true king will not give short shrift to any lord in favor of another."
The group shared dissatisfied grumblings until Maege Mormont roughly cleared her throat. "T'wouldn't be no work a'tall fer Dacey ta keep that little boy's puny cock locked up all safe like. T'lion wouldn't so much as crap wid'out t'she bear's sayin' so."
Sean snorted so hard he almost started to choke.
Rickard Karstark was the first to start outright laughing.
In moments the squabbling lords were guffawing and joking at the idea of the feisty Dacey making 'limp' Lancel a kept man, a she bear's bitch.
"Lord Edmure. Lord Lancel," Sean announced, entering the oversized tent cum headquarters and seeing the pair sipping from goblets.
The slight smile on the young lion's face quickly turned sour.
"I hope you found the vintage to your satisfaction," he said with a smirk, all the while thinking 'Now did the vessel with the pestle have the pellet with the poison or was that the flagon with the dragon?'
"Yes, Lord Stark" the callow youth murmured.
"And the conversation? At least until I arrived," the actor said matter of factly.
The dour expression turned to an outright frown, and he straightened his slender frame to the utmost. "Lord Edmure is a knightly lord," Lancel haughtily replied.
Sean nodded his head in agreement while walking over to the table on which the bottle of Arbor gold sat. "That he is. Ahhhh," he said with satisfaction, wobbling the bottle sufficiently to detect plenty of wine remained in side. As he poured himself a glass, he continued, "And a man who knows his lordly responsibility. The war will end soon enough and my goodbrother, as heir to Riverrun, must then marry soon so as to ensure the Tully name continues. Isn't that right, Edmure."
The stocky, red haired man responded coolly, "I suppose."
Sean chuckled lightly. "Don't worry, Edmure, I'm not buttock brokering … yet." He took a sip of the Arbor gold, not quite a chardonnay; definitely more full bodied than a sauvignon blanc or a pinot grigio, and certainly not a champagne or other sparkling wine. "Oh that's good. The wine that makes its way to the North is hardly better than horse piss and vinegar. Now what of your future, Lancel? When the war is over?"
The sandy haired teen's green eyes stared daggers at not Ned.
The actor sighed. "You needn't die, Lancel. We're not ogres." 'Oops, do they have ogres here?' "… or giants."
"I'll fight you to my last breath, defending my King, my family, my honor!" the youth blazed.
"Of course you will," Edmure agreed soothingly. "No one would expect other from you."
'Hmmmn, can I go good cop, bad cop?' Sean wondered. "But in the end, it will be your last breath," he said seriously.
"We'll bu … kill you when you try to storm the walls," Lancel retorted.
Sean took another sip. 'Go easy mate, your killer hangover only just took holiday.' "Yes, don't worry, we know about the wildfire Cersei has the pyromancers brewing." 'Ah, that's right, it was the chalice with the palace that held the brew that was true.'
"Why do you think we haven't attacked yet," Edmure interjected reasonably. "Lord Eddard's more worried about the gold cloaks accidentally setting King's Landing on fire than he is about our lads getting sprayed with Aery's love potion."
'Smooth, Edmure. Very smooth.' "It's just a matter of time, Lancel. We have twenty five thousand warriors against what? Five? Six thousand gold cloaks? And King Stannis will arrive within a week from Dragonstone with at least equal your numbers and a fleet to block you in," not Ned ground on with relentless logic. "The Queen's uncle Stafford is trying to train an army of ten thousand raw smallfolks in the Westerlands; but they won't be ready for months and they aren't nearly enough anyway. Face facts, the only army that can oppose us is Renly's. You do know of his alliance with the Tyrells?"
The anger slowly seeped out of the lad, replaced by nerves and angst. "How?" Ahem. "Cersei, that is the Queen … how can … is there a way?"
Not Ned shook his head grimly. "I gave her that chance before. You might remember how well that turned out for me."
"The lives of Cersei, Jaime, and Joffrey are forfeit, I'm afraid," Edmure said sadly.
"But what of Tommen and Myrcella?" Lancel whined.
"They're bastards," Sean icily responded.
"They're not!" the youth protested loudly.
Not Ned strode close to the pretty blonde trying to grow a manly mustache and whispered in his ear. "Cersei takes you to her bed. Did you really think you were her first Lannister lover."
"No!" Lancel yelled, angrily swinging a fist that struck Sean a glancing blow on his chest.
"SER!" Edmure shouted in disapproval.
Sean grabbed the brat's recalcitrant wrist, his wintry grey eyes staring down the sprog's softer green ones. He shook the wrist. "Did you?" he hissed.
Face red from hate or exertion or embarrassment, Lancel at last wheezed a distraught, soft, "No," and looked to the ground.
"So where does that leave you, Lancel?" not Ned asked in a voice so quiet, so menacing, Roose Bolton would have approved. The boy didn't answer. The actor shook his wrist again. "Where?"
"I … I dunno," came the sullen answer.
Sean let go of the sprog and stepped back with a smile. "Why it leaves you as heir to Casterly Rock. That's something to live for isn't it?"
A confused look spread over Lancel's face. "Wha .. what about the im … cousin Tyrion. His head isn't …" an angry, sullen expression quickly replaced the confusion "… isn't on the spikes next to father's and Uncle Tywin's. I thought he … that you had him as …"
"A dwarf's head is too small to fit nicely on a spike," Sean replied.
Edmure snickered.
Lancel tried to look outraged, but failed. "What will happen to Tommen and Myrcella, then" he wondered softly.
Edmure cleared his throat. "Tommen will be sent to the Wall. Myrcella will be made a Silent Sister. She'll probably go live on Dragonstone or whatever remote outpost the King wishes to exile her to."
'Unless Melisandre decides to burn her for heresy,' Sean thought snarkily.
"Lord … King Stannis … he's a hard man. How … how can you be sure he'll …"
"And he's a man who'll have won the Iron Throne thanks in the main to the two lords now sharing some rather excellent wine with you, Lord Lancel," the actor explained. "And no one would ever call Stannis Baratheon stupid. It will be easier to rule the Seven Kingdoms with the Westerlands ruled by the recognized heir of House Lannister. The war must end. Winter is coming," not Ned said solemnly.
"And all I have to do is betray my family," the boy said bitterly.
"No, we would never ask you to dishonor yourself so, Lord Lancel. All we're asking is that you don't die. If not, then Lord Edmure here already has your brother Willem as his guest in Riverrun. He'd do just as well as you I suppose."
Lancel Lannister nodded his pretty blonde head in resignation at his fate.
'Time for a bone.' "When you escort your cousin Jaime back into King's Landing, would you like to take Lord Kevan's bones with you?" Sean asked solicitously.
The youth's effeminate lips pursed in thought. "May I take Uncle Tywin's bones too?"
Not Ned shook his head in the negative.
"Then … no. I … I fear Cersei might take it as a slight."
'Smart lad,' Sean thought. 'Maybe you're not as completely stupid as I'd hoped.'
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