SbiperNot too sore, are you?
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Bryer II
"My Lord"
"Bryer."
As was his wont he stayed in the deep shadows cast by the walls of the Solar of the Hand, keeping his hood raised to hide his face. Not that is Lord did not know him to see, it was just something born of long habit and natural caution.
"Well done, everything went to plan, no lose ends, very professional."
"Thank you my Lord" he replied, taking pride in a job well done as much as in his master's praise.
"How goes the tidying up of Lord Baelish's various enterprises and undertakings?"
"Ongoing, Lord Baelish had squirreled away quite a bit of coin in out of the way places and with other parties, who were mostly unaware that they were holding monies for the former Master of Coin."
"Make sure there is a full accounting of all of this Bryer, but there is no need to hand over all of it to the new Master of Coin, some of it I am sure can be retained and used for our purposes?"
"Yes my Lord."
"I will leave it in your hands then Bryer, now to the rest of our business."
At this he handed over a pewter bottle to his Lord and nodded at the raised eyebrow.
"Same concentration as before my Lord."
"Good, it has worked as you said, and nobody appears to be the wiser, especially after his Grace's death."
Bryer's face betrayed no emotion at this; even with his face hidden he would not show anything.
"The item from Oldtown?"
"Yes my Lord, it has been retrieved, here" at this he handed his Lord a book wrapped in oilskin.
"Good, now tell me of progress concerning matters to the north of here."
"All goes well, should the need arise to utilise the method you requested it will present no problem."
"And the necessary 'plausible deniability' I would require?"
"I have the necessary documentation prepared, and the bill of lading showing the shipment will actually be the one I will use to ship the goods to their destination. The bonded storage that would be used for the cover goods is a perfect location for the purposes that you require. The cover goods will have their own legitimate documentation, and goods of this type are shipped regularly enough on this route to not arouse any suspicion."
"Good, will you be attending to this personally?"
"I intend to my Lord, yes. And the time frame involved my Lord?" he asked, already suspecting he knew the answer.
"Two turns of the moon as a rough guide, it should not happen before certain events, but should not happen too much later after them either."
"As my Lord commands, but there is likely to be many more caught up in this in addition to the clients" he did feel compelled to mention this, just in case, so that his master was fully appraised of the consequences of the course of action he wanted pursued.
"Understood Bryer, and accepted, now to Dragonstone, is there any news?"
"Nothing my Lord, my agents have not reported back to me for several weeks now."
"Assume they are dead or compromised, Stannis has a Red Priestess in his employ, the Gods only know what she can see in her flames."
"Yes my Lord, is any further action to be taken regarding Dragonstone?"
"For now no.....Lord Varys?"
"We are probing his network, it is more extensive than previously understood, his 'little birds' are but one of his means of gathering information. Like the former Master of Coin he had fingers in many pies."
"Not surprising, his contacts with Essos?"
"I have identified the factors he uses and the relative frequency he uses them, roughly every turn of the moon."
"Keep him and his under observation, it may become necessary to remove the Master of Whispers at short notice, be ready to act on my command."
"I will ensure that the necessary plans are ready my Lord" he replied, wondering again why his master had not used the chaos of the death of King Joffrey to do away with the Spider. The eunuch was by far the greater threat than Lord Baelish had been, in his professional opinion, Lord Varys's network was far reaching and discrete, and very, very well run, Baelish's by contrast was a typical amateur's set up. Oh it had a few innovations and surprises to be sure, but nothing to fear, nothing to respect, as one professional to another.
"Good.....now....the whereabouts of Euron Greyjoy?"
"Nothing so far my Lord, rumours of him being sighted off Sothoryos near the Ax Isle, but nothing definitive."
"I want to know the moment he pops up and you can confirm a definitive sighting Bryer, especially if he reappears on the Iron Islands, this is critical, do you understand?"
"Yes my Lord" he replied, an undercurrent of fear just discernable in his Lords voice, something he had never heard before.
Jamie I
"You took your time" his father growled at him from behind his desk, not even deigning to raise his head to look at him.
"Well, I needed a bath, a change of clothes and a shave father; I missed the comforts of civilisation during my sojourn with the Starks. I could hardly present myself before the Hand of the King looking like a begging brother after all!" He thought it best to resort to his usual light hearted banter to deflect and neutralise his father's usual wrath.
"Hrmmmm, you had time to visit your sister before you came to me though, how is she?"
He wanted to lash out at his father, anger roiling inside him, Cersei was, she was not the same woman he had left to go to war with the Starks, his lioness was a shell of her former self. Gone was the fire, the arrogance, the poise, replaced by anger, hatred, madness and an unhealthy amount of wine imbibed every day. His meeting with his twin had shocked him, unsettled him, the fragile hold Cersei seemed to have on her sanity was terrifying, her rants against father and Tyrion chilling in their intensity. His sister had always been a passionate person, living her loves and hates to a much more intense degree than him, but Cersei appeared to be driven by something else now, something more fanatical.
"My sister is not well, as I am sure you know, the death of Joffrey has struck her hard."
"Indeed, the death of her bastard fathered by you seems to have unhinged what little sanity Cersei still clung to."
That stopped Jamie cold, his mind whirling, a roaring in his ears that only he could hear making any coherent though impossible. His father simply gazed at him with that steely eyed glare that was his default look, while he was sure his own face probably looked slack jawed and stupid. Before he could recover his father continued "I don't know what the pair of you were thinking Jamie, that you would get away with it?"
To hell with his father "we got away with it so far...."
"You idiot...." his father hissed at him, his eyes suddenly blazing with a hatred so intense he was tempted to recoil in fright.
"You, you thought so little of your name, that you would sully it so, with incest....."
"I was already a Kingslayer, seemed like it was of little consequence, plus Robert was too drunk or too interested in tupping whores to do his duty by his Queen so I....."
"ENOUGH!" his father roared "Enough gods damm you!" Tywin bunching his fists on the desk, once again he had managed to provoke the Old Lion, good, that meant he was not losing his touch, despite losing a hand.
His father just took deep breath after deep breath before finally asking through clenched teeth "I see you have donned that ridiculous armour, can I assume that if I ask you to relinquish your white cloak you will refuse me?"
"But of course!" he replied, plastering a smug smile on his face, no sense in letting his father think losing his hand would change him.
Something flickered in the eyes of his father, was it recognition, acceptance, maybe even satisfaction?
"As I suspected, very well, you will be elevated to the position of Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, though you will be the first one handed Knight in the Kingsguard."
What a cunt..."Well I always was one for being unique..." he quipped back.
His father did not respond to this instead he continued "Your sister, should she recover from her malaise following Joffrey's death will have to marry again, and in all likelihood leave Kings Landing for good as a result. So no more golden Lannister cunny for you, ever again..."
No sense in pleading on behalf of his love, his father had nothing of kindness or mercy in him, only calculation. He came to his decision swiftly. "I will give up the White Cloak if you spare her this...." There, he had said it, he would do it, he would give up, he would surrender to his father's will, to save Cersei.
"How many times did I make my offer boy? And how many times did you refused me, even mocking me with that stupid grin you like to wear?"
Jamie was shocked by his father's coldness, here he was acquiescing to what he knew was his father's most cherished wish, and the Old Lion was saying no?
"You had your chances, and you threw them away..... And why would I want a man who shows such poor judgement that he not only fucks his own sister on a regular basis, but he conspires with her to pass off their bastards as legitimate?"
He gave his father a tight grin "I was never known for my intelligence now was I father?"
"No, you were renowned for you skill with a sword, how is that working out for you without your right hand?" his father replied, the very slightest of a sneer pulling at his mouth.
What did he expect from his father, sympathy? No, never that, only a relentless, crushing monomaniacal obsession with family and legacy, and now that Tywin Lannister considered him worthless?
"Your dear sister is equally as stupid, she let her own twin brother pup her three fucking times! All she had to do was give that drunken fool one dark haired child, one gods dammed dark haired child! And maybe, maybe we would not be in this mess!"
"Cersei did give Robert a dark haired son, but the little whelp died" he retorted sullenly.
"No Jamie, the baby was poisoned by Cersei; I had Maester Pycelle confirm it after the child died."
Jamie was at a loss for words at this, his mind spinning and tumbling and refusing to come up with any answers.
"I know she was the one in the pair of who that held the whip hand, manipulating you, twisting you, leading you around by your pillar. You know she cares nothing for you boy, don't you? I'll wager she did not take too kindly to you being missing a hand? Because you are no longer the peerless warrior who can be relied upon to protect her no matter what stupidity she has convinced herself was the right course of action eh?"
There was little to say in response to the Old Lion so he just sat there, keeping his face as fixed as possible and not allowing his father any more victories than he had already scored.
"The things you have done for love Jamie, like throwing that Stark boy from a window, surely your proudest moment as a Knight?"
At this he could not contain himself "how, how do you know? Did Cersei tell you....?"
"Your sister has told me nothing, but when you examine the facts it becomes obvious enough. And rather than resolve it by making sure the poor lad never awoke you left it to that idiot son of yours to arrange. Who of course botched it and thus triggered the whole mess we have been dealing with ever since."
"The attempt on Bran's life, that was Joffrey's doing?"
"Yes, and he gifted the cutpurse a Valyrian steel dagger to carry out the act, there is stupid and there is stupid Jamie, but that?"
"Erh yes, well, Joffrey was a bit of a, well...."
"Cunt, he was a stupid, spoilt, vicious, idiotic cunt Jamie, you should have pulled out that time on the Isle of Tarth and done us all a favour."
"The, the other....children?"
"Tommen will be crowned King and will wed Margaery Tyrell. Myrcella may marry that Dornish Prince her uncle deemed her worthy of."
"And, the, well...."
"The rumours will no doubt circulate, the gossips will tattle, but so long as you and Cersei say, or do nothing further to inflame these rumours, then all might be well, and this family might just survive."
Silence fell between them then, until his father broke it "And to think you could have probably prevented all of this by just telling Eddard Stark why you killed Aerys..."
"It seemed like a good idea at the time" he quipped, falling back on the answer he always gave when this was brought up."
His father slapped his palm on his desk "You think me a fool boy! You think I have not become aware of the Wildfire that Aerys had stockpiled under Kings Landing? That's why you killed him, and that equally idiotic Wisdom of his. Aerys was mad, he had often spoken of using 'fire and blood' to be reborn as a dragon, I'll bet he thought immolating all of Kings Landing would provide enough blood for his transformation."
Jamie could say nothing in return, how could he, his father had stripped him bare of everything he had once had, everything that had made him what he was. Eventually he croaked out "what are you.....going to do about the Wildfire?"
"It's been sitting under Kings Landing for over a decade and a half, sweating, getting more powerful, more sensitive...For now you will not speak of it to anyone, but it will be removed and transported to a safer place for storage. Had things been different it could even have been the redemption of you Jamie, showing to the world why you killed mad Aerys, one death to save hundreds of thousands, a confirmation of your knightly vows, your honour."
"And now?" he had to ask, bile in his throat, the sour taste of defeat, of humiliation.
"Now, it will be just another sad footnote when people talk about the Kingslayer."
What a cunt.
Tywin IV
Javier Peña stood before me, well not really, but Oberyn Martell was a dead ringer for everyone's favourite DEA agent from Netflick's Narcos Season 1 & 2. This was not exactly a meeting I was looking forwards too if I was honest, there was little I could do to deflect the vengeance that the Martell's were sure to inflict on House Lannister in general, and me, or Tywin, in particular.
The whole 'book or show' canon thing was highly confusing to say the least, and I suspected that it was a deliberate ploy by whatever or whoever had dropped me into this particular arsehole of the universe to annoy and thwart me.
Tywin for one was highly amused by my bemoaning all of this, ascribing me being here to the 'gods', though which ones he never specified and of being of the opinion that the Gods were cunts, much like his younger son's opinion on the matter.
Dragging my mind beck to the matter at hand I was going to do my best to try and postpone the day of reckoning between House Lannister and House Martell for as long as possible. Though of course Tywin had been dragged, metaphorically kicking and screaming to this point, and the Old Lion was still highly annoyed by what I was planning to do. At least he had stopped sulking and being uncommunicative, and had reluctantly agreed that, all things considered, given the greater concerns we both had, namely the fucking fast approaching Ice Apocalypse, that this was in the end a trifling matter.
"My Lord Hand" announced Oberyn Martell with his characteristic smiling arrogance, I'd never read any book descriptions of him, having only read selected chapters of the books – and never cover to cover as such. So I did not know how accurate Pedro Pascal's portrayal was supposed to be, unlike that Danish dude who played Euron Greyjoy, who even I knew played Euron with enough ham to choke a Rabbi to death.
"Prince Oberyn" I replied, gesturing with a hand to the table, indicating that we should sit, as usual I was using the Hand's Solar as the venue, I felt comfortable here, in control of events. And speaking of events and such things were progressing with reasonable success, Joffrey and Littlefinger were no more, Cersei was well on her way to becoming insane and needing to be locked away in a septary and Jamie was suitably chastened by losing his hand.
Tywin had been in agreement with killing Joffrey and letting the Tyrell's do the dirty work, along with pinning the blame on Baelish, what he had not been in favour of was killing either of his 'golden twins', no matter what they did he would not countenance killing them. Removing them from play, neutering them, yes, killing them, absolutely no. So hence the poisoning of Cersei with a drug that would drive her insane, ironically Tywin had planned to use the same drug on Aerys but generations of Targ inbreeding had done its work for him instead. All the supposed interest in marrying Cersei off had just been a facade, once Tywin knew what she had done and how she had acted he knew she was an utter liability that needed to be dealt with.
So driving her mad and then packing her off to an enclosed septary somewhere quiet was the plan, we had already found the perfect place to dispose of Cersei, and in the Westerlands, so even better. Cersei would be purportedly sent back to Casterly rock but would 'take ill' and have to be removed to the Sept to protect her 'fragile state'. The dosages she was imbibing were approaching permanent damage levels so it would soon now that she could be removed from Kings Landing. And out of play in the Game of Thrones, for the betterment of all involved, and especially us, me, the Lannister's.
Jamie had been dealt with by the loss of his hand and though it annoyed Tywin no end he had eventually come to see the benefits of this. He now knew how stupid Jamie had been so retaining him in the Kingsguard made sense with Cersei withdrawn from the scene. He could spend the rest of his life as a glorified guard, for Tywin had finally come to realise that Jamie was just not interested in ruling. But Tywin would have never let the Bolton's, or those sellswords, what was their name again..... Bloody something's....get away with maiming Jamie. Oh no, fuck no, and to be honest I was in agreement with him, you did not let anyone shit on you like that in the Game of Thrones, and disposing of the Bolton's, well at least Roose and his senior bannermen, was the bare minimum that the two of use agreed upon. Ramsey would be dealt with in due course, that crazy ass bastard was going to find himself fatally dead soon enough, come what may.
On the matter of Tyrion I had done my best to try and get him to reconsider Tyrion as his successor, but the Old Lion was adamant, the dwarf would never inherit, ever. And despite this being a major 'red button' issue for Tywin some of his reasoning made sense, the banner man of the Westerlands might not respect Tyrion, and there was the matter of a wife. Despite Tywin's reputation none of his banner men, from the highest Lord to the lowliest Landed Knight had accepted his offer of Tyrion's hand. Something which had actually annoyed Tywin immensely over the years and which meant that when Sansa Stark had proposed it had not been too much of a hurdle to get him to agree to this.
Of course the age gap factor he had completely ignored, all he was interested in was the girl fertile and was she not an idiot and I think the answer to both those questions was a 'yes'. This Sansa Stark looked nothing like her show counterpart, and seemed to be less of a befuddled idiotic girl than either her portrayal in the books or the show. She ticked all the boxes for Tywin, who once he had access to my meta knowledge had immediately started to consider matches for himself, though mainly among his banner men and without actually making any concrete moves and thus having to disappoint anyone.
Anyway I dragged my attention back to the room and its smirking occupant, here goes nothing, the guffaw from Tywin in my mind not helping one bit.
"Thank you for coming to see me Prince Oberyn, the unfortunate death of King Joffrey so soon after his father's death poses a considerable problem for the realm, added to this ongoing senseless war with the North and the Riverlands, to say nothing of the rank stupidity of Balon Greyjoy and the Iron Born. The Seven Kingdoms needs unity if it is to stand a chance of survival, and not descend into a bunch of warring petty kingdoms again, and Dorne is conspicuous by its absence from the affairs of the realm."
"There was a rebellion that overthrew the Targaryen's, you yourself took some small part in it my Lord Hand, my sister and her children were murdered at the conclusion of that rebellion, surely you remember?" Oberyn Martell asked, a grin on his handsome face but it was brittle and it did not reach his eyes, which burned with murderous intensity.
"Yes, and your brother simmers in anger in the Water Gardens, goaded by your hot blood for vengeance, and thus plots with a Cheesemonger and a Spider to put a young Dragon that is protected by an old Griffon back on the Iron Throne. And all he thinks the price will be is the hand of his daughter Arianne to this so called 'Aegon'? Let me ask you Prince Oberyn, would your sister have let her son out of her sight for a second? Would she have let the Spider spirit him away? Why not her daughter too, and even her? I for one find it hard to believe that a princess of Dorne would have let the heir to the Iron Throne to the devices of the Master of Whispers, no matter what."
"You did not know my sister my Lord Hand, she would have done anything, anything to protect her children" hissed Oberyn Martell in response.
"Maybe, maybe not, but the fact remains that this so called 'young griff' or Aegon as he styles himself, has no real way of proving his legitimacy beyond the promises of a Master of Whispers and an overly ambitious Magister. Then there is the rather unfortunate problem that the children borne by Princess Elia by Rhaegar are not legitimate."
"WHAT?" the Red Viper hissed at me, I could feel the atmosphere change in the room, violence was imminent.
"Here" I said calmly, letting something of Tywin come to the surface to share this with me, pulling on his reserves of calm and icy fortitude, as I handed over a document to Oberyn.
"This is an excerpt from the diary of High Septon Meynard, the page you hold is a copy, you will notice the Citadel authentication stamps at the bottom confirming that this is a legitimate copy created by the Scribes of the Citadel. The page describes the annulment of the wedding of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell and the subsequent wedding of Rhaegar to Lyanna Stark. By law his children with Princess Elia were bastards from then on."
I waited for Prince Oberyn's reaction to that bombshell, noticing with Tywin's eye's the emotions working their way across the Red Viper's face, while in my head Tywin radiated a smug sense of satisfaction. Personally I thought that Prince Oberyn was about to murder me, Bronn was at the door but he would never reach us in time if the Red Viper decided to end me. Not exactly a pleasant thought but Tywin scoffed at the idea, confident that Oberyn would not try anything, I was not no sure, these Latin Types were very hot headed after all....
"Bastardry is not so much of an issue in Dorne" he eventually replied nonchalantly, but we could see that this had rattled him, and we both wondered what effect this would have on Doran Martell and his endlessly delayed plans for vengeance.
On that note "I have something for you Prince Oberyn, and for your brother" I gestured to Bronn who was hovering at the door, who gave me a quick bow and left the Solar, Prince Oberyn observed this with a raised eyebrow.
While waiting for Bronn to return I got up and walked over to the sideboard and poured two cups of well watered Dornish red, and returned to the table and handed Prince Oberyn a cup, taking a good deep drink from my cup.
Standing over him, using Tywin's favourite tactic of physical domination, the Dornish Prince smiled up at me and took an equally deep drink of his watered wine, his eyes never leaving mine.
Hearing the door open I said "Ah good Ser Bronn, bring them here" I gestured to the former sellsword who plopped the two things down on the table to the right of the Prince of Dorne and just out of his line of vision as he was turned to face me.
Oberyn turned away from me to see the freshly severed heads of Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch sitting on the table, leaking blood onto its deeply polished surface.
He turned his gaze back to me and I raised my glass of wine "A Lannister always pays his debts."
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Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!
What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...
Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter
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SbiperNot too sore, are you?
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Cersei III
She sat with the curtains pulled, hating the light now, another thing to add to the long list of things that she hated, despised. Taking a long gulp of her wine, she ignored its sour, bile taste, ignored the effort it took to swallow past the lump in her throat.
Everything was ashes, all was dust, her golden prince was dead, poisoned, poisoned by that little Imp, and none would believe her! And her golden twin returned to her, but maimed, worthless.....
She still remembered Jamie coming to her, of how she had thrilled to hear of his return, how she had felt such joy in her heart, only for it all to be a tragic disappointment. Her golden twin was a shadow of his former self, and not just physically, the spark that made Jamie was absent, that pride, that arrogance, gone. He was no longer a lion to her mind, no longer was a Lannister, his spirit was washed away, there was barely even a glimpse of what he had been before.
And with his sword hand gone, what was he now? The answer was simple, he was nothing, like Joffrey, her golden Prince, Jamie was no more, oh he still lived, if being a cripple could be called still living, but what made him Jamie, what made him special? No, she could not sense it anymore; it was as if in losing his hand the Jamie she had known and loved had been ripped from his body.
How long had it been now, a moons turn, maybe more, since that accursed day when all light, all joy had fled her life, watching her son, the most perfect thing she had ever done, the union of her and Jamie's flesh die before her. Choking, gasping, eyes bloodshot and bulging out of his skull, frantic and filled with terror as he tried to breathe, his mouth yawning impossibly wide as he desperately tried to gulp air into his lungs.
Her mind dissolved into pure, raging hatred as she relived these memories, unable to form coherent thoughts she gave herself to her rage, letting it course through her, filling her, replacing all the hurt, the pain, the freezing emptiness she felt.
I was good to let go, to embrace this purity of hate, she did not need to think, she did not need to feel, she just existed in a timeless, endless blaze of detestation at everything and everyone.
But despite her best efforts she could not retain this blissful state for ever, too soon it slipped away from her and the world intruded into her thoughts once more, with all its petty concerns and problems.
She stood up from the divan she had been lounging on, her muscles protesting this effort, she was stiff and sore from her lack of exercise, but she did not care, the last time she had left her chambers was to attend Joffrey's funeral. She supposed that soon enough she would have to leave and attend Tommen's coronation as King, the thoughts of which filled her with nothing but bile and uncontrolled anger. At this she caught sight of herself in a mirror, and the face that stared back at her she barely recognised, hair wild and unkempt, face puffy and streaked with tears, worry lines across her forehead. A snarl escaped her lips at this visage and she hurled her wine goblet at the mirror, shattering it into hundreds of pieces, no servant rushed in to clean away the mess, they knew better than to disturb her. The last servant to enter her chambers unbidden by her had been removed by her guards, bloody and insensate, and had apparently died a short time afterwards, the blow from a vase to the back of her skull having proved fatal.
She cared not one whit for this, she had brained the chit with that vase for disturbing her, the slut should have known better, well her remaining servants knew better after that at least.
Moving away from the debris of the mirror she paced her room, ignoring its gloom and its slightly stuffy smell from the drawn curtains and closed windows. She was a Lannister, a Lion of Casterly rock, she had to think, she had to plot, and most importantly she had to pay her debts, oh yes, they needed to be paid in full and with interest!
Her brother had to die, and he had to die as soon as possible, that was the only way she could get any modicum of justice for her murdered son. No matter what was said, no matter that the fiction of Lord Baelish's supposed involvement, she knew, she knew in her heart, that it was Tyrion who had killed Joffrey.
Baelish was a whoremonger and was thoroughly her creature; he had no lands, no power, no vassals, no sponsor, his power was conditional on her blessing and her blessing alone. So he had his fleshmarts, so what, they were not power, real power, and he dabbled in trading and pushing coin around, pah! A Jumped up merchant was Littlefinger, a pawn who liked to sup at the table of his betters and who was grateful for the crumbs that they condescended to throw his way. No, Baelish, no matter how ambitious would not have murdered Joffrey, even with backing; he was not a player of the Game of Thrones, no for the Game of Thrones played him.
The Tyrell's she dismissed also, they had too much to lose should they be discovered, and they would be crushed by her father if even a hint of suspicion fell upon them. That old hag Olenna Tyrell was many things, all of them annoying, but she was not stupid or rash, no the Tyrell's were not to blame for Joffrey's murder.
Tyrion, it had to be Tyrion, it was the only logical choice, this was the first part of his threat to kill all of her children, she saw it so clearly, so blatantly, and wondered, not for the first time, why no one else could see this? The disgusting little Imp's plans were laid bare to her, kill Joffrey and banish Mrycella, who would probably be killed by the Dornish anyway; Tommen was next, probably to be killed before he attained his majority. But that was not the most diabolic part of the Imp's plan, oh no, she knew what drove her little brother, what he wanted above all else was Casterly rock, to succeed her father. That was the twisted ambition that drove him, and to heap humiliation on all those who had humiliated him in the past, her and her father primarily. Jamie was a soft hearted fool when it came to their brother, only her and her father had treated him with the contempt that he deserved.
And yet her father now seemed to be taken in by the Imp's plots, a state of affairs that terrified her, for was her father not the smartest man in all Westeros? Was not the Old Lion the person she had most admired, most tried to emulate during her life? And was not she the only one of his children who had really understood his lessons, his lectures?
And yet he had spurned her repeatedly, treated her and her Joffrey with little disguised contempt, when all she and Joffrey had done was what he would have done in their position, when all they had done they had done to preserve the power of the Lannister family?
And yet her father could not, or would not see things in this light, he seemed to be obsessed with strange plots and plans, of which she was only dimly aware, though some of them she did know about. His absurd plans to marry her off again, firstly to that cripple Willas Tyrell and now according to her sources to a Manderly of all people? To traitors? To northern savages who had rebelled against her Joffrey and whose heads should be adorning the spikes over the Traitors Gate?
Again this must be as a result of the pernicious influence of the Imp on her father, it was the only logical conclusion that she could draw, and her father blinded by the cunning and treachery of her detestable little brother was something that scared her to the bone.
She twisted her mouth sourly as her mind plotted; she would have to do what was necessary, she still had her looks, and more importantly she knew how to wield that weapon that nestled between her legs.
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Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!
What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...
Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter
Sbiper, Apr 29, 2019Report
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SbiperNot too sore, are you?
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Sansa XII
Standing beside Lord Tywin she stifled a small yawn, Tommen was being crowned in the Throne Room and the ceremony had lasted at least two hours already. As befitted her station as a ward of the Hand of the King she was standing on the small dais that ran beside and behind the towering, twisted bulk of the Iron Throne.
Her hair was worn loose and curled, as Lady Genna had advised her and she was wearing a gown of deep green, patterned with tiny vines threaded in gold.
Tommen was wearing a doublet of crimson and gold with black trousers and he looked very alone and young as the High Septon droned on endlessly, she risked a glance to the other side of Lord Tywin, Queen Cersei was scowling, and drunk, and the stink of wine from her was unpleasant.
As was her wont, or at least every time she encountered the former Queen, Cersei was drunk and was acting in ways that were highly inappropriate to her station, and she knew Lord Tywin mightily disapproved of his daughters behaviour. Though the Old Lion was not one to ever give up his grip on his emotions she now knew him a little bit better, she could read something of his body language, and he despised his daughter the way other men despised their own bodily waste.
Tywin Lannister, the man who she would be married to in a few short turns of the moon... it was she had to admit, a very strange turn of events, for never in her life did she imagine such a thing happening. No regrets coloured her thoughts, she had made her decision, it would be her penance for her idiotic behaviour, behaviour that led to the death of her father and two younger brothers. And how many countless thousands of others had died in the wars that had followed? All that blood and suffering could be laid at her feet, and she wondered how she had not drowned in the sorrows and self loathing of it all?
Her marriage to Tywin Lannister would, if not absolve her, be sufficient punishment for her crimes. And equally important she got to choose the man she would marry, and the Old Lion was exactly who she wanted, he suited her purposes perfectly. Not just to finally kill the stupid girl she had once been, oh no, while that had been an overriding concern for her, she had realised that Lord Tywin brought other advantages to her.
And not to be too blunt about it, she would have power, as Lady of Casterly rock, as the mother of Lord Tywin's heir's she would, for the first time in her life, have, agency. Constrained by her sex and her station yes, but none would dare naysay her, nor mistreat her, she would fear no one as the wife of such a man, for who would dare lift a hand to the wife of the man about whom the Rains of Castamere were penned?
As yet her proposed nuptials were still being kept secret, but only a few days ago Lord Tywin had informed her that they were to travel north to meet with her brother at the border between the Crownlands and the Riverlands for peace talks. She would be accompanying him and a significant portion of the Lannister army to the meeting where Lord Tywin and her brother would iron out the exact details of the proposed peace treaty.
When Lord Tywin had asked her if she would consent to accompany them she had replied demurely "Of course my Lord Hand" while inside she was trembling, though she knew not why. She had saved her family from destruction; she had arranged for herself sufficient punishment, she had no reason to regret anything. Maybe it was the final knowing, that now her course was set, her future closing in around her, marriage and the duties of a wife and Lady looming.
"You have Ser Jamie, what, what terms did you offer my brother that he consented to the end of the war my Lord?"
"The return of your father's bones and the Stark's ancestral sword Ice, no penalties or sanctions imposed upon the North or the Riverlands for their rebellion. Your brother bending the knee and surrendering his crown, and being confirmed as Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell. There are some other small matters to be attended to regarding certain details, but that is the main thrust of it. I gave your brother a way out of the trap he found himself in, and he was smart enough to take it my Lady, and when a man kneels before one it is always for the best that you help him back to his feet."
She brought her mind back to the present, the High Septon was finally finished and Tommen was now officially King of the Seven Kingdoms, she clapped along with the rest of them and when the clapping and cheering had died down Tommen made a quick speech, not saying much of substance or note. Once this was done it was time to retire to one of the banqueting halls in the Maiden Vault to feast, which was attended by several hundred people.
Seated at the High Table beside Lord Tywin she found her mind wandering as she ate, her cheeks colouring as she remembered the conversations she had with Genna Frey, and the positively scandalous book she had given her. A so called Lyseni 'pillow book', replete with shocking drawings of things she could not even have imagined men and women did to each other.
Lady Genna was remarkably frank when it came to discussing what passed for normal, or what looked to her like unnatural acts between husbands and wives, she sneaked a glance at Lord Tywin and wondered if he engaged in any of the acts portrayed in the book, or the ones Lady Genna so casually discussed. A giggle threatened to escape her mouth; she just could not picture the Old Lion engaged in the majority of what the pillow book described, mayhaps she had drunk enough wine if she was letting her control slip, settling her face to a blank look she pushed her wine glass away from her and instead reached for a glass of lemonade, a drink that was apparently popular in Essos. Taking a few sips of the refreshingly tart liquid she took a surreptitious look around the banqueting hall, Cersei was in her cups as usual, swaying in her seat and slurring her words, Ser Jamie was standing behind the High Table in his Kingsguard plate, looking slightly pained at his sisters behaviour.
Tommen was sitting up in his seat at the centre of the table, the crown on his head and he looked serious, picking at his food, which was she knew unusual for him. Since Joffrey's death Tommen had been ordered by Tywin to start squiring to Ser Jamie, and that he would attend one Small Council meeting a week to learn about the running of the realm, in addition to other weekly lessons that Lord Tywin gave to Tommen.
She spied Margaery and her grandmother eyeing the boy king like two wolves would appraise a lost foal, and she felt a little pang of sorrow for Tommen, being King was too great a responsibility for his narrow shoulders and she wondered how he would cope.
At least she knew he would pardon Robb and Edmure, along with all their banner men, he had said it to her a day ago when they had met in the gardens of the Red Keep. She had been out for a stroll and she had come across Tommen sitting rather dejectedly on a stone bench, Ser Jamie standing a few feet away.
At his bidding she had sat and Tommen spoke to her, rambling about everything that seemed to be on his mind. Tommen was worried about what it meant to be King, and the terror of making poor decisions. At least this was something he was worried about, Joffrey she was sure never gave this a moment's thought, if it had even occurred to him at all. She reassured Tommen that his grandfather was a very experienced Hand of the King and that he was more than willing to guide and teach him, and that he was still young and had much to learn. She could not help but smile a little inside at this, here she was comforting a King whose brother killed her father and whose grandfather was at once the enemy of her family and at the same time her betrothed.
Tommen had also blushed deeply and said he was worried about his wedding to Margaery, fearing that he was too young and that he did not know what to do. Sansa had felt her ears redden at this and she had whispered to him that Ser Jamie would surely know about what he needed to do and as he was his squire he was sure to teach him. Tommen had reddened even further at this and he had spluttered a bit and thanked her.
"So that traitorous wolf bastard and his floppy fish cousin are going to bend the knee eh? Cut off their heads I say, Tommen, your Grace, I say you should cut their heads off!!" slurred Cersei, breaking her train of thought.
She could feel Lord Tywin stiffen beside her, his head turning slightly behind him "Ser Jamie, her Grace is feeling tired and emotional, no doubt the events of the day have become too much for her. Please see her to her room" he asked, his voice level and barely rising above a normal conversational tone.
"I'm not tired!" Cersei slurred, leaning dramatically back and then forwards in her seat, the wine in the goblet she held in her right hand sloshing over its rim and spilling.
Lord Tywin ignored her, simply saying "Ser Jamie."
"Let me be!" Cersei screeched, trying to remove her arm from the grip that Ser Jamie now had upon it.
"Grand Maester, her grace may need some assistance to sleep, please see to it" the Hand of the King raised his voice slightly to carry to Maester Braddock.
"My Lord" he replied, standing up and giving the hand a bow, before he left his place and trailed after Ser Jamie and several Lannister guards who were escorting a shrieking and screaming Cersei from the room.
Lord Tywin raised his hand slightly to gesture to a troupe of minstrels to start to play, they made their way out into the space between the tables and the High Table and they commenced to play, distracting and diverting the guests from what had just happened. Lord Tywin moved into the chair his daughter had just vacated, sitting beside the King.
The minstrels finished their first song and she perked up at the first bars of the song, having never heard it before.
She's got a smile it seems to me Reminds me of childhood memories Where everything Was as fresh as the bright blue sky
Now and then when I see her face She takes me away to that special place And if I'd stare too long I'd probably break down and cry
Oh, oh, oh Sweet child o' mine Oh, oh, oh, oh Sweet love of mine
She's got eyes of the bluest skies As if they thought of rain I hate to look into those eyes And see an ounce of pain
Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place Where as a child I'd hide And pray for the thunder And the rain To quietly pass me by
Oh, oh, oh Sweet child o' mine
Oh, oh, oh, oh Sweet love of mine
Oh, oh, oh, oh Sweet child o' mine
Oh, oh, oh, oh Sweet love of mine
Oh, oh, oh, oh Sweet child o' mine
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SbiperNot too sore, are you?
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Tyrion XI
He had to admire his father, younger men would not have maintained such an imposing bearing, nor looked as magnificent as his father did as he rode out to meet Robb Stark.
Both armies were drawn up before each other, the Lannister forces, bolstered by Tyrell banner men outnumbered the Stark's and Tully's by maybe one and a half times, but the Lannister forces did have more Knights and many on the Lannister side were confident that should the come to blows, this would prove decisive.
He knew his father hoped it would not come to that and that what was going to take place here was not a battle but a peace treaty, but overt displays of military force never hindered in assisting the defeated to come to terms.
He was accompanying his father as he rode out from the Lannister lines, like his father he was dressed in armour, appropriately appointed for his status as a Lannister, and a war hero he mused. No mismatched plate and helm for him, no a smaller and slightly less ostentatious version of his father's armour protected him. He was under no illusions though; he did not wear it well, like he was born to it, unlike his father.
And he had not failed to notice the admiring glances that Lady Sansa had been making towards his father as they had rode north from Kings Landing, all resplendent in his crimson and gold Lannister armour.
The little wolf girl obviously liked the, well, dashing figure that Lord Tywin cut, not that he could blame her, much as he hated to admit it his father radiated power, command, and utter self belief clad as he was in expensive plate.
They had made swift progress up the Kings Road but when they got within five days ride of the warzone progress had slowed and the army had been much more cautious in its advance, throwing up what his father referred to as 'marching camps' at every evenings halt. The Reach contingent had scoffed at this and refused to similarly defend their encampments, his father had not pressed the issue with them but he could tell he had little time for the Lordlings in command of the Reach contingent.
Unlike the Lannister forces which were part professional in the form of the Red Cloaks and the rest were household troops of the various Lords of the Westerlands, and which were used to working together and in having a single, unified command structure, the command of the Reach forces seemed chaotic, fractured. They seemed to him to endlessly argue over precedence and order and minor points of stupidity, not least how their forces were organised for each day's march, with heated arguments about the positioning of forces. And the arguments seemed not to rest on military matters such as size or composition of a force, no it seemed to Tyrion to be exclusively based on who one was and who one was related too
He knew by the fact that Lord Tywin rarely dallied at the evening suppers to listen to the fools get into their cups that he had no time for them. Lady Sansa likewise retired early most evenings, and was her usual soul of tact and discretion; in fact she had even managed to attract several 'admirers' from among the Lords of the Reach. He sighed, really, these Reach Lords were a confounded bunch of idiots mostly, and thankfully none had made any overt move regarding Lady Sansa. The twits knew that ostensibly Lady Sansa was being returned to her family, but yet some still persisted with their ridiculous attempts at secretly courting her.
He fidgeted in his saddle a little bit, thankfully the Red Viper and the Dornish contingent had left after what was being called the Purple Wedding, and there had only been a modicum of trouble all round with the Dornish in general and Prince Oberyn in particular. Something he was eminently grateful for he had to admit, helped apparently by a meeting between his father and the Red Viper, the details of which he was not privy too.
Anyway he put this from his mind, observing the approaching Northmen, but his mind would not be still, the last few Small Council meetings had been illustrative to say the least he mused. He had initially thought that his father had given too much power to the Tyrell's in bringing three Reachmen onto the Small Council, but he now saw the wisdom, nay the genius of it. Mace Tyrell was an oaf of the first degree, utterly stupid and hopeless at playing the Game of Thrones, and so long as he ignored his mother's advice he was an effective non entity. Paxtor Redwyne, recently arrived was competent but was kept far too busy with whipping the remnants of the Royal Fleet into shape to have time for plotting. And Randyl Tarley was a humourless authoritarian, who lacked any sort flexibility whatsoever, and who was as inept at the Game of Thrones as Mace Tyrell, but for different reasons.
Tarley's appointment as Lord Commander of the Gold Cloaks would keep him busy for several years and away from military command, and thus lessen his chance for more glory and by reflection upon the Tyrell's.
Yes, the Old Lion had seemed to gift House Tyrell much yet in reality he had given them little, something he was sure the Queen of Thorns would notice but which Mace seemed blithely unaware of.
The investigations into Littlefinger's multitudinous nefarious schemes and enterprises had turned up a host of fascinating surprises, actually copious amounts of coin and commercial paper really, most of which went promptly to his Lord Father as the holder of the vast bulk of the Iron Thrones debt. A nice little racket his father had going he chuckled to himself, along with a compliant King and a cowed Small Council, yes his father had managed to do quite well for himself. And now here came his future goodbrother to bend the knee, end the war and give his blessing for his father to marry his child bride....
"I've noticed a few high born ladies from the Westerlands have arrived at court these last few days before we left...." Bronn drawled, not fooling him.
"It is unlikely my Lord Father is considering them for your hand Ser Bronn, most likely they are prospective Ladies in Waiting for our dear Queen, she did after all dismiss the bulk of her previous retainers in a fit of anger. My lord father is sure to want loyal Westerlands Houses to provide suitable candidates for Ladies in Waiting for her Grace."
"Still, fine looking lass's they are, mostly blonde too....." Bronn said, somewhat wistfully.
So it seemed that Ser Bronn just did not like golden coin but golden cunny also, but before he could ponder this more he drew himself up in his saddle as tall as he could as Robb Stark and his guard hove into speaking range. Alongside King Robb were Lords Umber and Glover, and about twenty mounted men fanned out beside and to the rear, sons of the North's nobility. The boy King's Direwolf also strode beside its master, as their horses caught the beasts scent they became skittish and threatened to bolt.
"Lannister" Robb Stark said, only the slightest of growls in his voice, addressing his father.
"Stark" his father replied, his voice even and despite his best efforts he felt a slight grin show on his face.
His father said nothing else, letting the silence stretch out, the tension rising and rising as each man just stared at each other, a monumental battle of wills, neither one wanting to break it by being the first to speak or act. The Stark lad must have some set of stones on him, to face down his father like that, a young wolf confronting the Old Lion in a battle of wills.
On and on the silence held, until Tyrion heard the soft sound of a horses hoofs, turning slightly he spied Lady Sansa, dressed in riding leathers astride a mare, trot up to place her horse between his father and the young wolf, but off to one side.
Her arrival did little to alleviate the staring match between the two men until she called out "the words of House Stark are 'Winter is Coming', do you your Grace, my Lord, intend to wait for its arrival here in this field?"
Neither man reacted to this but Greatjon Umber let out a great guffawing laugh, this seemed to dissolve the tension and Robb Stark grinned a little bit, saying "the sooner we start, the sooner this will be over."
Tyrion glanced at his father, who though his face was as stern and serious as ever, he knew his father was pleased at having 'won' in his mind, if this was any omen for the coming talks, it was a bad one.