The Iron Pooh

"Oh, bother," Winnie the Pooh said to himself as he sat upon the iron throne. It was terribly uncomfortable for a chair. No matter how much he squirmed or shifted there was nothing he could do to make sitting on such a throne comfortable. When he finally managed to sit properly, he saw a servant come rushing toward him.

"Winterfell is attacking, Your Grace. We need to mobilize quickly so that we can be ready for them."

"Who are you, again?"

"I am Varys, Your Grace. Now it's important that you make a decision right now. What is our plan?"

"Think, think, think, think ..." Pooh said, tapping himself on the head. "You know Varys, it's been so long since I've had a smackerel of honey. Would you kindly bring me some?"

"With all due respect, my king," another man said, "there is no time for smackerels of honey right now. Our men are dying out there!"

"Dying of what?" Pooh said, genuinely confused.

Just then the doors to the great hall burst open and in rushed armored men with shields, spears and swords. Immediately they began to slash and tear at the people in the hall.

"Surrender now, Winnie the Pooh! Your reign of terror ends here."

"I'm sorry, but I don't think it can rain terror. Just water."

"I'll repeat myself again," said the boy who looked to be about sixteen, "surrender now or prepare to die!" He raised his sword high into the air.

"Well I hope you're happy Your Grace," said a man with a pointed goatee and beady eyes. "You took too much time to decide what to do and now we're out-numbered and losing."

"Oh, bother," Pooh replied. He looked at the soldier that stood before him. "Now who is it are you?"

"I'm Robb Stark of Winterfell, the King in the North. You've murdered my father and hold my sisters captive. You will pay for your crimes Winnie the Pooh."

"Oh, dear, did I do that?" Pooh said confused as ever. "I don't remember ever doing that at all."

"You were at the execution weren't you?! You gave the orders to chop off my father's head!"

"Now, why would I do such a thing," Pooh asked trying to remember why, if at all, he really did order to chop someone's head off.

"Your Grace, if I may remind you ..." Littlefinger whispered something in Pooh's ear and Pooh suddenly perked up.

"You mean ...," Pooh began, "he didn't have any honey so I had to chop off his head? Is that what we do around here?"

"We cannot get honey in Winterfell you willy nilly silly old bear!" Robb cried out.

"I'm the Old Bear here," Jeor Mormont said to Robb.

Robb continued. "It's not fair that you have a honey tax for everyone in Westeros. You killed my father because he couldn't bring you honey. Prepare to die you vile bear!"

"I am really, really sorry Robb," Pooh apologized. "I did not know that your father would be killed because of my need for honey. Please tell me what I can do for you."

Robb looked bewildered. "Are you serious? You don't want to fight?"

"I believe I've caused you much grief already Sir Robb -"

"King Robb," Robb corrected. "And what I want is for you give me back my sisters Arya and Sansa."

"Where are Robb's sisters?" asked Pooh.

"In the dungeon, Your Grace," said a man in a dog helm.

"Sandor, is it? Would you please go find them for me? It would seem we've committed a grievous mistake."

"As you wish." The man in a dog helm strode away.

"Is there anything else we can do you for?" Pooh asked.

"I've come to seize the iron throne from your grasp!" Robb bellowed.

"Oh, this chair? You can have it. I nearly cut myself every time I sit on it." Pooh carefully climbed off the throne, avoiding the sharp points of the swords. "Here you go Robb."

"No, Your Grace! What are you doing?" Grand Meister Pycelle asked.

"I'm giving our friend Robb here a turn on the chair."

"Um, thank you, Pooh," Robb said sheathing his sword. He walked up to the throne and sat himself upon it. He cleared his throat as he angrily stared at Pooh.

"Is there something else?" asked Pooh with concern.

"Your crown."

"Oh," said Pooh removing the crown from his head. "Now, it is your turn to be king."

"Wow, that was really easy."

Sandor walked onto the dais with Sansa and Arya. "Your sisters, Stark." Sandor shoved the two girls forward and faded back into the crowd.

"Is everything to your liking, Robb?"

"That's Your Grace!" snapped the King in the North.

"Oh, bother. You know I really should be going." Pooh began to waddle away through the crowd, people staring at him awkwardly, all the way wondering how he got here from the Hundred Acre Wood.