Omake: Maesters of Evil

In a secret location somewhere in Westeros, a meeting was taking place.

It was a small room dimly lit by a few torches (more light would have ruined the eerie atmosphere), four old men and a young one were sitting around a dark table. The old ones all had long, white beards, while the young man only had a few hair on his chin. All of them were wearing grey robes and had chains around their necks.

They were the Maesters of Evil, the true rulers of the maesters order, mysterious and ruthless men whose only task in life was to keep Westeros firmly under their heel.

"Is it confirmed, then?" asked the oldest of the old maesters, tapping his bony fingers on a giant's skull that he used both as a cup and a paperweight (and that, unbeknownst to his colleagues, sometimes was also used for oral sex).

"It is, Great One." answered the young maester, who was in dire need of a change of smallchlotes (the room's creepy atmosphere always managed to scare the crap out of him). "Summerhall has been destroyed. King Rhaegar is dead."

"Good. I knew that replacing the dragon eggs with napalm-filled giant bollocks was a good idea. Now, nobody will ever think again to bring dragons back into the world. MUUHAHAHAHAHA!" (that was the Maesters of Evil's trademark laughter)

"But what if someone still tries to do it?" asked the second old maester, whose name had been forgotten (even he didn't remember it. Everybody just called him "hey, you").

"We can always send an assassin. Is that Deadpool guy still alive?" said the third old maester, who was simply known as Breakwind (because of something that can be easily guessed)

"He is. But I would use someone else. He isn't that reliable. And to be honest, he is...quite insane. He scares me." said the fourth one, whose beard was so thick that it completely hid his face (he was known as "Cousin It". He was the sanest of the four, and was also distantly related to the great hero Ser Twenty of House Goodmen).

"Luckily, we have no shortage of assassins on our payroll. Anyway, what else did you want to talk about, young one?"

The young maester hesitated for a moment. "Well, it's a new idea to extend our evilness. But I fear it is...well, too much."

"Too much? Boy, we are the Maesters of Evil! We killed the dragons! We burned Summerhall twice! We invented Pineapple Pizza and reggaeton! Nothing is too evil for us! MUUHAHAHAHAHA!"

The young maester felt encouraged by the old one's words. "All right. So, my plan is to fill the ASOIAF fandom with bad fanfictions. I'm not just talking about typos or grammar horrors, but all the worst kind of stories. SIs, Mary Sues, Jon Snow-wanks. That way, the good stories will be overwhelmed, the people will grow tired, and the art of fanfiction will eventually die."

There was a moment of silence that seemed to last for an eternity (during this time, GRRM finally completed the Winds of Winter). Then, the oldest maester, an horrified expression on his face, finally spoke.

"You are right, this is too much even for us."

AN: I couldn't sleep and had nothing else to do, so I wrote this. Thoughts?