Game of Thrones Tales: Lannister Family Values
Summary: In an alternative universe, King Robert calls on a different old friend and brother to assist him. But whose decency, kindness, and sense of honor, while a bit different from Ned Stark's are equally strong. But are the family values of House Addams a match for the ruthless Lannisters?
Part LXXIX...
Dyad Citadel, formerly the Fortress of Howling Despair, City of Barth...Office of the (new...Temporarily, Rachel thought darkly) Administrator, Meister Nealon...
"All right then, so, Taro decided to go with a clone rather than trust a wild-type Targaryen 666?" Rachel eyed Nealon.
"Rachel..." Nealon, slight sigh.
Girl, even if you did "sweep" for bugs...A little caution in the place Taro is sure to have every type of surveillance attempted.
"Sorry...May our future Empress live forever, utilizing our own creative techniques as necessary..." eyeing Nealon.
Good enough? Short of implanting and activating the 666 in me.
Though surely if he could, he would...Right? He wouldn't be keeping Dad's telling him back like an ace in the hole and letting me think I'm free.
Now, Duncan...That way lies nuts and a boatload of stress.
"That...May, one day...Happen..." Cautious reply. "But to prove myself, yes...As I said. She's a clone. But try to be a bit cautious shooting your mouth off, Rachel. We only need one slip up."
Ok, well. At least we've confirmed...The bitch is a clone, brain-dead variety.
Meaning Taro now knows I approached her for a deal, which his faithful doll immediately blabbed, from her memory dump from original Danys...Yet he's let me live, suggesting he still needs me or thinks he might need me.
"In case that whizzing brain of yours is wondering, you have me to thank for your continued existence, you know." Nealon carefully noted.
"So I guessed." Rachel nodded. "And I am properly grateful."
Though it has limits, buddy...She eyed his leering face.
"Assuming our future Empress plans to put her fair self under our Leader's benevolent guidance...Post wedding at least." Rachel began, carefully...
"Seems very likely..." Nealon smiled.
"I see..." Rachel smiled.
Ok, we're being oh, so clever here, but lets get down to it...She sighed inwardly, still maintaining smile.
Did you really let Taro have full command? Even if you couldn't help it, idiot!
"Of course one hopes our Empress would allow us to offer her the benefit of our expertise...?" She tried.
"Naturally...And I feel, with the permission of the Chancellor and future Emperor, we may..." Nealon, a bit archly.
Ok...I think...Rachel thought. So, my partner is being clever for any spies about? Or did he slip up and fail to secure a backdoor in her to us? He did say he was too late.
I mean...Geesh...It wouldn't be bad to have her and a potential army of brain-dead Danerys-es, fireproof and dragon remote controlling, as well as sure to seduce any opponents into surrender.
Of course, my sisters would say I was conceding the moral high ground, a clone victim using clone victims to conquer the world. But I say, lets conquer first, ask the moral questions later. Like Napoleon I Targaryen, I am a cannonball that cannot stop my onward progress for mere morality...Until I get buried in snow. Which ain't gonna happen, sorry Napy but thanks for the good example.
Though even if Nealon somehow has kept her under his own thumb, one could question why he'd claim otherwise and where that might leave me...
Geesh, why can the road to power never be smooth and easy...?
"Now, Rachel...We should consider what your duties will now be...?" Nealon, thinly leering smile.
Right...Glare. I can just imagine from past experience...
"However I'm needed, Meister Nealon...To serve our City and Leader, as well as you." She smiled, a bit stiffly.
A bit startled at his rather shocked look...
What? You gay or something? She thought.
Ya sure seemed to be coming on to me a moment ago.
What, I don't get your wheels turning? Damnit, it's Sarah you want, isn't it? Eyeing him grimly. Her and her functional uterus, the bitch. And that Bravvos accent, such a big turn on for the guys. Oi, I can do it too, ya know? Glare...
...
The Vale border...And a narrow Gate guarding the shortest route to the capital fortress.
"I...Am...Ophelia...The Great and Powerful...Wife/Widow of Jon Arryn, former hand. Who are you?" Image of a grimly staring Ophelia on throne, pointing finger. "In any case, keep out or enter at your peril. That means I'll f-ing kill ya! This means you!" at bottom.
Fester and Purile reading the nailed poster...Nailed to tree by gate through the corpse of some fellow who no doubt had tried to enter the Valeway, the single lane highway through the Vale Mountains to the Vale fortress. The said main gate grimly forbidding...
"And I thought there'd be no fightin'." Fester beamed.
"We've got most of the Vale guard on our payroll, I doubt they'll wish to fight." Purile shrugged. "And this gate's unguarded. We can avoid serious slogging around the mountain passes and be there in a few days at our current lightening pace." He waved to a mud-covered soldier reporting on the raising of two mired carts of soldierly equipment. Good, good, lets just keep up that four mile a day pace.
"Yeah...But now we got a terrific excuse for massive bloodletting..." Fester noted happily, drawing sword. "I mean she's defying our King and all..."
"Well..." Purile eyed the poster. "It does go on to say, King's messengers excepted."
"I didn't see that..." Fester peered, then cut off the section from the bottom of the poster. "Nope, don't see it." Arch look at Purile.
"I must have been mistaken." Purile, coy smile. "But don't kill everyone who surrenders abjectly, I was planning to blackmail and/or legally tax back all the bribes we issued."
"Fine..." Fester sighed. Brightening as he looked back to the column of troops and staff. "Ok, boys! And girls...Sorry." To frowning female knights and foot soldiers.
"Maudie'll have my head over that...Gotta be careful." He noted to Purile.
"Bring forth the firepowder! We're gonna blow the Vale aside!" he indicated the gate.
"Fester, the gate's not even locked." Purile noted. "Fine..." To Fester's glum look. "Have your fun."
"Ok...People!" Arch look to a nodding Purile. "Lets get this party started!"
...
"What?! What?!" Ophelia on throne, posing for new posters for the various border gates...Robyn by her side looking a bit more healthy owing to good ole fear and a slight degree of practical sense inherited from his father, Jon Arryn. Eyeing the messenger's severed head in a guard officer's grip.
We be screwed, you crazy bitch.
"That knave dared claim The Gate has fallen after long and bloody battle?!" Ophelia demanded of the officers reporting. "Surely another false report."
Uh...Sure it did. "The guard sold their lives dearly, ma'am." One noted solemnly.
I mean they and we did hold out for a pretty good buyout...
"Summon the Vale field army, horse the knights and knight the horses, I give my field commanders permission to move panzer divisions!" Ophelia cried.
Mom...At least fifteen hundred years too early, Robyn sighed.
"At the rate the King's forces are advancing it'll be less than a week before they get here." An officer noted.
"You mean they're doing better than four miles a day?" Ophelia stared. "How can they manage it? Poppycock! No force could advance so quickly!"
"They seem to be foraging on the fly, ma'am." The first officer to speak explained, patiently. "And if you can do that, you can walk four miles a day easy, even with equipment wagons and lazy lout hangers-on."
"And we've heard Ser Fester has eliminated many of the louts." Another noted. "A brilliant strategist, really."
"What is the solution then?! What?! What?! What?!" Ophelia cried.
Uh...Well...All the officers stared. None wishing to be the first to offer the only possible solution...
"Yes! Yes! Yes! Quite right! I shall take on armor and lead our forces to Victory!" Ophelia, rising.
Uh-huh...The Vale officers eyed each other. Robyn nervously looking away.
"Summon our loyal soldiers! Fetch my armor...Well, fetch Jon's, it fit me ok on our wedding night...A horse, a horse! My kingdom's got them! I know we have some around!" Ophelia noted. "Ser Fenwick, you take charge of Our forces here! Hold fanatically to the last man or woman! Gather the General Staff! Call Field Marshall Ser Swig! We march!"
The crazy woman led me into this, I'll be happy to abdicate for an estate by the sea and a pension, Robyn mentally rehearsed his surrender. Mercy for the clearly victimized and abused true heir.
...
Five days later, dawn...Rainy, misty dawn...Rainy, misty, muck-oozing narrow road dawn...
Rainy, misty, muck-oozing narrow road, cold, no fires, where are my attendants, where are my guards, where is my...Crap...Arrgh...Crap pickeruper? Ophelia, struggling out of her sole tent on the field, mounting her own horse, with difficulty in armor on abandoned empty barrel, peering through said misty, heavy rain.
I know we did seem to be losing guys each night of our march, but Ser Twitty assured me they were just taking up advanced positions...Keen to get at my enemies and die for me, he said. But even I can't believe even my handmaidens went off to battle in the early morning. Of course Field Marshall Ser Swigs did say he was sending non-essential personnel to the rear at last night's council of war. That must be it.
"Hey, guys? Hey! Guards! Minions! Anyone? Did you advance to battle without me?" she peered down the road where a force could be seen advancing...Without opposition, though slowly in the heavy dawn rain on the muck-oozing road.
Singing, from behind her...Sound of lute...
"The Queen of the Vale, she called for war...And King Rob's Investigative Team/Secret Army answered. They cut through the Gate, man upon man, can upon horse and at the dying of dawn, the Vale War began."
"For five weary nights, massing their might...In Westeros, right goes to the mighty...They puzzled and planned, man and woman, all in steel cans, and on the fifth day the battle began..."
"She road onto the narrow road, banner in hand, and the Queen looked out on her vacant land. And she counted the missing...One upon one, none upon none." Hee... "Her war, it was over before it begun...Arrgh..."
The minstrel twin brother of the minstrel Tyrone had loathed in his sojourn at the Vale's prison cells dropped harp and fell, stabbed, into the muck of the said narrow road to the Gate, yet five days fast ride from the Vale capital fortress.
"Nobody likes a wise ass." Ophelia in armor, noted, sheathing sword, "And I didn't start this...Well..." she reflected. "I guess, in a certain way..." Pulling reins and racing back up the road from Fester and Purile's forces...Which fortunately hadn't noticed the solitary figure of the Queen in heavy armor on rather annoyed horse...I was trained for the parade ground, not this, lady...And this armor chaffs...Due to heavy, misty rains.
...
"Anything?" Cersei looked at Robert reading newly delivered scroll report aboard the flagship carrying the royal party to Storming Out, to "celebrate", i.e, tacitly accept and machiavellianly make useful political capital of, the wedding of Rently Barftheron and Margery Anne Boylen.
"Zus, zus, zus..." he hastily looked down the scroll. "Usual boring crap...Wait...Ah...Good news from Valeland, baby Queen..." Robert beamed at Cersei.
"Ophelia arrested for fair trial and execution, after a through investigation? Or roasting in the ruins after defying us with her last nutty breath?" Cersei eyed him.
"Almost as good! She's surrounded in her fortress, most of her people saw sense, took bribes, and surrendered. Fester and Purile send their best and the flag of the Vale. Nail that to our mast, boys!" he called, turning back to a delighted Cersei. "They expect she'll surrender or be burned out in a couple more days. Fester's desperate to have a chance to test out firepowder, I see." Chuckle.
"That is good news, sweetheart."
"I think if she gives up, I'll pardon her...To a madhouse for life." Robert grinned. "After all, the bitch be crazy, even Gomez and her sis agree on that. We must be 'just' I suppose if we can't have a blood-soaked battle. Good PR, I know." Sigh. "Would love to see the burning out though..."
"Well, we can always use the Vale for practice maneuvers, especially what with our upcoming fight with either Danerys or Trumpo Don or both...With real ammunition?" Cersei eyed him, with grin. "We both know that our 'secret alliance' with that schmuck Taro isn't worth the parchment it's being written on."
"Girl, you always know the way to my heart..." he beamed.
...
Damn...Five days after the "battle", morning...Lord Robyn thought, seeing his weary mother tramp into the fortress castle courtyard in her armor, sans horse...Damn him, zipping off soon as I stopped for water, she thought...As Robyn sat on the throne, white flag in lap.
Have I no friend who will rid me of this (unfortunately, still) living fear...Ful, crazy woman...Hopeful eyeing round at the remaining hangers-on.
On the other hand, it's not like our abjectly fleeing without a battle, forces rallied to me. I don't think there's a single competent fighter left here in the fortress.
"There he is, there's Ma's little angel..." Ophelia, clanking rapidly across the hall in her rusting armor to the throne.
"Scoot, honey...Aww...Did you make that white flag of Victory for me?" she beamed as he reluctantly gave up seat.
Yeah, yeah...Sure, sure...He shrugged, handing flag over.
"Ah, poor, poor me...Abandoned by all, betrayed by all." Ophelia sighed, removing armored helmet. "But I still have you, my little munchkin." She shook a hapless Robyn, by her side.
I can't believe Ser Fenwick threw me off his horse before he fled this morning, Robyn thought. I paid for that escape seat, Ser Fenwick!
"Well, there's no alternative. We must retreat with the remains of our forces to our impregnable last stand, the Bunker, my dearest." Ophelia noted.
Last what, Ma? He stared.
"We can't have more than three days. It's a blitzkrieg, medieval style." Ophelia shaking head while rising and examining self in Great Hall mirror.
God, I see while Maud Addams always wears armor...I look so hot.
"Though it's only because my orders have not been obeyed and our so-called allies have abandoned us that we must withdraw." She insisted. "In the Bunker, We make Our last desperate stand and rally Our forces...For Our impregnable last stand."
I thought the Vale itself was our impregnable last stand...Robyn thought.
And Our forces? He looked about the castle at the small "force" standing, lounging, lying about. This collection of lickspittles, sycophants too groveling even for Purile and Fester to bother to bribe, zonked out types on medieval herb drugs, criminal sadists who worked for Mom and can expect no mercy unless of course they hand us over after doing what they do best... Oh, We are not letting those clowns in the Bunker...And the few creepy psychos who actually have faith in Mom as a divinely inspired goddess/ruler.
There always are some like that. Like the nuts who want the Targaryens back.
(Hey, you little...Verysmuch glares from inside his office.
Though I may want to let Belloq know he best not put any deposits down on a wedding hall or band.)
"It's what your father would have wanted." Ophelia noted solemnly.
I can believe that...Robyn thought. If only he'd or someone'd taught me how to ride...Or walk any distance without blistering and collapsing. I could ask one of these jerks to carry me but he or she'd turn me or my corpse over to the King's forces like that.
Yeah, I'd bet poor poisoned Dad's laughing his head off now in the afterlife.
...