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 LXXX…
"Welcome, my liege…" Prince Rently rose from the portable throne set up at the Storming Out docks. Princess Margeary beside him, likewise rising, demurely from her throne. "And, hey bro! Nice weight loss!" admiring glance as Robert approached and hugged him, guards alongside.
"Yeah, Cers has had me on a diet and I've been laying off the booze a bit…A bit." As he pulled back, with smile.
"But he's good to go for your wedding orgy." Cersei approached. "Hey, Rently. Hello, Margeary. Welcome to the family." She beamed.
"Yeah…Rent did well." Rob, appraising eye. "Though as to conducting a marital alliance without clearing things with me…" grim look, then grin. "Since it's of great benefit to the kingdom…" dropping voice… "…Sticks it to Stanislaw." Wink. "I hereby grant my blessing and approval. Camere, you." Hugs Rently again, fervently. Hand to Margeary.
"Like Cers says, welcome to the family." He nodded, releasing a gasping Rently.
Stanislaw looking on dourly…
Robert peering over… "Lord Stanislaw? Greetings. Don't look so down, we brought tons of food and stuff."
Phew…Stanislaw's advisors, including the Spinach Knight, looking releaved.
"Thanks, my liege." Stanislaw ground out between clenched teeth. "My people will be grateful."
"And reminded their survival depends on Our Regard." Rob, firmly eyeing him. "So lets put the past in the past and get the House Barftheron back on a united path, eh?"
"Certainly." Curt nod.
"Stanislaw." Cersei had come over after hugging Margeary… "You're looking as grim as ever. Burning people agrees with you, I guess."
"We burn heretics to light their way to the Truth, your Majesty." Melisandre spoke up, approaching.
"Your handmaiden is a bit outspoken…" Cersei noted, with smile, to Lady Soldeysally, who after glance to Stanislaw, nodded nervously… "Go fetch the King a cup of honey water, girl. Please." Gracious smile from Cersei to (Damnit? "Girl, again?") Melisandre, who glanced to a non-commital (lets see you make it rain or fry Rob with lightening, then we'll stick Our neck out for you, girl) Stanislaw, then bowed slightly. "Your Majesty." And headed out, stalking in fury once clear of the royal reception tent.
Davos Seaworthy standing in reception line in formal uniform, with wife, in her formal robes, nodding contentedly…Order is restored. Though we will have to see to shoring up Lord Stanislaw's dignity and authority before he's reduced to royal uncle/postal clerk.
"You…Minion. Get the damned King his damned sweet water!" the stalking Melisandre commanded to a follower who seemed a bit less so as she passed.
Think the Queen asked you to go, girl. His face said.
…
Meanwhile inside…The Bunker…
Conference Room C…
Ophelia, Robyn, some jokester dressed up as Batman…Spared only due to lack of even lickspittles and hangers-on, though there was a good supply of criminal sadists fearing King's Justice, and Robyn's finding the joke a nice tension release…A reaction that brought a few sad reflections on the line that he might actually have turned out a passable ruler…
Had he lived…
…And what passed for the remaining senior leaders.
The Architect of the Bunker…No way was he not being made to earn his commission, though to be fair, he'd offered no resistance to being led in with the rest on Ophelia's retreat order...Seated with the others round the table, spoke...
"This Bunker is now the ultimate defensive force in Westeros…" the Architect noted proudly.
It is? Robyn, various saner lickspittles, criminal sadists with no chance of pardon, fanatics not quite so eager to die, and hangers-on, stared.
A New, if surely pathetic, Hope?
"I suggest…We use it." Careful eyeing.
"Sure." Ophelia nodded eagerly.
"How?"
"Well…We have the King's forces pound away for weeks at our unbreachable entranceway. Not even this 'firepowder' can blast through." The Architect noted. "They negotiate."
And if we throw in the nutcase and her son, we live…! Most of the "senior" commanders, led by the newly promoted "General" Jock Bullington, former head janitor, to commander of the Vale's remaining "forces".
"You sure of that?" Ophelia stared. All about her, including Robyn stared.
"I mean, of course, stake your life on it, sure?"
"Absolutely, ma'am. Some time ago I worked with Lord Addams on building structures that could withstand firepowder. He created the ultimate weapon but being a wise man, sought the ultimate defense. The Bunker incorporates our concepts…"
"Nice…" Ophelia beamed. Robyn a tad less despondent.
"There is only one, trivial, weakness." Shrug.
"What 'weakness'?" Ophelia frowned, all others frowned.
"Well, to be sure no one could get locked inside without hope of escape…We, uh…Left a hole. A small one. It was meant to be filled in but…Anyway have no fear, ma'am. The chances of the King's forces finding and exploiting it have been calculated out to less than 1:1000000." Proud nod.
"Great. I suggest you find a way to plug it though…Cause it's your head if Fester and Purile do use it to get in." Ophelia noted.
"Well…We can stuff a few mattresses in…" he suggested.
Boom…The Bunker rocks…But holds.
"See?" the Architect beams. "Impregnable." Arrow with note traveling straight through the infamous hole, through the open conference room door (alas, no air conditioning) striking him…Arrghhh…
"Well, that saves us a messy chore." Ophelia sighs. "What's it say?" she turned to a literate semi-fanatic.
"Uh, yes…Uh… 'We found a way in. Surrender within twenty-four hours, bitch, or we blast through here and angry guys struggling through a small hole aren't gonna be polite.-Ser Fester Addams, commander, King's Investigative Squad by order and decree of Robert, Rex et Judicialis, Barftheron, etc, etc."
Hmmn…Ophelia pondered.
"Quickly, send a raven to my beloved at Kings Landing…Tell him final collapse of the Vale forces cannot be postponed more than twenty-four hours though we will fight to the death for Emperor und Faderland. Help! Love, schnookums. Got that?" she eyed the attendant, a shrugging lout.
"Wanna take it out on foot?…In front of all those trigger-happy Kingsguards and mercenaries?" she eyed him.
"I got it, your Grace." He snapped to non-loutish attention.
…
Although not at Kings Landing, Petyr Belloq had of course quickly received the message…After Fester having shot said, released via tiny window, raven down for a victory feast, and reading message, had sent it out again, hoping to uncover its recipient, clearly either the Menace or his lieutenant.
Unfortunately, but following security precautions…Hey, how else does he stay The Phantom Menace?...The raven had been directed to a minor spy who passed the message on to a prostitute who passed it on to another spy to another prostitute and so on, till via secret means it reached Belloq at the Midlands, allowing no trace…Though of course dooming the initial minor spy to death at the hands of the prostitute as per Belloq's standing security order.
Hey, it's the price ya pay for being a member of the team…Middlefinger Enterprises does pay the best wages in Westeros. You get the big bucks, you gotta bear the pain.
Midlands…
Hmmn…Belloq eyed the ravenpost.
Seems wedding bells will need to be silenced for a bit. Sweet that she called me Emperor, she does have…Did have…A certain charm at times.
("Pity, brother Petyr. I mean that sincerely, I know you're just getting over a loss." Verysmuch noted, in his office, seated. Though, heh, heh. On the power side, so sorry you're screwed Valewise."
Oh, am I? Petyr beaming, tapping thumbs.
What? Verysmuch, startled.)
Yes, terrible disappointment. Boo hoo. My love is (nearly, likely…Hopefully) dead and worse, I've lost my foothold base to guard my coal deposits here in the Mids. But…Have I? Arch smile.
(Oh, come on…Verysmuch frowning. You didn't anticipate that.)
I knew the King was moving to seize the Vale. Naturally. I'm a key…Junior…Finance minister and I know where money is going and expected to come from.
(Damn…Damn…I think he means it. Verysmuch, sighing.)
And who better to govern the occupied Vale than…
Moi?…Fiendish grin.
Well, maybe in concert with Fester and Purile…But I can handle those lunkheads.
And should the King not wish to entrust so valuable a prize to a junior minister…Lets say he prefers say Tyrion Lannister? Or even, Prince Rently?
(Yeah, and he will, so you're screwed…Screwed! Verysmuch, glaring.)
Am I then…Screwed? I think not.
"Sir? Lord Belloq? You're doing it again!" a trusted attendant hissed.
Shit…Dive thoughts (and unintentioned speech) down to the depths of my black soul.
I will still be invaluable to organizing the revenues, etc. Heck if I'd just married Ophelia and got the place, Rob would either guess I was the Menace or send in a garrison just to keep me in check. This is actually better. And what I was hoping for all along…
(Damn! But…Sigh…Respect, bro. Verysmuch notes.)
Now, to rid me of Lord Addams, depriving Rob of his best, most loyal, if craziest advisor…Then…
(Then? Verysmuch, eagerly. Though even if you get Addams, you know he still has Tyrion and Tywin Lannister?…And even Cersei has been showing some clear brains, not to mention Rob himself now he's out of that alcoholic stupor…)
Well, at least the playing field's a little clearer…And less crazy..Middlefinger noted.
And then…
(Yes?…Yes, yes?")
My own secret alliance comes into play…Mwah, hah, hah.
(No?...With which? Melissande? Who used to work for you… Or Trumpo Don? Who seems to lack funds, despite his claims of limitless wealth… Oh, then there's your deal with Joffrey and Sansa?)
Well…Look, it's not that I don't want to tell you, you know that…I gotta keep some things close to the vest.
(I get it. No prob, bro…Nature of our business.)
…