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 V…
House Addams courtyard…
Sound of "Chariots of Fire" theme played by a group of minstrels as the young men, boys, and Ser Portia and several mostly poorly disguised girls run in place in slow mo accompaniment to the music, Lady Addams' choice.
"Slow it down! Feel that agonizing weight of iron and inferior medieval steel, you worthless pussies! You scum!" Lady Addams called.
"Jonny, if you start to feel sick, just go over and lie down." She noted to Snowed, fond smile.
"Ser Arnold! Pick it up, you miserable mound of garbage! 'Terminator III' aren't you? You've heard what I did to your grandfather, the first 'Terminator' when he fled our ranks at the Battle of Vertigo Pass?! WELL?!"
"Ja. You cut his arms off, then his legs, then crushed him under a millstone, ma'am!" Ser Arnold, quaking a bit...
"And your father, 'Terminator II', when he fought on the wrong side during the Greatjerk Rebellion at the Battle of Corpse-Strewn Beach?!"
"You…Threw him into a vat of molten iron…Ma'am…" voice quavering…
"He got a new suit of armor that day…" she noted grimly. "As for you, I'll be creative if we ever face off in battle…Just to show you I don't play favorites, if you and Ms. fancy-armor skirt here, Ser Portia…" Ser Portia wilting under her glare… "Ever betray our House, I'll slice both your heads off and sew them on each other's corpses and use you both for target practice! You get me, Ser Arnold?!"
"J-j-j-ja…Ma'am…" shaking…
"Branded Stark!" she turned to Bran, still running in place with his brothers… "Sorry about your parents but don't think because of that and the fact you're cute enough to eat and the brother of these other cuties Robbed and Jon that you'll be cut any breaks here! I'll get you, my pretty, if you step out of line once…And your little direwolf, too!" she noted grimly. Fond pat to head.
A trumpet fanfare from outside the great front gate…A bit feeble, as if the trumpeteers had been slogging through a nightmarish wasteland of swamp and bog for days…
"Ah…" Lord Gomez on the roof with Morticia to "discuss important matters" raising his head from Morticia's deathly pale breast. "The King, I know his trumpet."
"ADDAMS!" the loud, ear-shattering bellow far louder than the trumpets… "Open the fuck up in the name of your King!"
"Good ole Bob…Ahead of schedule as always." Gomez nodded. Looking to see Fester eagerly running across roof with pot of boiling oil. "Fester?! It's King Robert!"
"Not till he gives the password, he's not…!" Fester cried, eyeing the group below over the battlement stones…
"But we don't have a password…" Lord Gomez called.
"Tough luck for him then!" Fester's reply as he lifted the pot to the opening in the stone.
….
Having dodged the boiling oil, and being restored to some joviality by it's splattering on the screaming Joffrey, the newly arrived King Robert Barfthereon I was greeting the lineup of Addams family, retainers, and servants…And, "Thanks, there, Thing" taking the offered hot towel to wipe the road muck from his huge face, the Stark wards and visitors.
"Gomez…You pisspotted shithead, you're looking well, kept hard and lean from the miserable conditions up here, eh?" he greeted Addams with hard stare.
"And you've lost some weight, Bob…" Gomez eyed him.
"Yeah, routine cares of state, worthless son and heir, possible return of the old dynasty by invasion looming, bitch of a wife, miserable in-laws. It's wearin' on a man." Sigh. "Fortunately, there's plenty where that came from, eh?" he shook great belly jovially.
"Morticia, lovely as ever…Tell me, we've never…" he eyed Lady Morticia who shook head, nervously. Gomez looking back to them…
"Right, good…I didn't think so but I'm trying to get a full count of my bastards…See if any might do better than that idiot so-called son of mine on the throne. Ok, scratch the Addamses, you brain dead twerp!" he called back to Ser Lancil who made note. "Truly grand to see you…"
"And this is our son and heir, Pugsly…" Lady Morticia indicated the unusually red-faced Pugsly in his armor who'd been attempting crunches and running round the Keep under her mother-in-law's shrieked commands all morning.
"A fine stout lad…Kill anyone yet?" Robert addressed him. "Wish my worthless shite of a son and heir had enough balls to be worth asking, but no chance of that." He moved on, Pugsly beaming under the royal approval.
"And you…Robbed Stark…I know you." Robert nodded at Robbed. "Terrible thing about your dad, lad. Bad grapes, I hear. That Walter Frey always was a cheap bastard when it came to wine and entertainment and whores. You want him dead? Done."
"Well, Your Grace…" Robbed, carefully. "I want justice for my parents of course…But not without a full investigation and just hearing. Father and Mother would want it that way."
"I suppose they would…Seems a waste of coin and time to me…" Robert shrugged. "But, so be it…When we do the formalities and chop Frey and his whole ugly brood of turds to fish bait following the guilty verdict?"
"Well, I thought perhaps after I check on my sisters in Winterfalls and leave my trusted "foster brother"/captive Fearing Greatjerk here in charge on oath of utter loyalty till death or his clan demands otherwise…Though first I did promise Ser Walter to marry one of his incredibly ugly daughters and come to his next wedding, since he lost his own new bride at the same time as my sainted mother." Robbed noted.
"Fine, whatever…Someone make a note, we'll need a jury to find Ser Walter guilty in about a month! I must say I won't miss that putrid clan." Robert moved on.
"Wuss ex-traitor's son…" he nodded to Fearing who gave groveling bow…
"Ah, Branded…Another reason for me to lament ever putting my thing in that cunt of a cunt of a wife…Good to see you, boy. Sorry about your dad. Still climbing everywhere?"
"Ay, Your Grace…" Bran nodded. "Nothing like going all over the place, peering in on everyone's secrets constantly."
"Great…And you, Ricketts, another reminder to me of the worthlessness of my own sons, though Tommen's not too bad, doesn't get my blood pressure to the roof every time I see him." Pat…
He moved on… "And who are you?" he addressed Wednesday, she in her trademark black but having donned a necklace of gardenias.
"This is my daughter, Wednesday, Your Grace…" Morticia noted.
"You don't look like a girl…You look like that lesbian in training Arya Stark…You're not her, eh? Even she reminds me of how utterly worthless that heir of mine is." He regarded her. "Any chance you want to be heir to the Seven Kingdoms? Ned Stark refused to let me adopt his tykes and your brother's got to inherit here, you'd be my last hope of leaving the kingdom to some worthy not one of my bastards?"
"I want to marry, Your Grace…Ser Lotus Markwell." Wednesday noted.
"Wednesday!" Morticia frowned. "Far too soon to talk about matches."
"Sounds like a good match to me, politically…Lotus seems a bit on the gay side to me, but I'm no proper judge except in the case of my worthless son, who might be worth something if he were gay rather than a twisted sick puppy of a pervert. Well, we'll see what the Markwells say and maybe we can do the bloody thing, eh? How's that, girl?"
"Thank you, Your Grace…" Wednesday beamed.
(Meanwhile in Kings' Landing, that den of iniquity and pioneer in high-speed communications…
"I thought you might like to know, Middlefinger…" Lord VeryMuchs eyed him in the Hall of the Small Council during a short coffee break from an incredibly tedious meeting on finances, education, and sewage in which Grand Maester Purile had displayed his erudition and eloquence for nearly four agonizing hours.
"Not one more word on sewage, VeryMuchs…I don't even want to scheme to control the profits thereon anymore…" MIddlefinger sighed.
"No, I think we both can agree to leave that to Purile…I have other news of real interest. My little birds tell me that a sudden shift in power may be in the offing as a result of the usual haphazard governance of King Robert…" finger raised. "It seems there is an alliance in the wind between the daughter of the House Addams, Wednesday, and Ser Lotus Markwell of Doome…"
"Markwell…Of Doome? But isn't he?" Middlefinger eyed VeryMuchs.
"Flaming…Not that by the King's decree of 224 that there's anything wrong with that. But in any case, Ser Lotus is ambitious enough to go through with the marriage to secure his House Markwell a new power base in the North. A stepping stone to his becoming King, potentially…Or at least a Kingmaker when King Robert should meet his untimely but increasingly expected demise."
"Zounds…This news could upset all my fiendish schemes, the cogs rolling, the dice spinning…"
"I think you mean cogs spinning, dice rolling, my friend."
"Right…I come from a small place, we didn't experience much culture. I make cultural reference mistakes sometimes…Thanks for catching me."
"Not at all…"
"Say, when did you learn of this? My informants haven't heard anything of this."
"Five minutes ago…And the decision was made ten minutes earlier when the King met the girl at Swampflood."
"Fifteen minutes? You got this in fifteen minutes from more than a thousand miles to the North?"
"I have my ways, Lord Belloq." Mysterious look, folding of arms. "Shall I leave you to another monologue on the need to thwart this match or face destruction?"
"Hmmn…? Oh, no…You've covered it and I'm exhausted after listening to Purile for four hours. I'm for lunch and a little nooky at my Brothels R' Us HQ. Don't suppose you'd?"
"Afraid not…I must take my pleasures…In other ways." Mysterious look.
"Really…?"
"Nothing like a fire, a good book, and a glass of claret." VeryMuchs beamed.
"You know, that sounds good…I do get a bit weary of my girls every day after day. Might I join you after lunch?"
"It would be my pleasure…And I can hope, my profit."
"Admire the way you always have those balls in the air, VeryMuchs. Oh, sorry…Didn't mean to remind you." Apologetic tone.)