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 XXVII…
The Sky Cell of the Vale's currently most VI Prisoner…
Tyrion waking to find himself at the edge of the cell, peering into nothingness…3500 feet of it straight down.
"Holy Motherf-er of the Gods! Steph!" he crawled back to the form under blanket near the cell door. "Stephanie?! I really think we need some sort of lifeline thing in these cells…I mean the ethics board of the Westeros Council of the Seven is sure to call for…"
"Mmmn…Mmmphf…" Fart…Long one…From the turning form revealed in mid turn to be a huge and hideous orge of a man. Namely the huge and hideous figure of Mord, the infamous chief jailer and amateur…Still trying gamely each year for his official certificate…Torturer.
"Mord?! What the…?!" he gasped.
"Ironic punishments, I tole you…" Stephanie's voice from the door grating. "Breakfast? Afraid it's slops. And I mean, slops as in pig variety." She pushed a bowl through.
"No, I'm good." Tyrion waved a hand. "But I'm damned glad to find you exist. I was beginning to think I'd dreamed…Ah, ha…" he nodded to Stephanie's wry smile. "That was the intent…"
"He came in at the end of my shift at 3am. It's part of the program. Tyrion, I hope you know I not only came here on my own time and took the breakfast run but I'm taking a risk talking to you outside my standard hours."
"Marry me…" he hastily offered. "I can't give you a better reward in terms of lands and wealth. And you like me, sort of."
"Tempting…Honestly." She nodded, eyeing the stretching Mord. "We'd best talk later. Keep the faith, honey." She smiled.
"So we're engaged…?" he asked, hopefully. "Steph, I have married prostitutes before, so really if you're thinking that's a drawback."
"Tyrion, sweetie. Just focus on staying alive, honey." She urged. "Try to keep Mord amused, he likes to harass and bully…And to practice his torture skills for his yearly attempt to pass the certificate exam but he loses focus easily if you distract him."
"Bribes…?"
"That would distract him." She nodded. "And fortunately for you, the bigger, the better…Gotta go."
"Dinner and the sex were both lovely, Steph…" he called, fondly. "If I don't make it, I've left a note as to a will and you get everything my dad would let me call my own but for a bequest to the Swampflood brothel for a new carpet and piano…I promised them."
"Your dad'd invalidate it but I appreciate the gesture…" she beamed.
Mord now groaning and opening eyes.
"Remember to look horrified as if you really think it might have been a dream last night…" she hissed. "Really gotta go."
"Don't forget my message to Lady Addams…Future Lady Lannister…" he hissed back. "Love you."
"I know you say that to all the girls…But it's still sweet." She grinned. "Love you too, Impy."
"I always mean it, you know…" he called faintly as she headed off quickly…As Mord awoke at last…Eyeing Tyrion.
"Surprise you, little man…" he chuckled.
"Why, oh Gods…Mord?" Tyrion stared, astounded and horrified look. Not all that difficult, really.
"Heh, heh, heh…" Mord nodded. "Is Ironic, right? Heh, heh, heh."
"My…Was I dreaming it all?" Tyrion, offering a stunned look.
"Maybe…Cells drive you crazy, little half-man." Mord noted. "Breakfast?" he eyed the bowl on the floor.
"Please, by all means…Bon appetit…" Tyrion waved. "I'm rather full yet from dinner."
"And sex…" Mord, rather coyly, moving to take the bowl and begin digging in, heartily.
Dear Gods…Tyrion pondered, watching…
You don't suppose…That last meeting with Steph was the dream and…
No…Oh, no…Surely my dwarfism and my humiliations to date were enough for the Gods, cruel as they are.
"Oh…Tyr..Ion…" Mord mocked, as he slobbered at the slops bowl.
Gods, he does have her style right…Tyrion stared, rather nonplused.
…..
The Tin Islands…A harsh land of fog and cold where existence is eked out by fishing and the mining of, well…Tin…Where long centuries of poverty has bred traditions of crime and piracy and ambition for better…
Or, in the case of some, a desperate acceptance of Fate…Repressing the baser drives with meek if often, feigned, submission.
As in the case of a certain young man returning after long years of exile, supposedly in the nurturing trust of his family's overlords, the Starks…In fact, as in his long-repressed heart, as a prisoner of rather modest value, subject to the scorn and derision of many, most equally under vassalage to the Starks but happy to pick on someone even more so…
Such was Fearing Greatjerk's case as he was escorted by a tall young woman who'd met him at the Tin Islands' seaport docks back to his ancestral if rather modest for a noble House, home…
A case he'd tried to somewhat mitigate as he always had at Winterfells by trying to hit on any girl in striking distance to prove that at least in the sack he could match his Stark "brothers" sperm for sperm.
Sadly, events proving that notion quite wrong…But even near constant failure has not curbed Fearing's enthusiasm as the young woman was finding to out to her grimacing distress.
"Gods…Will you knock it off with the pawing?" the girl fumed.
"C'mon, you want it and you know you want it…All you Tinners are hot for it. Just tell me your price and…" Fearing, smugly adopting the role of junior Stark playboy…
"Damnit, Fearing! I'm your own sister!"
"My sister? No way!" he insisted, but rather feebly…Hoping his sis would let the subject drop quietly, in his own favored manner…
"Damnit you know it's me…" she frowned. "I called you Brother, said that Dad sent me to pick you up…"
"Well, you might have claimed it, that's true." He noted, off-handedly. "But anyone could claim to be my sister…"
"This bring back any memories?" she pounded him in the jaw, knocking him flat.
"Fearing…You haven't changed a whit. You're still a sniveling little shite…" she noted, grimly. "Come now, Father's awaiting ye and yer 'great news'. It had better be so…"
"It is, it is…Dear sis. I was only teasing with ye."
"Just shut the f- up till I can dump yer sorry ass off on Dad." She noted grimly. "You two f-s ought to get on just fine, you're so his son."
"Thanks…" he beamed.
"I won't even bother trying to point out that I mean that as an insult, Fearing…" she sighed. "So are you really here as Robbed Stark's emissary. He didn't just get sick of your face and send you home to be rid of you?"
"Well…Maybe in part…" he shrugged. "But great events are coming and Robbed is offering us a great opportunity to at last be on the winner's side."
"I can imagine…" she sighed.
Still…She eyed Fearing out of the corner of her eye…
"Is he really as cute as he looks in his portraits…?" she asked.
"Who?" Fearing stared.
"Robbed Stark, you moron!" she fumed.
"Oh…Gods, yes…" he sighed. "He's like a godslike hero of some fantasy tale who struggles nobly and ends tragically…"
"Really?" she sighed. But her practical Greatjerk side kicking in. "So why would we want to be on hs romanic loser's side, anyway?"
"These are matters for men, sister…" Fearing attempted to cut off further discussion sensing the argument going away from him.
"Asshole…" she frowned.
"Fearing?" she eyed his tearing up…
"It's like I never left…" he noted, weeping…
"For all the good it's done you…" she began… "Ah, here we are…" she pointed to the door before them. A rather plain if large door set in a rather plain if functional stone wall of a rather mediocre minor castle, in more substantial lands not fit to house even a minor lord, let alone the local ruler.
Said door opened at a coded knock from the girl.
"Come on, they're waitin' on ye." She waved, leading Fearing in, he following rather apprehensively.
"Sis…" he quickly fell behind… "Sis!" he called through the grim darkness.
"So…" a stern voice from a man of about five eight height, bearded… "You be back."
"Aye, Dad…Tis so." Fearing nodded. "Your son be home…"
"No son of mine…" the man noted, coldly.
"Father?"
"No son of mine would be coming to bring me an offer to ally with the son of my worst enemy. The very Edduark Stark…" grim pause. "Who, after easily crushing my forces make me parade through his lands wearing a dress to quench the rebellion. You would come to me like that, rather than bring me Robbed Stark's scalp or severed head, taken through craft whilst he, trusting fool, rested by you."
"But Father…Dad…" Fearing tried. "The offer by Robbed is…"
"Shite! Nothing but shite…I puke on his offer. No, ye be no son of mine." Stern frown.
"But Dad, this is a chance to recoup your disastrous losses without risk…I…"
"You little shite?! Are ye claiming I cost us the last war? That I failed as Leader of our clans?" raging fuming look.
"Pretty much, yeah…" Fearing nodded.
"You two getting to know each other all over again?" the girl had reached them, regarding them with mocking stare.
"You know I'd hoped it was Dad's presence influencing my memories of you negatively, Fearing." She noted. "But I see I was right…You two are a matched pair." Scornful look.
"She's got no loving respect in her heart, Fearing." Lord Greatjerk sighed, shaking bearded head.
"Give me something to love or respect and I might." The girl noted, shrugging.
"How I remember this…" Fearing noted…"Anyways, Dad…Robbed's offer is legit and on the level. He'll restore our mainland seacoast for our support against the Lannisters and let us take what plunder we will if war breaks out."
"I piss on his legit offer!" Greatjerk glared.
"But Dad…It's the best we could hope to get…" Fearing began. "And we need not even get into the upcoming war. We could just sit it out and await the chance to pick up the wreckage."
Hmmn…
Now that's more like it…Greatjerk nodded. "Though any true son of the Greatjerks would betray his own mother and his best friend by claiming they slept together."
"The mother and friend or all three?" Fearing, curious. His sister rolling eyes…
Hmmn…Might yet be hope for the miserable little…Lord Greatjerk eyed his first-born.
…..
…..
The Great Hall of the Moon Door…Ophelia seated in her throne, in white and gold robe of office, with widow's weeds hanging, likewise white. Lord…or as most of the assembled courtiers would say "Lord"…Robyn seated in her lap in his own blue and white uniform of office. Fumbling rather embarrassingly, at least to those watching, at his mother's breasts.
Morticia in her usual black robes and Fester in his, with the other courtiers in the Hall itself, all trying to look anywhere else…
Below them, on the Hall floor near the currently closed but waiting beautiful crafted structure of the famed Moon Door…Awaiting its next victim…
"So, my dearest boy, you see? Once again psychological torture wins out…" Ophelia beamed. "We understand you are already to confess your crimes, Imp?" She addressed Tyrion who stood before the throne, under guard, having bribed Mord to keep him alive long enough to make good on his Lannister card bribe and thus gained enough time for Steph to pass his request to Lady Addams. A request that had led to Morticia's insistence that Tyrion be given a hearing and a chance to face his accusers…
Commie liberal Athenian talk, sis…Ophelia had shaken her head. Still, one must keep the mob content and docile with modest concessions to such foolish notions as "equal justice under the Law"…
My idiot husband's constant, boring refrain…Now stilled, at last…Permanently.
And dear Cousin Imp must be a raving lunatic after a day in the Sky Cells and their unique torments…Ready to confess to anything.
Excellent…
"Well…" Ophelia, smugly… "Speak, Imp… Confess your sins and die like an honest man…"
"Absolutely, your Grace…If I may…?" Tyrion bowed. "Boys…?" A group of musician step forward.
"Gods not you." He frowned at the awful minstrel who gave sour look and crept back, venting dark glances…
Music… "Fancy…" (in Scott Bradlee/Ashley Stroud's magnificent Postmodern Jukebox 20s jazz arrangement of course…You Tube it, it's worth seeing just for Ashley and her tap dancing…)
Tyrion, tapping to his singing and the music:
(Where'd he get the top hat and cane? Let alone learn to tap dance? Several courtiers stared…)
"First thing's first, I'm the realest
Drop my nonchalant pose and let the whole world feel it
You and they say I'm in the Murda Bizness
I know I could do you down, like I'm givin' lessons in physics, right
You should want a bad bitch like this, huh?
Drop it low and pick it up just like this, huh?
Cup of Ale, cup of Mead, in cups of Gold,
High heels (Lifts, shrug), somethin' worth a half a ticket on my wrist
Takin' all the liquor straight, never chase that
Orgy like we bringin' Mad Aerys back
Bring the hooks in, where the bass at?
Champagne spillin', you should taste that
I'm so fancy
You already know
I'm in the fast lane
From the Wall to Penthos
I'm so fancy
Can't you taste this Lannister gold? (no cheap Doofraki for me)
Remember my name
'Bout to blow…"
Ophelia fuming…Robyn in her lap, pulling from his feeding, intrigued…
Neat tapping…He nodded…
All the assembled court staring…A few grinning…
Tyrion…That pistol…
Tyrion, waving hat and cane in sweeping motion, then tapping Astaire style for all he was worth…And being a Lannister…:
"I say, 'Lady, I do this, I thought that you knew this.'
Can't stand no haters and honest, the truth is
And my flow retarded, they speak it depart it
Swagger on super, I can't shop at no department
better get my money on time, if they get no money, they decline
And swear the name means there so much that they give my cute lines a rewind
So get my money on time, if they get no money, they decline
I just can't worry 'bout no haters, gotta stay on my grind
I been working, I'm up in here with some change to throw…" ( "Soon as I get it back…" Nod to a beaming Steph in the crowd and the musicians)
"Yes…I'm so fancy
You already know
Lannisters ride in the fast lane
From the Wall to Essos
I'm so fancy
Can you taste our gold?
Remember my name
'Bout to blow…" grin…
Morticia shaking head, Fester beaming…
That Tyr…
When they come to burn him, he'll already be using the bonfire to roast the orgy oxen…On the spears intended to impale him.
"Imp! This is no confession!" Ophelia cried, rising. "You mock our Justice!"
Even if the tap dancing's excellent…Even…Dare I say it?
Better than mine own true Middlefinger's…?
Hee, hee…Robyn clapping. "More singing! Make the little man sing more!"
"My Lord…My Lady…" Tyrion sighed. "Well…As to my other sins…"
He tossed the cane elegantly to Steph and resumed his graceful tapping…
Edging toward the Hall exit, slowly…
"Trashed the tavern…
Got drunk on the ale bar
Made the whores cry out
Feels so good getting what I want
Yeah, keep on turning it up
Chandelier swinging, we don't give a what
I'm an arrogant star, yeah I'm deluxe
Classic, expensive, you don't get to touch…" carefully making for the exit, just a few feet now…
"Ow..." A sword leveled by a guard driving him back…
Ah, well…A pity not to give it that big finish…
"Yes…I'm so fancy
You already know
I ride in the fast lane
From Kings Landing to Bravvos
I'm so fancy
Can't you taste my gold?
Remember my name
'Bout to blow…" he did a final split and came to rest on the floor, waving hat.
All the assembled court clapping to his bow…
Ophelia, enraged, rising… "You little shit! What did this have to do with the charges?"
"Charges, my Lady Arryn?" Tyrion blinked, tossing hat to one of the musicians. "I know of nothing I'm guilty of but to what I've confessed."
"You are charged with the murder of my noble husband, the attempted killing of my nephew and cousin…!" she raged. "And you will receive judgment at the pronouncement of the Lord of the Vale, my son! As will your damned Postmodern Jester musicians for their stealing and rearranging of Lady Iggy's rap. As if you thought we wouldn't notice, Minstrel Scott." She eyed the lead musician mistrel who frowned.
"Nonsense. Everyone knows Minstrel Scott's arrangement is a million times better…" Tyrion shook head. "You call this Justice, my Lady? Hardly the spirit of the Laws as Jon Arryn intended."
"Here I am the Law!" Ophelia raged in her seat, rising again.
"Well…I and my dear, dear boy." She patted Robyn.
Heh, heh…Robyn beamed at Tyrion…
Get that Moon Door open, boys…He eyed the guards standing ready.
Though, wouldn't mind one more song…
"Is the bad man done singing? I want more singing!"
"He's done." Ophelia fumed. "Now, chose your next witticism carefully, Mr. Lannister. It may be your last. Open the Moon Door!" she waved to the guards who pulled at their levers. The great door opening to empty space…
"Ophelia!" Morticia pleaded. "This is not a fair trial…" Ophelia waving her off…
"A straight drop of 3500 feet…" she sneered. "And so, if you've finished your singing, Imp…Your mockery of a defense has proven your guilt. Good-bye to you, cousin Tyrion." She waved to the guards about him who seized him.
"So Lady Arryn, you expect me to talk…?" Tyrion eyeing Ophelia, then the stricken Morticia.
"No, Lord Lannister…I expect you to die!" she leered from her throne seat.
"Fly!" Robyn corrected.
"Wait!" Tyrion insisted, shaking off the guards' uncertain grips… "I demand the right of trial…Trial by combat. You can't refuse a Lord, even despised little me, that."
Ophelia grimly staring…The assembled court nodding…
"The little bad man fight? Yeah!" Robyn, eagerly. "Make the bad man fight, then fly!"
"Oh…Very well…" Ophelia, sensing the crowd with Tyrion… "Who's up for skewering the Imp and winning my eternal favor and immediate wealth and promotion?" she eyed the crowd of Knights and attendants.
"Ophelia, Tyrion can't fight one of your Knights." Morticia, aghast. "And this is not a proper court…"
"I accept…" Tyrion nodded. "Though, thanks for your overdue return to sanity, Lady Addams…I hope in time you see the truth, whatever happens here now. By the right of trial I may choose a champion, yes?"
Damn…Forgot about that…Ophelia sighed.
"Yeah, yeah…" she waved. Regaining her humor as she glanced about the hall. "If you can find anyone who'd champion you…"
Hmmn…Fester sighed as Morticia eyed him…
"I choose my brother, Jamie Lannister. Send to King's Landing. He'll come asap just for the chance to cut off a few of your boys' heads, let alone his bro…" Tyrion smiled.
Phew…Fester, relieved.
You little shit-eating grinning…Ophelia glared.
"There's no time for that. You must choose a champion here or fight yourself. Who will champion the memory of my dear dead husband, Jon Arryn?!" she called. "Someone skilled and hulking, please…I don't want to spend all day on this…"
"Let me be your champion, my Lady…" a Knight, Ser Lightweight de la Lily, stepped forward.
Hmmn…Ophelia frowned.
Skilled enough, but I was hoping for more in the hulking department…
Still, given the crowd here is moving ever more Cousin Imp's sparkling wit's way…
"Ok, fine…Skewer yon Imp…Make it quick and earn my eternal gratitude…And the appreciation of my dear dead husband's spirit and all that…" she waved, shrugging. "Go to it, Lightweight…Cleave away!"
"Wait, sister!" Morticia stepped forward. "Cousin Tyrion has no champion."
"Eh, let him fight his own battles, sister…" Ophelia shrugged, grinning at Tyrion. "Maybe his tap dancing moves will defeat…Hmmn…" she eyed Ser Lightweight.
Maybe I should rethink this one…
"I'm honored my Lady Arryn." Ser Lightweight unsheathed sword. "Prepare yourself, Imp!"
Well, that is more like it…Ophelia noted as the crowd watched, spellbound.
Fester…Morticia eyed him.
"Eh…" Fester sighed, raising hand. "Hold up…I'll stand in for him." Shaking head…
Thought I'd be torturing him, now I'm his champion in the Trial?
"Cousin Fester? Mucho thanks, but…" Tyrion hesitated.
"I've still got it, Tyrion." Fester glared. "And I'm all you've got…" he noted.
Hmmn…Fat, bald, deathly pale, early sixties, I'd say…Ser Lightweight noted, seizing Fester up.
Likely heart condition…I'd say play it out, even if my armor will be a bit heavy in these close quarters.
"Armor, Ser Fester?" Ser Feckless, appointed referee, eyed Fester who shrugged.
Never use the stuff outside a major slaughterfest…
"Just give me my sword and could I borrow that axe?" he pointed to an axe on the Hall wall.
Hmmn…Ser Lightweight pondered. Factor in for the unexpected agility…And the axe weight…
"Are we ready?" Ser Feckless asked.
"Onetwothreego…" Fester, rushing Ser Lightweight in midcalculation and tossing him out the Door.
All staring…
"But…I hadn't read the rules…" Ser Feckless stared.
"In a trial by combat?! No rules!" Fester shrugged.
That's my cousin Fester…Tyrion, beaming…
"Ser Fester!" Ophelia rose in her seat. "You have no honor!"
"Nope." Fester agreed, pointing. "He did."
The crowd nervously eyeing each other, then begin to howl with laughter…Robyn happily joining in…
"Robyn!" Ophelia hissed. "Not what Mommie wanted…"
"Funny man made the dumb Knight fly!" Robyn, happily.
"And bought the little Imp a one way ticket out…" Tyrion smiled. "Lady Arryn? By the laws of trial by combat…"
"F- you, you little…" she fumed.
Still, the courtiers are on his side…Another minute and questions of the uncomfortable sort regarding this mockery of Justice will be asked.
Which could lead to more questions my beloved Middlefinger didn't send me instructions about…
"Very well. You are free, Imp!" she glared, darkly. "Free to wander the dark roads of our Vale, inhabited by savage animals and even worse human raiders. You'll wish you'd had a quick death from jumping then…" she noted sarcastically.
"I doubt that, my Lady. Oh, and please remember that my father will be sending his…Regards. We always pay our debts, we Lannisters." He smiled. "And this debt of…Hospitality…Will be repaid. In full. Lady Morticia?" he turned to Morticia. "I'm truly sorry about Pugsly and Branded…But I say again, I had nothing to do with it or the other attacks. I'm grateful that you and Fester did come to my defense…Our debt is paid."
"Boys…Minstrel Scott? Lets give our audience a big finish…" he grinned to the musicians… "My hat, please, Steph…?"
She tossed hat with grin…
"Lady Ophelia? Please accept Ms. Steph's resignation as jailer. She's had a better offer…" Tyrion, gaily, motioning for Stephanie to join him…They tapping together as the musicians played a last verse…
"Yes…I'm so fancy
You already know
I ride in the fast lane
From Kings Landing to Bravvos
I'm so fancy
Can't you taste my gold?
Remember my name
'Bout to blow…Ta…Da…" he extended hat… "Vale, we love ya… You're a great audience…"
….