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 LXXXV…

"When you just give love…And never get love…You gotta let love…Depart…" Taro Trumpo Don sung faintly as he dressed in his Chancellor's/soon-to-be Emperor's bedroom before floor length mirror…Yeah. The gold and brown suits me.

"And now, it's so…And I've let you go. But I can't get you out of…My heart…"

Smiling at self in mirror…

"You…Ooooh oooh…Made me risk my happy home ohohoh…You took my love and threw it downon…So, I had you…Clonedoned." Grin at cloned Danerys, in bed in nightgown under blanket, sleeping heavily.

I already wanted to kill him…Rachel, standing in attendance at side of the room, in her newly furnished lady-in-waiting outfit of gown and pointed hat.

Now…I really want to kill him. To call me in here, just to show off…

Eehew…This.

But at least I know she's just a subservient pile of clone goo. Not even as human as me.

Honest. Sigh. Different process when you intend to mass produce.

Though, of course…She eyes his smug smile…Here it comes…

"The Princess and future Queen-Empress is a bit exhausted, long night…" he smiled to Rachel. "See that she's awakened in time to dress for our wedding."

Nice to know when I find a way to kill you, even people who hate me will cheer…She thought, nodding to him, slight bow. "My Lord."

"Glad to know you've seen the light and accepted things, my dear." He beamed at her. "There's still a fine place for you in my new Empire. For as you know, a former poor boy, who raised himself from nothing to limitless wealth and power, has no prejudices regards his staff…Concubines…Casual flings…Occasional gropings in the morning or night."

Lovely…Just…Lovely…

"Princess Danerys spurned me…" he frowned slightly. "But now, in part thanks to you…I win. All the marbles, dragons, I even get to pick the color in our bathroom." Beam.

Oh…I may be evil in my own right…Rachel, repressing glare. But this creep makes Prince Joffrey look a little less bad.

"Well, off to check on the wedding preparations. And how Maester Nealon is doing with my Targaryen clone army. An army, Rachel…" beaming. "One thousand in a few days, then ten, then…Well, this being a medieval era, probably not more than thirty thousand, with the support troops required we couldn't supply more. Logistics, that's our Achilles heel these days. But an army of Daneryses, dragons…"

You've only got the one under your thumb, asshole…She thought.

"…And by their blood vows to my beloved Queen-Empress, the Doofraki raider…"

Truly Doofs if they follow that sack of goo…Rachel, eyeing the sleeping clone Danerys.

"…Warbands. I am invincible! Socially secure! Comfortably well-set!"

Well, it would be horribly ironic if things ended this way, Rachel thought.

"See you later, dear. Oh, and…At ease…" he grinned, heading out, whistling.

Unbelievable…Rachel sighed, taking seat.

And yet…He is looking like a winner. And he does kinda still like…

No, no! No! There are limits even to evil.

Besides…He'd probably just keep me as a trophy concubine.

No, I gotta find a way to overturn his little scheme. Middlefinger was confident he could keep Taro under his thumb or so he said. I just have to believe it's so, even if Maester Nealon doesn't control the Danerys clones. Or seek the aid of one of my other evil lovers.

But even Ser Ferdinand the Cleanser can't remove this clog on my plans. And no one else comes close in evil or more practically, resources. And while my sestras might object to the degradation of women and the abuse of cloning tech here…They kinda consider me an abuse of cloning tech and a degradation of women.

Now, girl…Sestra help or no…We don't sit around waiting for some evil, or clueless good, dude to rescue, then probably betray us. We're Rachel of Duncan, we act…We take charge. We prevail.

"Girl…" clone Danerys called, turning in bed. "Has my beloved Emperor and soon-to-be-husband left? Fetch me my robe? I must prepare for the happiest day of my life."

Right…

We fetch…

"Coming your Highness."

/Danerys 2.1…She did not say.

Geesh, Taro, a bit miffed as he walked down the hall, nodding to attendants and guards.

She couldn't even offer me congratulations on my wedding day?

…

Verysmuch, seated, in office at Kings Landing…Pausing in writing a letter on parchment to look up.

"I've always known you were there…" he beams at us. "And I suppose you're wondering…What the hell has he got that keeps him from utter despair as Middlefinger increasingly seems the likely winner…At least regards my plans to restore the Targaryens."

"And I get, you, like him, wonder what the heck I'm doing supporting these white-haired, purple-eyed incestuous psychos anyway? Well, the first ones weren't bad, after they'd slaughtered millions to conquer Westeros…If you ever see Middlefinger's 'Game of Thrones' prequel, you'll understand better. One at least was really a nice guy, if a bit wrong on succession plans."

"I mean…Make your daughter your heir then get married and have sons? Come on." Shaking head.

"And Bob B wasn't such a great change…Though even I must admit, he's remarkably improved over the last couple of months. But I am kinda committed now." shrug. "And I like the thrill of scheming, what can I say? I got no balls, so no kids to raise and plan for, a man's gotta keep himself occupied."

"Anyway, as far as Middlefinger goes…Well, to be honest? Haven't a clue how to stop him, if he really has a way to shove that Taro off the game board. Yes, Nealon may yet still be one of mine (maybe) but nope, so far as I know he didn't manage to screw up Taro's clones. Though of course I now must suspect treachery, given Middlefinger's confidence in taking control there."

"So…Frankly? Unless somehow the Hand, the Lannisters, the King and Queen, and my folks in Essos can prevent Taro's and then Belloq's success…I may be relying on our mutual respect thing and our spymaster telepathic bond to secure some minor post in the New Valeryan Empire. At least get my pension paid for this job." Rueful look.

"Oh? Well…As to our telepathic bonding? Eh…I could give you some elaborate explanation based on Planetos' weird magnetic field, our weirdly powerful radiation belts, our bizarre elliptical orbit around our primary and our lesser suns that create those strangely long seasons and lead to dragons, giants, mammoths, those weird trees, strange 'magic' powers, White Walkers, though personally…I think that's conspiracy crap…And Resurrection, which is kinda neat…You'll find out. But lets just say, as far as the telepathy and such…Spymaster 'magic'…Oooh." Wags fingers.

"Anyway, at least Middlefinger thinks he's winning and it's not possible to lose. As Pompey I Valeryan said, just before his final defeat on the brink of victory… 'That's always a bad sign'."

…

Meanwhile, in Kings Landing…The Redder Keep…Little Council Room.

"Well…" Tyrion eyed Jamie in his Kingsguard armor... "At ease, please, bro…I appreciate the respect but I'm only Acting Hand and we're alone here."

"Thanks…" Jamie sighed. Relaxing from attention.

"Anyway…" Tyrion continues. "The latest ravenspost from the Vale looks good. Lady Ophelia's insane reign of terror is over and Ser Fester and Maester Puerile have things well in hand."

"I hate I missed out on a good slaughterfest." Jamie sighs, poking sword under table...Just in case, he notes, rising... "Not to mention seeing Fester in action again."

"Eh, really wasn't much by the way of 'action', the Vale forces were ready to surrender to anyone saner than cousin Ophelia whether they had authority from the King or no. Just a matter of breaking into that high-tech bunker, which the old boys managed quite well. Pity the Architect bought it. Though. Man was a creative genius."

"Meaning they'll be insufferable when they get back, both of them." Jamie frowned. Sword thrust through suit of armor. Hmmn…No blood, no screams.

Always wondered why Bob leaves that around…Tyrion eyes the suit. Suppose it does have a fatal attraction, literally for spies. Empty this time, Jamie notes.

"Well, they earned some kudos. A nice strategic win getting the Vale secured. Though I wonder…" Tyrion shook head. "A bit too easy, given how clever our friend the 'Menace' has been."

"So, no triumph for Fester and Puerile…" Jamie, pleased.

"Oh, I think we should have one…Whatever the Menace intended there." Tyrion noted. "But Gods, not over Ophelia Arryn."

Hmmn…Jamie shrugged. "To me, a win is a win…An easy one, well…Not so fun but… And Ophelia's not that bad a swordslady, if crazy."

"No…I think we need a different defeated opponent to blame." Tyrion nodded. "We need to get the 'Menace' a bit riled up. I'll send to Rob and Gomez about it, but I think we needs ought to put on a splash for the old boys. A triumph all right, but over the Menace him or herself. That should piss the fellow off."

"It would me…" Jamie nodded. "But we just call it 'the Menace'?"

"Sure…Put a masked effigy on a float and run it with the spoils and captives and maybe Ophelia and Robyn as the minor folk, but announce we crushed the Menace big time. Poke him or her in the ego and see who squirms." Tyrion, shrewd look. "To take on the Seven kingdoms and possibly some of the Essos powers, one's ego must needs be huge. And they already failed to ignite a civil war, now their strategic fortress in the heart of the Coal territory…That black stuff…" he explained to Jamie's puzzled look. "…is lost. To have it stuck in your face on public display has gotta hurt. And could lead them to try a retribution strike."

"I…Well, no…I don't quite see. But if you say so, bro." Jamie nods. "Just tell me where to point sword and slash." Slashing at curtain…

Hmmn…Nothin'. Oh, well. Tosses sword straight up into ceiling…Groan.

"Ah, ha! Gotcha!" Jamie beams.

"Fortunately, my intended Stef is out on a mission for me, but I think that was the maid cleaning my room, bro." Tyrion sighs. "Sorry about that, Gwen! I'll call for a Maester!"

"She could still be a spy." Jamie, arch look.

"We've known cousin Gwen since she was six, Jamie. That's why Dad hired her for the staff here." Tyrion, shaking head as he moved to the chamber door and opened. "Send Maester Grisel to my bedroom, immediately! Thanks!" calling.

"Ok, maybe I'm a bit overzealous on security…" Jamie shrugged. "But one can't be too careful, Dad always says."

"He also says don't murder family by hasty accident." Tyrion eyed him. "I don't fault the protective enthusiasm, bro, but it would be easier to just have guards look around carefully, minus the sword jabbing. Ruins the antique structure and historic furniture too."

"So Cerse says…" Jamie, ruefully.

"My Lord Hand?!" Maester Grisel calling from above. "Is it the wounded lady on your floor you called about?" More groaning now…

"That's it, Maester Grisel." Tyrion called up. "An accident during a surveillance exercise. Will she live?"

"Oh, certainly. I believe I can even save her leg." Grisel called.

"Sorry, cousin Gwen!" Jamie called up.

"Anyway, neat idea about provoking the Big Bad or whatever, Tyr." He beamed at Tyrion. "Someday soon Dad is gonna realize you're almost as smart as me."

"No, no…Heat the iron to white-hot…" Maester Grisel's voice above. Screams from the room.

"You play the Game, even the minor characters suffer…" Jamie nods thoughtfully. "And she still could be a spy." Eyeing Tyrion shrewdly.

"Let me know when I can pull the sword out, Maester!"

Hate when I have to break in a new sword…Like on to losing a puppy, Jamie sighs.

Arrgghhh! Scream.

"Say was cousin Gwen the chubby one or was that her sister?" Jamie asked Tyrion.

…