Great AAR ! Make the lannisters kings !
Great AAR ! Make the lannisters kings !
Once again beautifully written. But my curiosity strikes again. Is Bryce zealous or cruel and will you use that trait in your writing style? Same for the two sins, wrath and... pride, I think? As far as sins go thats one of the best, especially with nor real church to speak of. Even though with your description of him and the ladies I first thought the last one was lust . Lastly who is his wife? Is she supposed to appear later, the screenshot being taken late?
This was awesome!"She spends her days down in the Reach, I spend my days at Deep Den, the children visit her or she visits them every few moons. Mostly, she plots to have me killed."
King's Landing was all Bryce Lannister had expected it to be and more. When his grandfather, Tywin, had been the King's Hand, he had not been allowed to visit with his father, instead being bundled off south with his brothers and sisters to his mother, Lady Margaery, in Highgarden. He had made do with stories of it from his grandfather, his father, and his uncle Jaime, who was a knight of the Kingsguard. Bryce had wanted to be a knight his entire life, and Tyrion had indulged his impulses, paying for the best riders to teach him how to handle his mounts and the best swordsmen to teach him how to parry and thrust and kill a man if need be. He had even paid a septon to knight him, which was not how Bryce had imagined one might gain a knighthood--Uncle Jaime had obtained his from the Sword of Morning after defeating the Kingswood Brotherhood.
Still, Bryce felt he owed his father greatly for such attention and he intended to return the favor. For if there was one thing both Lord Tyrion and Lord Tywin had drilled into Bryce from an early age it was that a Lannister always paid his debts.
"Make way! Make way for the Lord of Deep Den!" called Bryce's herald. "Make way for the Lion of Roses!" Bryce smiled at the epithet. Uncle Jaime was the Lion of Lannister, and Bryce's cognomen was a play on that and his mother being of House Tyrell, whose sigil was a golden rose on a field of green. It was of his own devising, though he had not been so foolish to be seen referring to himself in such a way. He had idly remarked to a cousin, one of the Freys, that he had heard others refer to him as such and how ridiculous it sounded to his ears. Of course, the Frey girl had been somewhat taken with Bryce and the idea of the Lion of Roses had taken her fancy and soon enough the epithet had taken root. He had not even told the herald to call him it, the man had simply used his own initiative. He was a good herald, worth every gold dragon Bryce paid him to ride ahead and shout at passersby.
The Hand's solar was smaller and less opulently decorated than Tyrion's at Casterly Rock. But it had more shelves and tables, and was filled with books from the Royal Library. When Lord Tywin had died, King Aegon had offered the chain of office to Tyrion. It had been a bold choice, considering that the other lords openly mocked and reviled the diminutive Lord of Lannister. The old rebels, Robb Stark and Robert Baratheon in particular had no love for the dwarf son of the lord who had sat out the rebellion. Even less enthralled with the Hand was Lord Rodrik Greyjoy, the hard ironman liege of the Iron Isles. Balon Greyjoy had been a follower of the Old Way and had drilled his children in the same. Lord Rodrik did not seem to believe that Tyrion had earned his office or his Lordship. Of course, the Greyjoys had not been to war in over 50 years, and Tyrion had battled at Bull's Keep and Sparkleford and been in the siege of Highgarden.
To Bryce's surprise, a septon was sitting opposite Tyrion when he entered.
"Yes indeed," the septon was saying. "Most people--"
He paused and filled his goblet with wine until a little poured out of over the rim. With both hands he lifted the cup to his lips and bolted the contents.
"Most people believe the depiction of the Father as having a long flowing beard that reaches to his chest." The septon attempted to demonstrate where this would be, but missed by a league. He ignored it and leaned in close, his voice dropping to an impressively loud conspiratorial whisper.
"But I believe that the Father's beard is much shorter. Perhaps not much more than below his collar."
Tyrion's eyebrows rose as though this were exciting and somewhat scandalous knowledge. He looked past the septon to Bryce and his eyebrows rose even higher in surprised relief.
"Fascinating, fascinating. You should write a treatise, Septon Duncan. Now, if you'll excuse me, my son is here."
The septon looked mournfully at the wine jug. Tyrion caught it.
"And you may take that with you, with the Hand's compliments."
The septon rose and hugged the jug to his body. "You, ser, are a paragon of knightly virtue," he said, bowing carefully so as not to spill any wine. He turned and slipped past Bryce with a perfunctory "ser."
"Was that Septon Duncan, who performed my knighting ceremony?" asked Bryce.
"It was," said Tyrion. "I would offer you wine, but..." He shrugged helplessly.
"What did he mean by that last?" asked Bryce. His father's shamed face made his stomach knot.
"Septon Duncan has...well...Septon Duncan has knighted me," said Tyrion.
"You're no true knight," said Bryce. "I apologize if you're offended, father."
"No, you're right. You're right," said Tyrion. "But half the men who are called 'ser' in this city deserve it half as much as me, and I'm half the men they are."
"So this knighthood is another one of your japes."
Tyrion swallowed. "I suppose you might see it as that."
Bryce sighed. "I have to tend the men I've brought from Deep Den at the inn they've holed up in. I should go."
"So soon?" asked Tyrion. "I thought I might show you the Keep a little. Have you seen the dragon skulls in the Great Hall?"
"I'll see them at the King's feast," said Bryce. He stood and left.
The feast was little better. The skulls were impressive. Tyrion had fostered in his son the same wild love of dragons that he himself had had as a child, and to see their black jaws suspended over the Hall kept drawing Bryce's attention upward. But he had no way to speak with his father. His rank kept him at a lower table. Tyrion sat to King Aegon's right with the rest of the small council and Queen Daena, the Lady of Grey Ghaston. They called the King "Unready" for his seizing of the throne from his father.
A clattering of metal next to him and Bryce looked up to see a set of golden armor and a white cloak filled with his Uncle Jaime set down on the bench next to him. Jaime filled his cup.
"What troubles you, my Lord of Lannister?" he asked, smiling. He took a long sip. Ever since Rhaegar's abdication, Jaime had become well known for his fondness for alcohol. It was said he and Robert Baratheon sometimes attempted to match each other cup for cup. His hair was greyed, his neck leathery and wrinkled.
"My father has had himself knighted on a lark," said Bryce.
"Yes. A great embarrassment," agreed Jaime. He chuckled.
Bryce was taken aback. "You're a knight as well, Uncle. How can this sit well with you? It devalues us."
Jaime sighed and filled his cup again. "I'll tell you a secret, nephew. I've been a knight for many long years now, and there's no particular value to it. There are Northmen and Ironborn who are better warriors than most of knights I meet here who don't take vows or get anointed in the seven oils. And some are more pious and virtuous. Your father has been the butt of japes his entire life, by men who are hailed as "Ser" and "Lord" whenever they pass another man. So, of course, when he saw an opportunity to make a mockery of those same men, he took it."
At the table below the King's, Lord Rodrik stood and raised his horn of ale in toast.
"My Lord Tyrion," he called. "I have heard you have added 'ser' to your various titles. How lucky we are the be in the presence of such a great knight." A number of the lords burst out laughing. A few had the good grace to drown their smiles in their cups.
Tyrion paused, with his fork halfway to his mouth.
"I have earned great renown jousting from pig or dog-back," he noted. Even the King laughed at this. Bryce frowned, even as his ears were buffeted by jeers and claps. Lord Rodrik sat down, half-mollified.
"He should not have let such an insult stand," he said to Jaime. "He is the Hand of the King."
"'And the Hand takes the shit,'" quoted Jaime. "But you should take note of your father. Small he may be, but he is still a Lion. He is still a Lannister." He stood.
"And a Lannister always pays his debts."
Last edited by HobbesMkII; 19-06-2012 at 23:34.
Erren sighed and put down her book of romances.
"Tell my brother I shall speak with him shortly," she said. The waiting servant nodded and then scurried back to Lord Tyrion and then to whatever horrible hole he come from, probably.
Erren considered reading in her book further, just to spite Tyrion, but it would not do. Spite did not become a lady. And it did not help that Lady Margaery was at Casterly Rock at the moment, which would do nothing to improve her brother's mood. He had received word that Margaery was coming to visit him and had slipped from the capital for a visit with his family, but the Lady of Highgarden had received word and turned to intercept him at the Lannister stronghold.
Well, that and the romances were unimaginably dull. There were many things Erren did simply because she was a Lady of Lannister, but few of those things were enjoyable.
In the courtyard, a clattering of sticks caught her attention. A young blonde-haired girl was striking at a boy who seemed to be having the worse of it, despite the thick bough he was using to defend himself.
"Cerenna!" called Erren. "What are you doing?"
Tyrion and Margaery's second daughter was a bright shining child, one of the castle's favorites. She had the classic Lannister hair, and none of her father's weaknesses, though all of his wit and all of her mother's cunning. But she had a brashness that exceeded them both.
"I'm Queen Nymeria!" explained Cerenna. "Defeating the Yronwood King in Dorne!"
"Aren't you supposed to be at lessons?" asked Erren.
"No..." said Cerenna. But the uncertainty of her tone belied the truth.
"Cerenna, don't make me get the septa," said Erren. She had only just escaped having to have lessons herself, and she would be damned if Cerenna would be allowed to avoid the same dull drudgery that she had endured.
"Run, Yronwood!" shouted Cerenna. The two children turned and fled.
"Cerenna!" called Erren, infuriated. She stamped her feet angrily. She wanted to chase after her niece, but ladies didn't run through mud. She frowned as best she could, and went on to Tyrion's solar.
Tyrion was in the middle of a shouting match with Margaery when she arrived.
"You plan alliances with the wrong people!" said Margaery.
"If I make alliances, it is with the right people to keep the kingdom together. The bloody realm is at odds with itself!" Tyrion exclaimed. "Dorne is in the midst of a civil war!"
It was true. Arianne Martell had died only a year before, leaving her sixteen year-old-daughter by Renly Baratheon in charge of the south.
Unfortunately, Bythia Baratheon had not lasted long herself, before succumbing to some disease they claimed she had picked up from a Tyroshi pirate who had docked at Sunspear for a spell.
Erren thought that had been a great tragedy. In the stories, women thrust into positions of power at an early age often had a few challenges at the beginning of their reign, but they soon overcame them and everyone agreed they were excellent rulers. The stories also granted them some lovely knight with which to fall in love with, who became their consort. Bythia Baratheon had achieved neither.
"And the King was hardly pleased that Prince Rhaegar inherited Ghaston Grey when Queen Daena died," said Tyrion. "I never heard the end of it from Aegon." Queen Daena's unexpected death had caught the court by surprise. Erren had overheard a rumor from knights returning to Casterly Rock from Tyrion's service in King's Landing that the Queen had died of the same disease as Lady Bythia. But the Queen could hardly had much traffic with a Tyroshi pirate, so Erren had dismissed it as nothing but cruel gossip.
"Of what concern is Rhaegar inheriting Ghaston Grey?" asked Margaery. "It is his birthright."
"The small council contorts itself to keep Rhaegar in check, Margaery," said Tyrion. "The boy believes that the voice of Baelor the Blessed speaks to him from the Heavens. At court, we can at least keep an eye on him. But we can hardly prevent him from attending to his new holding, now can we?"
Rhaegar's going to be a fun king
"In fact," said Tyrion. "The only bright spot to this entire past year is that your brother is finally dead, and I didn't have to lift a finger to make it happen."
"In what way is my brother dying a bright spot?" said Margaery.
"Oh, come now," said Tyrion. "I know you were affectionate towards Willas, but the man would have tried to take Highgarden from you the first chance he got. It's better that he's with the Seven now."
Erren coughed and entered, handily preventing Margaery from delivering a full outburst of withering scorn onto Tyrion. He smiled at his sister, gratefully.
"My dear Erren, how good of you to come," he said.
"I found Cerenna playing at swords again," said Erren.
"That girl," said Margaery, shaking her head. "You're turned my children feral, Tyrion."
"Nonsense," said Tyrion. "It's good for her to test the limits of sex. If you don't like it, I suggest you petition the king to grant you another child."
Margaery's stare would have struck a horse dead at ten leagues. Tyrion received it with indifference, however.
"What is that supposed to mean?" asked Margaery.
"Don't think I don't know who Hobber Water's father is," said Tyrion.
"I was supposed to be a queen!" shouted Margaery. She stormed from the room.
Tyrion sighed. "Wine?" he asked Erren, pouring himself a glass.
"It's far too early for drink, brother," said Erren.
"I beg to differ," said Tyrion. "It's never too early for drink when my wife is nearby, just too late for it."
"What did you summon me for?" asked Erren.
"Before I left King's Landing, Lord Robert proposed something to me. Are you familiar with his son?"
"Alesander Baratheon? He's the one that's almost as fat as his father, isn't he?" asked Erren.
Tyrion sighed. "Damn. So you are familiar with him..."
"Why?" asked Erren. She was suspicious now.
"Well, Lord Robert would like to join our two Houses. Particularly, he would like you to marry Alesander."
"You want to ship me off to Storm's End to marry the fat Stormlord's fat son?" Erren was indignant.
"Well, I wouldn't have phrased it quite so, but...yes," said Tyrion. "You know, you're not one I would have expected to have so many complaints about physical appearance, given your own."
Erren arched an eyebrow as high as it could go. Tyrion sighed and refilled his glass.
"If our father was still alive, he simply would have ordered you to go and marry Alesander Baratheon and that would be the end of it," said Tyrion. "I'm asking you to do this for our family's well-being. You'll be the Lady of Storm's End when Lord Robert dies. The man is not exactly young and hale, anymore. It should be bearable. More so than my marriage, at least."
Erren sighed. She knew Tyrion was right.
"I'll do it," she said.
Last edited by HobbesMkII; 19-06-2012 at 23:37.
Oh. I didn't know Tywin had so many more children. Will you mention the other three of Tyrions half-siblings too or did you just talk about Erren because she will become relevant later on. Actually don't answer that too clearly, I'd feel stupid for making you spoil the story too much.
No I was more thinking of you mentioning them in the passing or more if you already know that they will become relevant. Not that I want to tell you in any way what to write. I know forced writing is hard and can become ugly fast.
I thought that you mentioned Erren to tell us that your house is going to be allied with the Baratheons, maybe in preparation to some kind of war later on or something. So I immediatelly thought "Who are all those siblings and where were they married of to? Are any of them having their own stories?". Anyway, I love your work so far and hope the game delivers you with enough exiting turn of events for you to not get bored
Quick status update: If you're looking at the AAR right this second, you'll notice some of the posts have a Photobucket "bandwidth exceeded" placeholder. So, I'm transferring all the images over to MediaFire, which, judging from the great "In the Shadow of Certain Painful Doom" AAR's popularity (http://forum.paradoxplaza.com/forum/...Doom-Abyssinia), doesn't have the same bandwidth caps.
After that, I've got a pretty big update coming, so keep an eye out.
Everyone was coming to Casterly Rock. The last Lannister bannerman had arrived three days ago, and the rest of the Southron Lords and Knights had been streaming in ever since. Knights from all the Seven Kingdoms were here. Not an hour ago a great big Northman with a black bear on a field of green had come riding through the gates of the Rock. He had come with only a handful of retainers, and she had heard the smallfolk jeer at him, some breaking into a hastily arranged and poorly tuned rendition of "A Bear and a Maiden Fair," as he passed. Cerenna hoped he would ride well in the tournament this afternoon. She held a soft-spot for those whom others valued little.
"What are you doing up here?" called a voice. Cerenna turned from her perch on the battlements overlooking the tourney lists to see her Uncle Jaime. He had come riding in with three other members of the Kingsguard, including their Lord Commander Steffon Baratheon, the nephew of the late rebel Lord Robert the Fat. He was old now, so old that his hair was as white as the King's, and his face was a crumpled kerchief. His nose looked a little red. Cerenna had heard it said that he was sometimes well into his cups now before he'd even risen from bed.
"Looking at the knights, Uncle Jaime," said Cerenna. She stretched her arms out for a hug and he obliged her, then sat down next to her with an aching slowness.
"Let me have a look at you, girl," said Jaime. She stared at him in the face and he smiled.
"Every inch your mother," he said. "There's not a drop of Tyrion I can see on you."
"It's all hidden," said Cerenna. "Aveis is the one who takes after our father."
"Yes, yes, she's quite clearly the daughter of Tyrion Lannister and Margaery Tyrell, that's for certain." Uncle Jaime looked at her askew. "Watching all these young Sers, are you? Picking a husband like your dear older sister is about to get?"
"Seven hells, no," Cerenna swore. Her uncle grinned at that. "Who wants to be married off to one of Father's bannermen?"
"Rolf Garner's a good man, and Aveis will be well provided for in Goldshire."
"Perhaps," said Cerenna. "But look at all this spectacle. A tourney all because the eldest daughter of Tyrion Lannister is to be married on the morrow. The King and his Kingsguard riding from King's Landing. All we lack is Prince Rhaegar."
"Oh come now, my sworn brothers and I do a fair bit to keep the man in Ghaston Grey," said Jaime.
Cerenna gave him a wane smile.
"There is a point though," said Jaime. "Joyous occasions like this remind us of the best of times and allow us to forget the tragedies of life." His gaze seemed to fade past the lists to something only he could see.
"Are you talking about Aunt Erren?" asked Cerenna, after a pause.
Jaime seemed to find his way back to the present. "She's one such, yes," he said. But Cerenna could see it was not exactly what was on his mind.
It mattered very little, because Maester Alfgar saw them then from the ground below the wall they were sitting on and called up to her.
"Have you seen your father, Lady Cerenna?"
"I haven't, Maester," she called back down.
"Well, please, child, go and look for him, will you? The tournament will start soon."
"Yes, Maester Alfgar," said Cerenna. She climbed down from her perch. The Maester nodded and then turned and gave a whistle. A great wolf came bounding out from behind a tent to his side.
"Seven hells!" Jaime exclaimed. "Who is that man?"
"Maester Alfgar is a Karstark. That's his wolf, 'Ice,'" explained Cerenna. She disliked the cold frozen Northman. His wolf companion seemed something out of song, which fascinated her. But the man who it followed was a bookish type, with hardly a martial bone in his body. He was striking, though, and the wolf added to that, so he had somewhat titillated the other ladies at Casterly Rock. And his status as a Maester, which made him forbidden, had only increased matters. He and her Father certainly had a close relation, however. Cerenna idly wondered if the Maester knew exactly where Tyrion was.
"Will you come look for Father with me, Uncle?" Cerenna asked. "You must know where he might be hiding better than I."
"I doubt it," said Uncle Jaime. "It's been many years since I was a child here. You go. I might find something to parch my thirst."
Her father was not in the Golden Gallery or the Lion's Mouth, or entertaining guests in the Stone Garden. He was not in his solar when she entered after knocking. His desk was covered with papers, and one book was opened on it, studying about dragons, as usual. She regarded the pages carefully; it was an old tome.
She had just made up her mind to leave and search for him somewhere else when she heard a woman's moan coming from his apartments. Careful as a cat's paw, she crept up to the door and pressed her earth against it.
"Not again, my lord," she heard a woman whisper, and a man's chuckle, that she recognized as her father's, in response.
Cerenna knocked on the door. "Father?" she called.
She heard someone curse quietly under their breath, and then the rustling of sheets and the patter of feet moving quickly over the stone floor.
She knocked again. "Father," she said.
"One moment!" came Tyrion's call.
Cerenna waited a bit more, and then door crept open a crack. She looked down into her father's face.
"What's the matter, sweetling?" he asked.
Cerenna ignored him and pushed at the door. Tyrion tried for a moment to stop her, but he gave up and the door flew open, so that Cerenna could see the woman lying in his bed.
Deanna was a Frey by birth, the granddaughter of Emmon and Grand-aunt Genna Lannister, which made her a somewhat distant cousin. But she looked more Lannister than Riverlander, with her pale features and golden hair. She was not much older than Cerenna was herself. It startled Cerenna to see her now, clutching at her father's sheets to cover her nakedness.
Cerenna regarded her father with emotionless eyes. "Your presence is required at the tourney immediately, Father," she said. As she left, she noted that Tyrion at least had the good sense to look ashamed of himself.
Cerenna could hardly keep her seat at the tourney. But she was a Lady of Lannister, and she would maintain her composure. She watched as Tyrion presented himself, seating himself to the right of the King, between Aegon and Lady Margaery. Cerenna wondered if his behavior had something to do with Hobber Waters, whom people said was Aegon and Margaery's child. Cerenna had dismissed it as mere rumor before, but now she wondered. She watched the three of them as the various knights presented themselves and saluted.
The first joust was between Bryce and Lord Rodrik Greyjoy. The Ironman was far too old to sit a horse, and everyone knew he was no knight. Cerenna doubted there was even a flat enough part of the Iron Isles on which to set up lists. Bryce looked fine in armor of gold, modeled after Uncle Jaime's notorious set. His rose-crowned lion dances on the red field on his chest. His visor was a lion's roaring mouth, it's fangs barred. Greyjoy's armor was simple, and painted black, with the gold kraken raised out from the surface on his chest. The two men rode to their opposite ends, and dipped their lances. The flags flashed and both men dug their heels into their mounts' flanks.
They came together with a horrible crash. Splinters flew into the air, and a broken lance landed in the sand. Bryce rode on, wobbling from the blow, barely keeping his seat. Lord Rodrik, on the other hand, tumbled from his saddle, pulling his horse down over him. There was a sickening cracking sound. Squires ran to the fallen man, pulling the horse off him. His leg was twisted at an awkward angle and the golden kraken on his chest had been pushed inwards. The crowd gasped.
Bryce himself rode back, dismounting. He shouted orders and the squires and attendants lifted Lord Rodrik carefully, taking him away to his tent, with Bryce bowing out of the tournament to watch over the man.
Her mother leaned over to her.
"Bryce has become a fine knight, don't you think?" asked Lady Margaery.
"He had better be," said Cerenna. "Father spent a fortune educating him as one."
"If your father had been born a better man, he would not have needed to spend any money," said her mother, sniffing. "He could have instructed Bryce himself."
Normally, Cerenna would rise to her father's defense, but today she could not stomach it, so she said nothing, letting the insult pass.
The next bout was between Cerenna's Bear Northman, announced as Ser Leobald Mormont of Bear Island and Ser Devan Lannister, a distant cousin. Ser Devan was past fifty, but still riding strong as ever they said. Cerenna hoped the Bear Knight was a capable rider.
At the first pass, it seemed so, as both men broke their lances on each other's shields. On the second pass, Ser Devan landed a glancing blow, while the Northman's lance swung through the air, missing completely.
At the third pass, there was another stupendous cavalcade of noise as the two men struck at each other. Ser Leobald's lance bounced off Ser Devan's shield. But Ser Devan's lance landed the Northman a solid blow to the helmet, causing him to be knocked back in his saddle. The crowd shouted in concern, then applauded when the man kept his horse. A couple of nearby Lannisters cursed in the stands near Cerenna.
But Ser Leobald did not retake his place at the end of the sand. Instead, his horse meandered a bit and then stopped. Ser Leobald's lance dropped from his hand, and everyone looked on as the man seemed to wilt in his saddle, before slipping down over his horse's neck and then falling from the saddle. He did not move. When his squire reached him, the boy pulled off his helmet and everyone could see that was blood coming out of his ears. They carried him away, but Cerenna knew they were not going to take him to any tent to repair. He would be send back to Bear Island in a casket.
"A bad start," said her mother.
The day ultimately belonged to Lord Ben Herston, with Ser Devan taking second, but Cerenna barely paid any attention after the death of Ser Leobald.
"I must go check on Lord Rodrik," Tyrion announced. "Please excuse me, your grace." He bowed low to the King, who gave him a nod of ascension.
"My lady," said Tyrion, passing his wife. He stopped in front of Cerenna.
"Daughter, I was wondering if you would accompany me," he said.
"What business would I have with some hurt Ironman?" asked Cerenna. Her tone came too sharp and too loud, and she instantly regretted it, but she had not been able to disguise her anger.
"A beautiful young woman can be a soothing presence to a wounded man," said Tyrion. He looked up at his daughter with pleading eyes. "I would be deeply in your debt."
Cerenna sighed, and stood. Tyrion nodded and led the way.
"I want you to understand," said Tyrion, as they walked. "What I did was not meant to hurt you."
"No," said Cerenna. "But it you knew it would."
Now it was Tyrion's turn to sigh. "Perhaps I did," he said.
"But you never expect me to find out," said Cerenna.
"Well, I had hoped you wouldn't."
"Did you mean to hurt Mother?"
"Margaery and I have never been very close," said Tyrion. "She seems to believe she was meant for more wondrous things than wife of the Hand."
"Which excuses you to behave with impropriety?" asked Cerenna.
"There is more to life than being proper, Cerenna," Tyrion answered. "You learned how to wield a sword. That's not proper for a lady. But I humored you. And one would be hard pressed to claim that your mother has behaved properly in our marriage."
"Why are you telling me this?" asked Cerenna. "You're striking out at her, but if you think you ennoble yourself in my eyes by doing so, you are sadly mistaken."
"I apologize," said Tyrion. He stopped at the flaps of a tent. "I apologize for everything. Even Deanna."
"Promise me it won't happen again."
"I can't, sweetling," said Tyrion. He sighed. "I can only be sorry for it happening." He turned, and entered the tent.
Uncle Jaime found her standing there a few minutes later. He had a wineskin hanging from his shoulder, and Cerenna could see stains on his white cloak from where he'd wiped his lips with it.
"What's the matter, girl?" he asked.
"I saw my father with different eyes today," she said.
"Ah, yes," said Jaime. He offered her the wine skin, and she took it wordlessly and drank. "A hard thing when that happens. Where is my lordly brother now?"
"In there, with Lord Rodrik," said Cerenna, indicating the tent.
"With Lord Rodrik, you say?" asked Jaime. "Did you know, I have oftentimes at court seen Lord Rodrik insult and provoke your father, and receive hardly a rebuke in return?"
Cerenna shook her head. She had not heard that.
"For years the man has been tormenting him. And now Tyrion's in there, tending to the man's wounds, you say? This I have to see with my own eyes."
Jaime pushed past her, into the tent, and Cerenna felt compelled to follow.
Inside, Maester Alfgar was putting vials back into a bag. Bryce and Tyrion stood nearby a cot, and on it Lord Rodrik lay. His leg was set in a splint, but he seemed strange. When Cerenna looked closely at him, she could see his chest did not rise and fall with breath. He was dead.
"What's going on?" she asked.
Bryce and Tyrion looked at her in surprise, and then at each other.
"We're paying our debts," said Bryce, finally. "As good Lannisters should."
a superb read, I hope this will continue!
Good AAR, nice job keeping the books' spirit.
Superb AAR writing by you, Hobbes, it compliments the world of Westeros really well. Also, quick question, none of Tyrion's kids were dwarfs right?
I am curious as to where this will go next. War on the Iron Islands? Scheming to weaken the Iron throne? Many possibilities.
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