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First Lieutenant
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Apr 19, 2012
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A Crusader Kings II fic
Mod: A Game of Thrones

by LsT_G


Best Character Writer of the Week - 8/12/13


"Mummers and monkeys require applause. So did Aerys, for that matter."
– Tywin Lannister​


Griffin’s Roost hadn’t known peace in many years. Chaos ruled the castle for most of the day, with no culprit in sight. For the house septa, an elderly woman that would simply be remembered as Val, there was an easy reason for that. Two, actually; twins.

“Bed, now! Your mother commanded you!”

“Only ‘cause you told mother about me skipping broidery! I don’ even usually run, it was only today!” The girl could pass for a doll, curled blonde hair, big eyes.

“It was not. Bed!” Val was no longer fooled. There was evil in the child.

“Tell us a story then!” The boy was nice enough. Very much like his sister in looks.

“Yes! A story! We couldn’t possibly sleep without a story.” The boy was also the girl’s. He would obey her on anything, always with a smile for her. He would happily be her tool, while staying defiant to the remaining world. That made him dangerous.

“I told the story of Durran Godsgrief just yesterday.”

“That hardly counts!” This was the girl.

“Aye! I want Dwagons!” The boy.

“Hear us roar!” both, loudly. They were always too loud.

“Lann the clever?” Val only wished for sleep. A day chasing the girl through the keep had eaten her.

“You are terrible at that one! Tell us about the white lion!”

“Yes! I’ll be the Dwagon!” He opened his arms as he ran through the bedroom.

“I’ll be the stormborn!” The girl held her head up, primly, looking down on Val. The child had practiced that look for as long as both could remember.

“So be it, my lords. Great Joffrey, the first of his name, from his rise during the war of five to his death after-”

“You’re spoiling it!” both again. Why, Mother?

Please Mother, let sleep take them... and stop my hand from reaching the dagger.


So, hello and welcome to Applause. This is the first story I decide to post on the forums, even if it is not my first written, and I do hope I can provide some entertainment during the next few months the story will be running.

It will follow the War of the Five Kings scenario playing as, arguably, the most hated character in modern fiction. As such, let us not destroy a good thing. I do not want you to start loving Joffrey, nor do I want to write him as perfect. That would completely ruin the point of having him as a character.

I do want to add something to him, so you celebrate his achievements while you hope to have him die an agonizing death.

After all: Everyone hates Joffrey.

Possible Questions:
Will there be spoilers/Is it safe for me to read this story?
There will be spoilers. If you haven’t seen the show there will be major spoilers all around. If you have watched the show so far, then most of what will happen in the next few seasons will not happen during the game, as conditions have changed. But there are some events later on that might spoil up to book 5 (VERY later on). A lot of flavour was placed on this story, however, so don’t be shy in using the SoIaF wikia.
Have you changed anything from the books?
Yes. Especially in Joffrey’s case. We don’t really have that much insight as to how he thinks, but I do believe my version of Joffrey will have a bit more of his father (the real one) than his mother. He will appear calmer on surface, but boiling inside. To model this change, the traits quick and stressed were added to Joffrey as soon as the game started. Lunatic was too extreme at start. As the story progresses, who knows?

The three star combat ability was also added, but for a different reason. Joffrey will be the main focus of the AAR and I want him there, in the field, as soon as he is of age. Personal battle is a fan favourite and there would be little of it without this change. I can’t promise to be any good at writing them, but I will try. Why three and not one? Well, I don’t want my main character to die against the first pig or sheep that looks at him funny. I don’t expect him to reach 50, but let’s not get over ourselves.

Lastly, in the books Tyrion had not yet arrived in King’s Landing when Ned Stark was executed. I will have him there already. The reason for that is twofold: one, the mod starts the war of the five kings with Tyrion already as Hand, but I wanted to start the AAR where, to me, the war truly began. Two, I wanted Tyrion in court to write chapter I.
The deviation from canon was that Tywin ordered Tyrion to make haste to King’s Landing instead of participating in the battle of the Green Fork.
Have you changed any of the mod files?
Yes. In the defines file the main change was reverting the AGE_OF_MARRIAGE back to 16 (from 14). 14 makes perfect sense from a canon perspective, but marring children before they have their adult portraits kinda of creeps me out. It’s a pet peeve, but it will influence the story.

Next, I had Joffrey and Sansa be betrothed instead of married, with the same thing for Myrcella (who was also moved back to court.) If this change breaks the event that marries Joffrey to Margaery, I’ll live.

Joffrey's traits were slightly changed. See the topic above.
Will you use cheats?
Yes. More specifically, the play cheat. It will only be used to take screenshots, showing wars, combat scores and what’s happening in the rest of the realm. I might also use neg_diplo if I want to take a sreenshot of someone declining an offer I knew they would not accept. I may need to use the move cheat at some point. I truly hope not.

Cash and prestige cheats will not be used, as honestly, neither would be needed. It’s not the first time I play as Joffrey and I know the money I have will suffice.

And the greatest cheat of all, reloading? It will happen. It has already. But I try to leave this for really weird story elements. Like say, Cersei running from court to marry Lancel out of love. It has happened twice -.-.
EDIT: another 'fun' one: Joffrey became kind after seeing Tyrion let a hunter take a deer. Yes, that event. Yes, I reload immediately.
EDIT2: The summer islanders decided that civil war in westeros was the perfect time to invade Dorne. Personally? I would agree. Adding to that the fact that the event would take Dorne's mind away from killing me, why did I reload? First, because such a major canon deviation is something that would be hard to explain. Second, the war against Dorne would be way, way, waaaaaaay too easy with a summerislander army near the elbow, close to the passage that links the rest of the continent to the peninsula and far from the shores that I will use to break Sunspear. Unbowed? Unbent? Unbroken? No. They most certainly are not. And so I reloaded.
I read the whole thing in one night and now I want MOAR. What should I do?
Well, I have a short story called Knife. It follows a siege of a small castle and has a very similiar style to Applause. It's around 5.5k words, meaning around 2 chapters long. If you still want more to read I will point out anything by Joe Abercrombie if you are in the mood for some dark low fantasy and China Mieville's Bas-Lag for some of the best worldbuilding there is. (These recommendations assume you have read GRRM's books, of course) Happy Readings.
Probably long overdue, but just to confirm what you all know: I do not own A song of ice and fire or any of its characters. Those rights belong to G.R.R. Martin.


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The chaos enveloping the grounds around the Great Sept of Baelor felt as a beast. Hungry, powerful, threatening. The bells had towed, bringing half of Kings Landing to hear his words. And to Joffrey the beast was as beautiful a creature as he had ever seen. He had its attention, baiting the beast with practised and honeyed words that he would never remember giving.

There was a smile on his handsome face. Not wide, just enough. His mind was a haze. The shouts from below were echoing within him.

The world never looked as focused before. The colours around him stood proud as he had never seen them. Burning themselves on his mind forever.

Beside him the wolf lord was bleeding, shackled, broken. His blood had fallen to the stone steps, painting them in a garden of small red roses.

More than red, darker than red. Crimson.
And such a beautiful crimson was Lord Stark’s blood.

The screams from the crowd had only gotten louder as the beast had taken notice of the scent. It was circling around the lion king, asking – begging! - for another serving.

More crimson for more screams.

How he longed for those screams.

He felt a ripping in his head, as if the beast had clawed him, tired of the waiting.
Pain. But almost muted by the brightness of the world around him, by the melody of the crowd.

The king’s right hand found itself on his temple, the nails slashing deeper than had been his intent.

A new wave of pain flowed.

Crimson and screams.

Let them wane the pain.

To the world outside his head, the so many times practised speech had reached an also many times practised silence. What came next had not been on script.

The beast stopped it’s circling, silenced its voice, and waited enthralled. It would last but a moment. It was all it would take.

He looked straight at the wolf princess and smiled.

Too wide a smile, crimson and screams.

“So long as I am your king, treason shall never go unpunished.” He spoke quietly, but the words travelled well. The beast started drooling.

“Ser Ilyn, bring me his head!”

As the claw in his mind dug deeper, the world looked shinier still.

The beast roared in delight.

In the young king’s mind all he heard was applause.
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Nicly done! Though, maybe put a spoiler tag somewhere in the introduction?
I'm fairly sure they have to put Jack Gleeson in witness protection when not shooting. He's so brilliant at being a teenage sociopath. God, I hate him so much.

I look forward to plenty of brutality and sociopathy.




Regarding Spoilers, really you'd have to put every word and image inside spoiler tags. I go on the assumption people reading GoTs AARs do so with the expectation of possible spoilers.
I'm fairly sure they have to put Jack Gleeson in witness protection when not shooting. He's so brilliant at being a teenage sociopath. God, I hate him so much.

I look forward to plenty of brutality and sociopathy.
I'm starting to think I don't have enough brutality:p
Seriously though, the story will feature a rather different Joffrey. One that thinks before starting to kill everyone. After thinking, he will probably still kill everyone, but he does think. And when he kills, well... There will be some style.
We need more AARs about rabid sociopaths in puberty.

Write on!
I'm starting to think I don't have enough brutality:p
Seriously though, the story will feature a rather different Joffrey. One that thinks before starting to kill everyone. After thinking, he will probably still kill everyone, but he does think. And when he kills, well... There will be some style.

Pausing even slightly before choosing the most self-destructivly cruel option is not Joffrey's style
Pausing even slightly before choosing the most self-destructivly cruel option is not Joffrey's style

Realizing that there is an option besides what is self-destruction isn't Joffrey's style... :p But I'll watch this anyways.
Pausing even slightly before choosing the most self-destructivly cruel option is not Joffrey's style
Maybe. But as much of the story will be written from his point of view, you will read as he tries to ignored his impulses in chosing those options. You will also see him failing at doing so, horribly.

Realizing that there is an option besides what is self-destruction isn't Joffrey's style... :p But I'll watch this anyways.
I hope to entertain.
I: Joffrey

Joffrey stood in the empty throne room of the Red Keep. It had not been empty before his arrival, but courtiers and servants both were quickly made to leave as the young king roared at them. It was a dark room. His father’s favourite tapestries tried to bring some colour into the manmade cavern that held the Iron Throne. The needle work recreated scenes from the old king’s favourite sport, men in great steeds, with greater spears. Boars were the main prey. The last to be hung pictured the killing of a westerland lion.

The now crowned lion had hated those dead pictures all his life. He hated them still, for they stood as a constant reminder of his father.

He was sat in the steps that led to the massive throne of molten swords, close to the bleak walls to the right of the greatest seat in Westeros. Both his hands were lost in his hair, rubbing, messaging, scratching the pain away. His head hurt still. And even if he had had every soul removed from the room, he could still hear sounds and whispers and words. The applauding, the screaming, the beast. Sounds that were his only solace as the colours drained around him and the pain sharpened. Sounds that he was sure were only heard by him.

His pain worsened still as the music in his mind was interrupted by his uncle’s sellsword opening the doors to the room.

The man had passed through his dog guarding the gate. An achievement on its own right he supposed.

The Imp entered the room in as resolute a pace as his form would let him. The dwarf’s misshapen face had the claw plough deeper into his brain. The sellsword followed both of the kingsguards protecting the boy today.

Joffrey took his eyes from his new Hand in an attempt to end the waves of pain. They did not stop. As his uncle’s footsteps grew nearer so did the ache.

The blonde boy didn’t even look as his uncle stood in front of him.

The king’s face betrayed nothing despite the pain, hoping that would dissuade it from progressing.

It was only making it worse.

Until it stopped. Stopped for a glorious moment.

It took Joffrey another moment more to note that there was now pain in his cheek. He was bleeding. The fact that his uncle had hit him took long to fall in place.

“You complete fool.”

The boy moved his hand to the bleed, bringing the blood into the light.

To him, it looked the most beautiful thing in the room.

The three swordman reached for their blades. His hound was the first to have a weapon pointed at the Imp. Ser Boros had been the last to unsheathe his sword and tried to compensate the failing by holding it nearer the Hand’s neck.

The young lion looked at the ring in his uncle’s hand. An ugly thing, too big for his fingers, surely expensive, but of dubious taste. A sharp thing that had cut him and took his pain. But only for a bit. The claw was slowly returning.

He found his voice.

“Ser Boros would you really kill one of your king’s kin?”

“Your Grace...” The king swatted the words with a flick of his hand.

“Leave me with my beloved uncle.”

The Hound obeyed with a huff as did the sellsword after a look to his employer. Ser Boros did nothing to hide his confusion but removed his blade.

His headache was worsening still.

“Ser Boros leave your sword with me.”

The man opened his mouth as if he wanted to protest. For once he thought better.

“Your Grace.”

As his Hound closed the throne room’s door, the boy-king placed the cold steel tongue against his cheek. He could almost feel his uncle’s mismatched eyes on him.

“Speak your piece uncle.”

“Lord Stark was needed to have his son stopped, to release your uncle Jaime, to ensure the North’s and the Riverlands’ obedience in the war against your other uncles! You just lost us the war, winning us nothing but hatred!” The halfman’s tone had started even, but he had finished in a yell.

“You speak but of a traitor that got a traitor’s death, uncle.”

“A traitor that could have given us the war! Lost to your bloodlust! I saw your face my beloved nephew! What else would you call the show that you gave outside?”

“I would call it justice. Mercy even. If I had had what I wanted he would have been flayed. The Gods were merciful that I am to wed his daughter. He would still be wishing for death if I was not.”

Joffrey moved the blade to share its cold with his burning forehead. His uncle wasn’t finished.

“There were no Gods and there was no mercy in the Sept today. You had your speech. You even practised it. And you gave everything away in a moment of folly.” He stopped. A “You cost me my brother.” was added.

“The wolves won’t kill Jaime. He has no worth dead.”

The Imp gave a disgusted snort.

“But it would be justice. Ned Stark also has no worth dead.”

Tyrion let the words settle on the empty hall before continuing.

“When your enemies defy you, you must serve them steel and fire. When they go to their knees, however, you must help them back to their feet. Elsewise no man will ever bend the knee to you.”

“Quoting some Targaryen?”

“Your grandfather.”

“I was not aware the late lord Steffon to be a warrior.”

“My father.” Tyrion corrected him. There was distaste in his tone, but carefully hidden. His uncle had decades to perfect it. Then he almost smiled. “But you already knew who I meant.”

The thought of Tywin Lannister had the claw in the king’s mind dig once again, harder and more firmly.

“My grandfather is not a man I wish to model.”

“You would rather be Robert the Second of his name.”

The pain in him flared. Joffrey pushed Tyrion against the wall behind both.

“If you must insult me I would rather it be after Aegon the fouth... Even Aerys the second. If someone more extreme is needed call me Moon Boy. But you will not name me after my father again.”

He wanted to scream it, but his head resented the try. He ended with a rough hiss and shut his eyes to calm his mind. Joffrey sat on the stone floor and looked again at his father’s tapestries. Perhaps a trick of light, but the wounded woven lion sparked in colours, his red and gold stealing the king’s attention. He could still remember his mother raging when she first saw the depiction. He still remembered his father striking her as only his son was there to witness. Joffrey hated that lion, the hunters that gave it chase and the stags that ran together with them.

He would not allow his uncles’ stags to hunt him so.

“Orders were sent to all the Lords in the Crownlands. They were to call their armies and march to King’s Landing. Our boats were sent to Bywater, Wendwater, Duskendale and Crawclaw Point to help with the transport and speed their arrival. We should field twelve thousand swords in under two months.“

His Hand looked mildly surprised. Had he been so preoccupied in the last few days with Lord Eddard Stark that he forgot there was a war raging outside those walls?

“Who sent the ravens?” A boring question. Joffrey swatted it away with the same wave he had used on his kingsguard.

“I expect that you have spoken with your father on way to the capital. What does he intend to do with his twenty thousand fielded in Harrenhal?”

“He considers his plans above my ability so I was privy to little of what happens in his head.” Tyrion sat himself in the steeps in front of his nephew. “He looks confident that he can stop the riverlanders march in Darry.”

“The Spider talks of as many as thirty thousand men under their banner.”

“He does. Still the Lord of the Westerlands thinks he can finish this host before more men come from the North.”

Joffrey’s hand returned to his still bleeding cheek. The discussion had swayed the beast that was ravaging his mind.

“And if he fails we will have three times our numbers marching through the Antlers.”

Tyrion was left in the awkward place of defending a man to whom he held little love. When he did not answer the king stood.

“Let us pray for a second Castamere then.” He said as he made way to leave.

“Pray if you must but plans must be made for either result.”

The boy-king turned to his uncle, who got up from the stairs.

He studied him, from the awkwardly shaped legs to the green and black eyes.

“You will start tutoring both me and my sister. We will continue this discussion on the morrow.”

This did not please his Hand.

“I will have more to do than - ” He never got to finish as Joffrey’s hand clumsily made his mouth shut. Tyrion would taste the blood that stained his nephew’s fingers.

“You will send your page or squire or whatever your boy - ”

Tyrion removed the hand from his mouth.

“His name is Podrick” he spoke with distaste.

The renewed swatting of air showed of how little import the king thought Podrick’s name to be.

“Send your boy with word where we are to meet. Speak also to my sister, but do so personally. Make it clear it is not a request.”

If Tyrion wanted to protest he made no further attempt.

Joffrey glanced once more to the tapestries, to the wounded lion that waited death. A lion that would greet the Stranger as a friend, after meeting Him so many times. And the lion shone brighter, blinding his pain, making it stop. Only colours were left.

He suddenly punched his uncle in the eye, causing him to fall.

He had been hit by his uncle after all. No one should think the King’s Hand might strike their King with impunity.

He once more turned to leave.

“Till the morrow, uncle.”
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Appendix I

“That is quite enough. Sleep. Tomorrow we’ll go on.”

The children had been almost quiet. Of course, her lady’s smile as the execution of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell was retold would disturb most hearts. But her lady had left little heart in Val.

“No! It is much too early! We only had a killing yet.” She smiled again. Her eyes lit. Children shouldn’t smile like that.

“And there were no dwagons!”

“No, my lord, there were not. Do behave and we will continue tomorrow.”

“More blood tomorrow?” Wrong question. Mother, why would the girl make such a question?

“Yes, my lady. There will be more blood tomorrow.”



So... The opening post already has a list of the changes made to both canon and mod. Let us quickly present our players, shall we?


Joffrey will be our main POV. I hope to have him survive long enough to father an heir.


Tyrion will also be an important feature of the story. He will still keep whores. You all like him keeping whores.


Myrcella is a minor character in both this story and the books. She will truly appear around chapter VII.


Because this is an AAR:

My army was raised and ordered to convey in the capital. It will move south as soon as it is able because in my experience in playing the 5 kings scenario you should keep Stannis from building too great a host and let attrition eat away the North’s army for a bit. With luck they will attack a few meaningless counties and lose a few thousand men. Worst case scenario they march straight to King’s Landing, in which case I must hope beyond hope that Tywin has enough men and sense to follow my host to break their siege. Also there are around 2000 in Summerhall that may make a difference and I don’t want them moving around the dornish marshes all by their lonesome selves before my kinslaying uncle eats them up.

That reminds me what a marvellous collection of uncles Joffrey has: a kingslayer, a kinslayer, a dwarf and a queer looking fellow with an obsession for peaches.

My ~12k army will merge in late March.
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II: Daven

There was a map of the Bay of Crabs set on the table. The map had been newly drawn by the closest thing to a cartographer they had found in Darry. The inn at the crossroads was a prominent landmark on the cloth. The figures in light wood represented the Lannister’s host: twenty thousand strong reduced to two dozen sculptures. The pieces in black barely looked like a threat as they were hardly more in number.

Yet they had been enough to have the lions run from Harenhal.

Ser Daven Lannister studied the map with caution. He had done so before, many a times, perhaps hoping to see some sign from the Warrior.

The bucket clanlord had three men to each of their two. Not chances with which Daven would make a gamble. As he sought for the Warrior all he found was the Stranger lurking.

“Ser, the lords are preparing to feast. What would you like to have?”

He’s thoughts were stopped by his squire. He was his cousin, of only four and ten. A boy, too young a boy to be let to the wolves. Devan did not remember being as small when he was that age. He remembered feeling unstoppable, a champion to the crowds in his dreams.

“Just get me some bread and cheese, Martyn. You will find me here. Also something to drink. Nothing strong, the night wagers long.”

The boy must have left as soon as he said so. He didn’t interrupt again.

Night had fallen some hour ago. The last reports of their scouts spoke of a day’s distance from the northmen. Not long enough to raise traps or fortifications. Not long enough to retreat. The battle would inevitably be in Darry’s plains.

The inn featured in the map had been turned into the main quarters of the red and gold host. Lord Tywin had killed the innkeeper before the battle of the Green Fork. A waste, as she had been a competent cook. Daven was outside the inn, in the commander’s tent. Lord Tywin would no doubt join him soon.

Daven closed his eyes in a prayer to the Mother. He played with his Lannister gold hair in the fashion his sister Cerenna had made a habit of. He didn’t pray for victory. That is not something one should ask the Mother. He begged for his family, for their safety, for his friends that would be in the fray.

He returned his eyes to the map, making his mind move the pieces, testing various strategies against the little that was known of Hugo Wull. He was a man that knew how to keep a line, they said, who compensated his meagre sword skill with brute strength. The less favourable reports had him as a hill clansman who saw a blade or an eye in any shadow that moved. The words proud and unbending were used with abandon when descriptions were asked. He had a sole son and heir who was not serving under his father. But only the Seven knew how the northern clans chose their leaders.

The men was called “Big Bucket”, and was likely to be in the centre of the line, shouting commands at his men, motivated by their numbers and the Lannister’s earlier retreat from Harrenhal.

Perhaps Ser Daven’s men could take him out? But then what? A frontal charge to their opponents might just kill his foe, but the battle would still be lost. It was too costly. Besides, Daven would surely be given the command of a flank, making such an attack folly. Flank them then? No. He didn’t have enough horsemen to make that venture. It was more likely that the northmen tried it.

Others take them.

He was sure there was a solution. A better strategist would see it. The late king Robert would have seen it, hells, Robb Stark would see it.

In their stead Daven would send his men to be slaughtered, hoping to wound the wolf enough to buy the Crownlands time to prepare.

He finally noticed that his squire had left what he had asked. He had not even heard Martyn enter. That made him smile. The boy might just outlive him.

Daven broke bread.

“You were missed at supper.” Said a voice from behind him.

“Good evening, my Lord.” Tywin Lannister looked tired, but resolute. And still his face was impeccably shaven asides his iconic golden side-whiskers. For a moment Daven felt self-conscious about his unruly beard.

“Ser Benedict has already retired to his bed. Go as well, tomorrow will be a long day.” The lord of Casterly Rock spent a look at the map. “You won’t find the answer in the cloth. Sleep, I will have you rested.”

Daven didn’t want to go, not yet. He felt as if he had achieved nothing. But one does not deny the head of the Lannisters. And Daven didn’t wish to look as a petulant child to his lord’s eyes.

“As you command, my Lord. Good night.”

He left the tent going north, to where his own was. Martyn was still awake, busy taking care of Daven’s armour.

“The armour is polished enough, Martyn. We are not going on a tourney.”

“Of course” but the boy didn’t look admonished, he seldom did. “Ser, could I follow you in th-”

Daven felt the air in his lungs run for an instant.

“No, boy! A battle is not a place for one your age. Much less this battle.”

“But ser, how can -”

“You will have time to make your name.” Daven rubbed his beard, desperate for a new conversation. He found himself touching one: “Should I shave, Martyn?”.

If Martyn was taken aback by the abrupt change of topic he hid it well.

“No ser, it suits you. It reminds me of a lion.”

Daven smiled. The knight placed his hand on his squire’s head. That boy would outlive him. He would make sure of it.

“Martyn, people may remember the heroes, but all those great men are dead. Heroes become so after their death. You are still too young to be a hero and too young to follow in their steps. Your time will come, but don’t rush it.” Don’t get yourself killed in your folly, was left unsaid.

“Of course, ser.” But there was something in his eyes. And something would hunt Daven for some time to come.


All battles were chaos. The key was to hold enough order in your own ranks as chaos settled in your opponents’. Ser Daven Lannister was on his horse, behind his lines on the right flank of the little that was left of the Lannisters’ host. His shield was battered, his armour stained and his orders were lost to the sound of death, steel and men.

Not that his orders would have made much of a difference. Not in the grand scheme of things.

“Hold! Form tighter and hold!”

Still in the chaos there was no grand scheme. Only the horsed northmen that charged against them.


They expected Ser Daven’s men to rout. Rout as had most of their allies. But Daven would not. Not yet and not with so many mounted enemies at his back.

“Hold! Lift your spears! Hold!”

Daven’s men did not rout.

The crash of horse on men and shield and spear was deafening.

Yet, many broke through, as their horses had still to understand that they would not survive the wounds.

One knight in Mallister purple got close enough to Daven to be cut down in a wild swing. Daven berated himself. That swing had almost caused him to fall.

The wolves’ horsemen retreated, broken, to the cheers of Daven’s men.

Daven did not share their mood. Lord Tywin had given the signal to retreat after the left flank of Ser Benedict had been crushed.

The direwolf was out for blood.

There was no good time to turn your back to a foe, but it was, at least, a better time.

“Retreat! Retreat! Remember the traps! Head for the woods! Retreat! Olyvar, order the men to retreat!” His second obeyed without questions. It was hardly a time for them. His horn sounded.

Lord Tywin had had placed traps against horseman in the small woods to the south. The wires and archers would catch some lions, but hopefully enough wolves and fishes. They were not meant to win the battle but cover the withdraw.

The chaos followed the retreat.

Olyvar was shot down by a stray arrow.

Daven did as he could not to look back. He couldn’t breathe.

He let his shield fall to the ground and sent his helmet to meet it.

Then he routed.

He brought his free hand to his hair and pulled it roughly, covering his face from the sun. As he did, he prayed to the Mother.

Not to survive the battle. Not after the lives he had taken that day. That is not something one should ask the Mother. He prayed for his sisters, for his mother, for his father.

He did not pray for his squire.


As Ser Daven arrived at the new camp in the woods, built in haste during the two days that his army had waited the northmen, he searched for any known face. The first he found was a squire of ten.

“Boy, have you seen my squire?”

“Martyn went to your side during the battle, ser. ‘Have not seen’im since.”

Daven wanted to be surprised or appalled. He could not.

The boy had been too young to be a hero.

“Have you seen ser Olyvar, ser?” The youngling looked sullen. Was the boy Olyvar’s squire? Son? He could usually remember these things... Just not then.

“He is dead, boy.” Daven would leave him to his grief, there was work to do. “Do you know where my tent is?”

“The commanders’ tents are near that big oak, ser.” The knight nodded in appreciation.

His new tent was small and poorly set. Inside was another squire. He looked younger than Martyn, with dirty blonde hair. Daven knew not his name.

“Lord Tywin asks to speak with you, after you feel refreshed. Would you like some food, ser?”

“Some bread, some cheese and something to drink. Nothing too strong.”

“Of course. Would you wish to bathe or shave, ser?”

No ser, it suits you. It reminds me of a lion.
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Appendix II
“But they lost?!” The boy cried in disbelief.

“Yes, my lord, they did.”

“That’s hardly a good story! No! Let’s go back: Ser Daven Lannister was on his horse, behind his lines and all seemed lost... But then! He saw me! And ten thousand strong on mighty warhorses painted in red, gold and black! My flags of a lion facing a dragon flew from all their lances. We attacked!” for narrative’s sake he got up from his bed. So excited was the young lord he forgot to misspeak the word dragon. “No mercy was shown. Ser Daven got to his knees in thanks to me and Martyn would follow me in awe for days to come. Hear me roar!”

“And me, brother dearest?” the sweetest of tones. A shiver ran through Val.

“Obviously, sister dearest, you seduced the wolf-king into selling off his crown and live forever in poverty in hopes of once more seeing you smile.”

“That does sound right.”

‘It did, Mother guard me,’ the septa thought. ‘You would have destroyed the boy’s soul.’


I was expecting a battle somewhere in Harrenhal and I had it. It was also a big loss for the Iron Throne.


There is little to say on this battle. It looked like it would be a massacre.
It was:

As the last chapter had quite a few minor characters, here’s a quick rundown:

Ser Daven Lannister is the son of Ser Stafford Lannister, a cousin and brother-in-law of Lord Tywin Lannister. In canon, his father was killed by Rickard Karstark during the Battle of Oxcross. There, Daven vowed to let his hair grow until he had avenged him. As you can see from the screen, his father is still alive in the game. In a feast for crows, he appears with long yellow hair, a thick beard, looking like a lion.

Martyn Lannister is a member of House Lannister, and a squire. He is the third son of Ser Kevan Lannister, younger brother to Tywin. He has a twin, Willem. If you still have no idea of who he might be, he is also Lancel’s brother. In canon, he was captured in the Battle of Oxcross. Had this battle been in canon, he would probably be there. He didn’t die in battle during the game, of course. Still, he was took by disease soon enough, so I used his death.

In canon, Hugo Wull was the chief of the Wull clan. His clan joined Robb in his attack to the South, until they suffered heavy losses when marching to the Twins. Hugo would bow to Stannis in a Dance with Dragons.
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On those occasions I play as Joffrey, I often find that my Grandfather inexplicably refuses to help against Stannis or Renly. I've ssen him chase a tiny remnant of the starks with 30k men just a province away while Stannis takes the city and wins the war with half that many.

Though, it looks like that might be a moot point, with Tywin getting beat so badly. Glory to the Big Bucket!
"My dead son-in-law's brother trying to usurp my grandson's throne? Not important, obviously these Starks trying to make a totally different kingdom that can be reannexed later is a far more serious threat."
On those occasions I play as Joffrey, I often find that my Grandfather inexplicably refuses to help against Stannis or Renly. I've ssen him chase a tiny remnant of the starks with 30k men just a province away while Stannis takes the city and wins the war with half that many.

Though, it looks like that might be a moot point, with Tywin getting beat so badly. Glory to the Big Bucket!
Tywin is not directly at war with Stannis, IIRC, that being the reason why he focus on the Starks, but he will follow your own army. I will let him play with the wolves while I tend to more pressing matters. Let's roast some stags, shall we?

"My dead son-in-law's brother trying to usurp my grandson's throne? Not important, obviously these Starks trying to make a totally different kingdom that can be reannexed later is a far more serious threat."
That's just Tywin's excuse so he doesn't need to be at court dealing with his daughter and grandson. If it was me, I might have done the same:p

Daven will not be an important character of the story. There will be multiple POVs, following the build Joffrey-someoneelse-Joffrey-someonenew. I don't want to repeat the alternate POV, so I'll probably save Tyrion and Stannis for something big.
There will be more of the big bucket when he attacks the south. He is still a few chapters march.

What are your thoughts on the story so far? Did you enjoy the rather small battle scene? Were the characters too minor for you to care? Are the chapters too big/frightening/too compact? Not enough raging psychopaths? And maybe the most important: does this style work for you?
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Pausing even slightly before choosing the most self-destructivly cruel option is not Joffrey's style
I'll assume this Joffrey learned just a bit from his grandfather. Self-destructive cruelty is for underlings and fools, the masters of the game of thrones create canvases with their cruelty.
I'll assume this Joffrey learned just a bit from his grandfather. Self-destructive cruelty is for underlings and fools, the masters of the game of thrones create canvases with their cruelty.
Very much so. I think most would prefer to read on someone who's actually playing the game instead of someone that's being played. In canon, Joffrey is pretty much uncontrollable but he is also far from any true power (he is never at council, for example) and his nastiness is limited by this to only his immediate surroundings.

Thoughts on the story?