《Game of Thrones/ASOIAF: King Business - Tommen OC-SI》Chapter 48
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“Well?”
I looked at Tywin. “I sent him to the Stranger’s hall, grandfather.”
He contained his expression as much as he could, but I could see he was surprised. Maybe he thought I was getting too murder-happy at this point. “And the men who saw him leaving the city unmolested? Did you have him murdered the same way Ser Boros will meet his end tomorrow?”
I waved a hand his way. “That would be terribly unimaginative on my part. No, I killed him with a crossbow to the heart. I’m sure Joffrey would have appreciated it, mad as he was.” Addam the sellsword was still sprawled on the carpeted floor, bleeding from his head wound. It would definitely stain. “And can you get some of your men to carry him off? Take him to Qyburn, if you will.”
He frowned. “Not Pycelle?”
“I trust Pycelle as much as I trust a rat’s flea, and he’s just as fickle, too. No. Qyburn will do for the hedge knight. He’s good at ferreting a man’s secrets, no matter how deep he’s buried them.”
“And what secrets would a nameless sellsword possess?” Tywin’s face darkened. “A secret big enough to have our seven-damned master of whisperers murdered.”
“Oh don’t play the justice knight with me, Lord Tywin.” I was starting to get annoyed with his game. “How many men have you sent to the headsman for a whiff of treason? I’m just following family tradition, clearly.”
Tywin gazed at me for a moment longer then shook his head. “And here I thought you were a Baratheon, not a Lannister,” he said mockingly. He reached for the bell again, and the same men who’d come to escort Addam showed up at the door. They seemed completely nonplussed with the bloodied hedge knight on the floor.
I wasn’t sure what that said about them, or about Tywin.
“Take him to the cellars,” he said to them. “To that chainless maester who worked on my son’s golden hand. Tell him to make him talk.”
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The guards nodded and scooped Addam off the floor with the gentleness of a raging dragon. Tywin sipped the rest of his wine, got up, and took the one that I’d served for the hedge knight. It seemed the day’s events had gotten even to him. “So it was treason, then?” he asked.
I scoffed. “Of course there’s treason. This is King’s Landing and he’s the fucking master of whisperers.”
My mind was racing, and I started pacing the room. If Addam had made it as far as a room with the King and the Hand, which looking back was a ridiculous oversight on my part, did it mean that there’s others out there, in the Red Keep and in the city, waiting and plotting for the dragon’s—red or black—return?
“Tell me, grandfather. When they brought you the corpses of the children wrapped in those crimson cloaks, what did the boy look like?”
“What children?”
“What other children? Elia’s get, with that fool Rhaegar. I want to know about Aegon. What did he look like? Was it truly him? Did you make sure of it?” I was near asking him for the forensics of it before I realized my mouth was running before me.
I didn’t get an answer right away. When I turned to look at him, Tywin was looking off to the side, a far away look on his face. At that moment I realized that he’d done it, and he’d do it a thousand times again to guarantee his Lannister dynasty, but even Tywin thought it distasteful to speak of those dead children. “The boy was unrecognizable,” he finally said, sitting back down. “His head was caved in, but there were chunks of silver hair there. It was him.”
“And did you check to see if it was dyed?” I pressed him. “What about the rest of the body? Any birthmarks or spots that marked him the fucking heir to the Iron Throne?”
His lips were pursed thin in annoyance. “What are you saying, Tommen?”
He really wanted me to spell it out for him. “I’m saying Varys supposedly smuggled the real Aegon Targaryen out of King’s Landing and left a decoy in his place. Or that’s all a lie, and the kid leading the Golden Company in the east is a Blackfyre pretender. Only it makes no matter. So long as he has the looks, he has the claim.”
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Tywin had gone still as a statue, only the muscles on his cheek clenched and unclenched as he worked things out in his mind. “And if Dorne believes him, he has their spears.”
“Yes, and we have a dagger on our back. That and every Targaryen loyalist in the Seven Kingdoms, or any house who’s even slightly unsatisfied with my rule.”
My stunt against the shadow-demon would go a long way in stamping out loyalists, but not nearly long enough.
Tywin’s mouth twisted in anger. He wasn’t a fan of being uninformed on matters such as these. “And how do we know what Varys said is true, and not just something said out of spite in his last breath? We can’t change all our plans based on something as brittle as that.”
“The same way I knew of Littlefinger’s involvement in Joffrey’s muder,” I lied. “Varys only confirmed it to me, though I believe he had no idea I would have an inkling of his plan. The boy was supposedly raised to be a king, with the finest education gold can buy. He has one of the richest pentoshi magisters on his back as well as the Golden Company. And Jon Connington rides with him. He was Rhaegar’s best friend. If he vouches for the pretender…”
From across the room, I could hear Tywin’s teeth grinding. “We will need the Tyrells,” he said, though it seemed a hard thing to admit. “Now more than ever. You must wed as soon as possible.”
I nodded. “I’ll leave that with you. Lady Olenna is taking care of the specifics. Speak with her and sort it out. The sooner we get married, the steadier will be our alliance.”
“A child, Your Grace. You need to put a child in that girl.”
He wasn’t wrong. “Yes. And until then, no one can know of this other possible Targaryen. We don’t want Mace Tyrell getting ideas of silver-haired grandchildren.”
Tywin grunted his agreement. “The fool has always been enamored with the idea of tying his line to the Targeryens.”
I walked back to the chairs and sank back down on my seat. “Stannis in the North; the Dornish and the Golden Company in the South; the Targaryen girl and her dragons in the east. How do we win this, Lord Hand? We can’t beat them on the field, not with our hold on most kingdoms still weak and our forces dispersed. We shall have to work on that. Taking back control of the Stormlands, pouring money into the Riverlands, securing the North. We must also speak with the Vale lords. They are a fresh force, forty thousand strong.”
“Exactly,” Tywin said. He had a small smile on his face. “How many battles did the Young Wolf take from me? How many men died at his sword? How many songs were sung of his bravery?” He shook his head. “Battles are won in the field, Your Grace, yes. But wars… wars are won right here, with the swish of a pen, or with a blade in the night, a drop of poison in the right cup.”
I glanced at him. “Or with a massacre in a wedding.”
He hummed and swirled the wine on his cup. “Do you think me wrong for orchestrating it? Or for how I ended the line of the red lions?”
A laughable idea. “No,” I said. Turning to the hearth, I stared into the lit fire, watching the flames whirl and lick at the stones surrounding it. “I’ll devise a thousand Rains of Castamere if it means victory, my lord.”
Tywin nodded. “Then I look forward to hearing what they’ll sing of you, Your Grace.”
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Old Riding Author Lunatic Asylum
Just off the A19, in the dark, incomprehensible lands known as Yorkshire, there lies a town. A town where shadow-silent alleys glint with the secret hunger of knives. Where blood soaks the chipboard window shutters of forsaken terraces stretching off into the night. Where the smog-choked air rattles with the depraved laughter echoing out from clubs that can only generously be described as post-apocalyptic. Well, that’s Middlesbrough. But down the A19 a bit (an impossibly long way down, actually) there lies another town: Raughnen, in the ancient, forgotten Old Riding. It is an equal match in muggery and thuggery alike. It also has magic spells and pointy wizard hats. And now, across the miles and across all sensibilities, a pretty nasty power (a magic one) calls out for its pretty nasty counterpart (a decidedly unmagic one): a proper sound Boro lad. Nothing good can come of it. This is a collection of one novella and four connected short stories: I. A Yorkshire Summoning II. Old Riding Day Trip (the novella) III. Heaven is a Parmo IV. Death on the 66 V. Death on the 257 In total, this comprises 34 chapters totalling around 35,000 words, so try not to worry. It will be over relatively quickly. There are three more short stories with more tenuous links to the core collection: Rush, Paper Round and Scenario 79: Sausage Fingers, all of which can be found in my collection Short Records of Misadventure. Reading these may allow you to make more sense of certain parts of the story, if any sense is to be made at all. NOTE: There are instances of prejudice and discrimination within these stories, including elements of sexism and ageism, which are purely the thoughts and actions of the characters involved and which certainly do not reflect my own views on these matters. ANOTHER NOTE; A WARNING, PERHAPS: This can get a bit weird. In less than 150 pages, we have four viewpoints, first and third person narratives, and a completely disjointed plot with lots of gaps, dead ends and no real resolution. Also ZERO lunatic asylums. It's all a bit odd. If that sort of thing isn't your cup of tea, which it most likely isn't, it might be best to move on now.
8 190The King Of Tricks And Magic
It's a story about the legendary magician! A legendary Trickster! In the modern world, he uses all kinds of trickery to trick all the geniuses and the smart people to perform magics! And one day, the legendary magician was sent to a world of swords and a world where real magic existed. As he summoned to the new world, he only brings 1 thing from the modern world, a deck of cards that evolved and become a magic card skill! Follow the magician's story as how he subdued dragons, tricked liches, and made the kings of countries knelt beneath his feet with his absolute trickery and his power to do the impossible! ----------------------------------------------------- One of the King Of Kings Series
8 110I am a tree
A great tree stands upon a hill overlooking a vast amount of land. The tree will always protect nature, the tree will always nurture nature, I am the tree.
8 204Held in the Quiet Night
When events begin to change the world for the worse, the exiled daughter of an ancient clan seeks to secure the aid of one former warrior she holds close..... And initiates a series of conflicts that will define the phrase; "Over my dead body." ------------------------------------------------- Caution: This story will contain topics that are not for the faint of heart or those under the age of 18, including high detail violence and sexual intercourse. Reader discretion is advised. ------------------------------------------------ Please give detailed comments should you see any issues within the chapters. I will work quickly to fix them.
8 163Still With You✔
Бүх зүйлийн бодит үнэн уйтгар гуниг харуусал дээр тогтоод байх шаардлагагүй шүү дээ, үгүй гэж үү?Ганц олдож байгаа амьдралаа гуниг гутралаар дүүргээд байх чинь утгагүй. Хайртай хүнтэйгээ учирч, аз жаргалаар бялхаад, ганц олдох нандин хурим дээрээ сэтгэл хөдлөлөө тэвчин зогсох, анхныхаа үрийг өлгийдөн аваад нулимсаа барилгүй зөнд нь урсгах, хүүхдээ том болж буйг өдөр өдрөөр харж өтөл болох хүртлээ аз жаргалтайгаар өнгөрүүлэх ёстой...Гол нь хэнтэй гэдэг нь л чухал.....•••Started: 2020.11.19•••Finished: 2020.12.29[Бичвэрт гарч буй бүхэн зохиомол, цэвэр төсөөлөл болохооо буруугаар ойлгохгүй байхыг анхаарна уу:) ]
8 138Solangelo
"If you don't use your voice, you're halfway in Asphodel already." No one can tell if Nico and Will love or hate eachother, because they bicker like crazy all the time. But maybe exactly that will help them both to fight their inner demons and to speak up again... This is my first fanfiction ever and English isn't even my first language so don't judge please also description writing sucks goodbye
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