Exiled Dragons: A Viserys Targaryen Quest

Magoose said:

Yeah, but also knowing our luck, Euron's mystical bullshit powers will be weakened by the blood of the Dragons, and as such, he flees like a dog to Valyria, and we have to give chance to stop him from ending the world.

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Rambling said:

Which I assume ends in a Monster Hunter Esque boss fight against Typhon, and add to our repertoire of bullshit absolutely no-one in the future will believe.

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Magoose said:

Or... we just kill Euron and have our identity completely revealed to the entire world, rescuing Egg.

Causing all of Westeros to shit bricks... and Tywin dropping dead from shock, and Bobby B finding out about the incest but dies before he can strangle Cersei to death.

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Alexander Sturnn said:

I hope not. I want to kill Bobby ourselves, if possible.

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Magoose said:

Well we might not get that catharsis, given that Bobby B is drinking, whoring, and eating his way to an early grave.


Edit: That moment where you roll and cry at you guys missing the battle that is happening.

Like holy shit, Jaime, calm down, they're already dead!

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Alexander Sturnn said:

Jaime fookin' Lannister strikes again, it seems.

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Magoose said:

Unfortunately for you, you won't get that scene...

You just get to see the roll... mostly because Viserys isn't anywhere near the battle at the moment... or might not be.

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Magoose said:

Battle Part 1: 1D100 => 91+70-30=131 vs 1D100 => 9+50=59
Jaime Fooking Lannister:1D100 => 99+100=190 vs 1D100 => 9+50-20=39

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Marlowe310811 said:

AN: sooo this kind of exploded into a whole 'nother thing as I started writing it -- initially it was going to be "Gerion goes North, brief flashback, talks with Ned about the future" and then the middle of it said "announcing your plans out loud is a great way to get them fucked." So, a Part II is coming later. And I'll try to do a bit more, there, with how this one ends. And since the QM posted seconds before me, I'll contemplate the vote and be back for that in between.


The Lions in Winter(fell)

Summer reigned in Westeros. It had for six years now, one of the longer on record and the longest of Gerion Lannister's lifetime. Yet there is no obvious sign of it here, he thought as his small retinue and smaller family made their way off the Kingsroad towards Winterfell. All his life he had heard people south of the Neck stereotype the North (and its people) as frigid and dour even at summer's height, and while he prided himself on being smart enough to know that wasn't true, he could see the nugget of wisdom in the stereotype; for a man like him, who had never been farther north than the Twins before, this felt unseasonably cold. And the hospitality is as warm as the weather, he couldn't help but note.

While the reality of the weather was unexpected, the realities of Northern hospitality had been. He was an outsider, someone clearly not from the North … and a Lannister, black sheep of the family or not. Distrust was going to be the undercurrent of most interactions he faced for the coming months, if not years, and he was resigned to that. It's worth it, he thought as he glanced back to the small carriage that drove behind him. Within, the women of his fledgling house were better sheltered from the elements, and riding somewhat more comfortably than him … for a given value of 'comfortable', what with the state of roads in most of Westeros.

Not here, though, Gerion observed. While not the dragonroads of Essos, nor the cobblestone of Casterly Rock and the (rare) nicer streets of King's Landing, once their party had passed beyond Moat Cailin and the swamp-like marshes of the Neck, the roads in general and the Kingsroad in particular were of higher quality than any other of the Seven Kingdoms. Care had been placed into making travel and transport easier, and black sheep or not, Gerion was still a Lannister; he understood capital, warfare, and statecraft, and he recognized this road maintenance and regular flow of goods and men as the actions of a people that did not expect the summer to last – the season, or the political climate. As they rode, he began to notice a massive structure slowly appearing out from the rolling hills of the surrounding countryside. He'd seen drawings, read and heard descriptions before, but even at this distance, and even with his upbringing in the Westerlands, he saw this as a truly monumental structure, meant to withstand any force that weathered it – armies, winds, time itself – and act as a natural meeting ground for the people of the North to congregate. The home of his new liege lord.

As Winterfell began to loom in the distance, Gerion could not help his mind dredging up the last time he'd seen his former liege, his oldest brother. It had been a conversation long coming, and one that had sundered the bridge irreparably between them.

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Things had started out so well, too; he had received the reward for his services he could have best hoped for, given the dispenser in question -- he was now the father of Joy Lannister, a lady of the Seven Kingdoms and forever a part of the family line. Tywin had been so pleased to have Brightroar returned to the Westerlands that he had acquired the reward Gerion desired, rather than the one initially expected; for Joy to be recognised and provided for in the event of his early demise.

Tywin's unnatural good mood had not lasted, however, once Tyrion had returned with tales of travelling the Free Cities with Oberyn Martell and raucous partying with the 'upstart merchant' (as Tywin growled through his teeth) Valarr Vaeltigar. Gerion had carefully schooled his expression at the mention of the name, and expressed his approval of the man's conduct. Perhaps he should not have been surprised that his approval meant Tywin's disapproval.

"Of course you approve of the man, Gerion; he has little respect for the value of coin, even less for propriety and his own mortality, and so far as I have heard, flits about from one mad venture to the next," Tywin had dismissed his brother's opinion as he refused to look up from a stack of documents before him. "He's such a man of your cut that If I didn't know of your whereabouts seventeen years ago, I'd have a mind to discover if you'd left another stray bastard under my nose."

You needn't rise to every bait he tosses out, he'd counselled himself as he managed to maintain his neutral expression. "Level of personal kinship regardless, he is a man most successful with coin; I would think that to command some merit in your estimation, brother."

"He is a man most lucky with coin, Gerion, and you should not confuse the two." Tywin had deigned to meet his eye for that particular point. "He's amassed a great deal of coin in a very brief amount of time, and so far as I can tell he did so coming from nowhere at all. At best, he's a criminal presenting himself as legitimate. At worst, he is a very skillful player taking great pains to be visible yet unnoticed, heard-of but unknown, and amassing coin, power and influence all the while. Most likely, he's a man of some skill fronting for some other party's interests," he finished. "Like that Valeman Baelish."

That's … an odd comparison to make. Gerion had only cocked an eyebrow in response, which Tywin either hadn't noted or cared to respond to, but he went on. "From a nothing lord of a nobody family from a nowhere keep, all the way to the Small Council, in so short a time? No," he finished, "Baelish is much more than he pretends to be. Most likely he is an agent of Jon Arryn's, a voice to counteract ours and the Tyrells on the King's council. Possibly he is Hoster Tully's man, having been raised by him. But he has amassed a spy network and a small fortune in a very small span, and he didn't get either from his land or his relations. Yet another troublesome piece on the gameboard to be minded and prepared against." As he returned to his papers, Tywin added, "Meteoric rises don't exist outside of mummer's farces, Gerion. You should be more skeptical of what you were presented by Valarr Vaeltigar."

The air is positively thick with irony, Gerion thought as he failed to keep a small smirk from his face, but Tywin's attention was elsewhere. "I had hoped to talk on other subjects than secrets and upstarts, brother. If you aren't being wholly consumed by your desk and scrolls."

"Your sense of humour has always eluded me, Gerion, so I will not assume you meant to dismiss my work. But I will indulge you," he added as he sealed one such scroll and opened another. "What is it you want?"

"I wanted to discuss my future, and my family's future," Gerion answered uneasily.

That was enough to make the Old Lion pause in his reading and look up, eyebrows raised. "I think that might be the first time I've ever heard you express some interest in our family's future, never mind your own." He set down his reading, and snapped his fingers at a boy standing nearby, who quickly fetched two mugs and went to grab a bottle of wine. "No wine, boy; water. This could be a long conversation." His eyes turned back to Gerion. "If you feel you are ready to take on some responsibilities for our family and for yourself, there is some work that I would entrust to--"

"You misunderstand me, brother," and in hindsight Gerion knew that was his second mistake; being unclear at to his meaning was the first, but cutting off Tywin was the far greater of the two. "I meant to talk about my smaller branch of the family; Joy and Briony."

Tywin's expression had grown stormy at being cut off, and it did not improve at the mention of those names. "The girl is provided for, far above what you asked for, what you expected, or what she deserves. She is raised by her mother in a safe environment, and sees you as much as you like of it. There is nothing further to discuss. You will be taking on more responsibilities for me as a result of this provision, beginning with managing the lands once belonging to House Tarbeck. You will act as my representative and castellan, and if you do not fail there we will discuss more of your future forthwith."

Gerion swallowed, and stood his ground. "I want to marry Briony."

"Out of the question." Tywin swatted it down. "After decades of riot and dishonour staining the family name from your conduct, you are now well-known, well-respected, and sought-after. Since news of your success and return has spread, I have received requests and offers from every kingdom and some Essosi nobles. There's even one from Yi-Ti, who I think is more looking for a guide familiar with the Doom than a husband, but their offer commands attention."

He couldn't help himself anymore, and stopped restraining his instinct to make a face. "You would sell me off to some Yi-Tish treasure hunter than let me marry the mother of my child?"

"You have finally done one great service to your family's name, Gerion, and you are in a position to do another." Tywin's eyes were as green as the northern seas, and just as frigid. "You will not waste that temporary reprieve from your reflexive disgracefulness by allowing some coin-hungry quim to take your hand."

Where Tywin's anger and indignation were like ice, Gerion's began to burn like fire, air becoming so hot in his lungs he had to throw words out, else he'd scorch his own insides with it. "I may not be as calculating and distrustful as you, Tywin, but I am a man of the world. I wasn't born yesterday in a turnip cart, nor am I blinded by youth and naivety like Tyrion. Briony is not a whore seeking coin."

"Whores or not, those women want what we have, and they will find weak-willed men like you and Tyrion to worm their way in," Tywin snapped, "unless I stop them, unless I keep them off of you and off of our family line. The Freys were the last to take advantage of soft fools in our family, and Seven help me they will be the last so long as I draw breath. No upstarts, no merchants, no bavin twigs, no farmer's daughters are getting their hands on my family anymore!"

Gerion was ready to argue back but found himself brought short by a small whisper inside his head. Farmer's daughter? Whores or not?

He hadn't been around when Tyrion's ill-fated marriage had happened, but of course he'd heard of it – Tywin's anger and wrath were proven indiscriminate among lord or smallfolk, outsiders or his own family, so long as the cardinal sin of crossing him had been committed. His punishment of the girl and of Tyrion had been unusual and certainly cruel, but anyone would understand such a reaction when one's son was deceived and ensnared by a treacherous whore. But …

"Brother," Gerion spoke in a small, tight voice. "did Jaime really hire that girl, or did she tell Tyrion the truth?"

Tywin's gaze could have frozen the jungles of Sothoryos. Finally, he answered, "Jaime said and did as I commanded. As did Tyrion, in the end. As will you. I will force you like I forced Jaime, if I must. Our family is more important than anything or anyone else, and I will not allow you or anyone else to sully it."

For the first time in his life, he genuinely felt hate for his brother. "By marrying for love?" Gerion felt like a bonfire was inside his ribs as he let out a humourless laugh. "Because you did, so no one else can? Was there a quota on those marriages and we missed them?"

"You will not compare what I had with Joanna to whatever you and Tyrion do with your whores," Tywin drove a finger nearly into Gerion's face. "You will not."

Just like that, the fire in Gerion's chest went out altogether, and was replaced with an ice as cold as what wrapped Tywin's heart. "You're right, there's no comparison to be made." That seemed to mollify Tywin slightly, and just for a moment, Gerion hated himself for sinking to Tywin's level and methods. But just for a moment. "We built our relationships on love. Yours was built on a lie. A lie where you put on some other shape, and were not the Tywin Lannister that could and did do all this. Had she seen the White Walker wrapped in Lannister reds that stands before me, she would have fled into the Mad King's arms and never looked on you again. And she would have had the right idea." With that, he turned and stormed out of the room, Tywin standing paralysed with rage and pain by the fire. Over his shoulder, he shouted, "Seven take you, Tywin, for no one else will. Joanna would be ashamed of you. If she were capable of recognising you."

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Once he was out of Tywin's solar, he'd abandoned any sense of decorum, and Gerion had fled through the halls, knowing he could no longer remain even if he had not just doused the bridge between himself and Tywin with wildfire and set it ablaze with matches made from Joanna's bones. He hadn't known how long it would take for Tywin to snap out of that state and manifest that infamous wrath upon Gerion and his family, and he had no intention of waiting to find out. He barely had it in him to say goodbye to Tyrion, being unable to look his nephew in the eye while knowing the truth, and said something off the cuff about why he was leaving so quickly, he honestly had no recollection of the words.

His belongings had been gathered quickly, as were some friendly faces and swords, some horses, a few carts and one unimpressive carriage, and Casterly Rock was fading behind him before he had managed to gather his wits and begin to think again. He'd later chalk that up to being free from Tywin's oppressive grasp, but in truth it had taken that long for him to get a grip on the unending refrain of he'sgoingtokillmefuckinghellsthenhe'llkillBrionyhe'llhurtJoyfuckfuckfuckshitfuck that echoed in his head.

Once his head cleared, though, a plan had emerged. Fortunately for him he had already begun the foundations of it back in Valyria, mostly as idle whimsies but now he was glad to have contemplated them at all. So, while his flight from the Rock had been chaotic, fearful and panicked, it was a measured, reassured and supremely confident Gerion Lannister (on the outside, and mostly on the inside; deep within, The Rains of Castamere would not leave him be) that cleared out what accounts and valuables he had in Lannisport. The girls were retrieved, trusted men set to various tasks to expedite their departure, and his smallest and best rider was sent ahead to deliver a scroll to Pinkmaiden, briefly explaining who the rider served and the temporary asylum that his master sought. From there, he'd managed a brief accord with Ned Stark via raven, permission to join the Warden of the North's court, and most importantly a carefully talked-around understanding that crossing into the North was as good as having bread and salt from Stark's own hands.

Their path had been arranged carefully, in consultation with the Mormont lord (who Stark seemed to trust completely in this regard) to throw off any attempt at pursuit and to confound Tywin's expectations, leading them on a longer-than-strictly-necessary path through the Riverlands to Seagard, being escorted via Greyjoy/Stark partisans along the coast to Flint's Finger, and inland from there … with the old Lannister liveries, for which he no longer had any need, being attached to sellswords and a bought-off carriage to make a trying-and-failing-to-be-sneaky path to Highgarden.

It certainly seems to have worked, Gerion noted, as his party approached the massive (if otherwise unremarkable) gates of Winterfell, and worked well enough to let him smuggle out everything he needed. And everyone … well, almost. He hadn't been able to take Tyrion with him nor fully explain his departure, but he deeply felt he needed to make amends for what their family had done all of Tyrion's life, and he'd start by trying to establish a home here for Tyrion to flee to if it came to that. Dunno how well all the things I'm trying there will shake out, but I have to try. Better than what it was, if nothing else.

Arriving in the courtyard, Gerion was greeted by a grim-looking man a few years younger than himself – greys and wrinkles were only being hinted at as yet for who he assumed to be Lord Stark, but Gerion knew from experience that they were waiting for him just down the road. Around Lord Stark were his family and higher members of his household: the redheaded woman by Stark's side he took to be Catelyn Tully, with a girl of perhaps five very firmly kept under her arm (he thought he spotted some dirt on the child's face, likely despite her mother's best efforts); a slightly older girl with flame-red hair and no dirt to be seen, standing with a white-robed septa (a rarity in the North, Gerion remembered); a grey-robed maester, minding a young boy in a wheeled seat; an older boy (almost a man by Gerion's estimation) stood nearby, resembling none of the others yet quite obviously a member of the family nonetheless; and two boys of the same age, one with Tully features and one with Stark features.

He quickly dismounted, offered a short but respectful bow, and greeted, "Lord Eddard."

The grim-faced man nodded in a similar bow in return, "Lord Gerion. Welcome to Winterfell, my lord. You've made excellent time on your journey." The two exchanged the tiniest of smiles at the statement; via their careful planning, word had gotten out about a week prior that Gerion and his family were going to visit Winterfell, and it was widely assumed they were making such a trip from Highgarden (either having been denied exile, or simply not seeking it before turning around) … not from within the North's borders.

"An agreeable trip all around," Gerion smiled glibly. "I'm sure we can discuss further details later, amongst other things," to which Stark nodded. There was a great deal for them to discuss now that they could sit in the same room: what he'd be doing here, where he'd be doing it, perhaps properly marrying Briony, their travelling companions' safety, and more. But there were still pleasantries to be observed. And Gerion did not want to make a bad impression by using the wrong name for the wrong child. "It's an unexpected pleasure to meet everyone at once," he offered the opening, which Stark (while no one's idea of a diplomat or wordsmith) ably took.

"Allow me," and Stark gestured with an arm, "to present my family: Lady Catelyn," a similar nodding bow was received; "my daughters Arya and Sansa," the latter offered a practiced yet genuine smile, while the former just nodded and smudged at the dirt on her cheek before her mother could stop her; "my sons, Robb and Jon," Gerion nodded at each boy while carefully glancing at Lady Catelyn, seeing (to his surprise) no sign of discomfort or unhappiness with the infamous bastard of Ned Stark standing by his legitimate brother; "my son Brandon," coming to the boy in the chair; "and my ward, Theon Greyjoy," the oldest smiled with a grin that made him momentarily think of the boy's grandfather Quellon, a far kinder soul than his heir.

"A pleasure and privilege, my lord," Gerion replied. As he spoke, the carriage was opened behind him, and the women within began to disgorge. "Allow me to present my daughter, Joy Lannister," who immediately forgot all lessons in decorum and hugged Gerion's leg like he might float into the air if she did not; "her mother, Briony," who did not forget the decorum lessons and made the proper genuflections.

"And this," he gestured to the third woman who stepped out, "is their lady-in-waiting, recently acquired from Lannisport." Her blue eyes were sad and aged long before their time, but her smile was genuine (if hesitant) as the Northern winds gently tossed her dark hair. She looked up to the skies, grey and so different from their homeland, before coming down to the Starks, and she likewise remembered Gerion's hastily-delivered lessons on propriety.

"Tysha, my lord."

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Alexander Sturnn said:

...Jaime, you beautiful Bastard!

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Alexander Sturnn said:

Seriously, I think recruiting him was the best Choice we made so far.

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Magoose said:

Shit...

I would have loved to read that omake sooner.

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Marlowe310811 said:

Just like that, the fire in Gerion's chest went out altogether, and was replaced with an ice as cold as what wrapped Tywin's heart. "You're right, there's no comparison to be made." That seemed to mollify Tywin slightly, and just for a moment, Gerion hated himself for sinking to Tywin's level and methods. But just for a moment. "We built our relationships on love. Yours was built on a lie. A lie where you put on some other shape, and were not the Tywin Lannister that could and did do all this. Had she seen the White Walker wrapped in Lannister reds that stands before me, she would have fled into the Mad King's arms and never looked on you again. And she would have had the right idea." With that, he turned and stormed out of the room, Tywin standing paralysed with rage and pain by the fire. Over his shoulder, he shouted, "Seven take you, Tywin, for no one else will. Joanna would be ashamed of you. If she were capable of recognising you."

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