A Sword Without a Hilt: A Song of Ice and Fire/D&D 3.5 Crossover

Eighteenth Day of the Fifth Month 294 AC

Pycelle, Grandmaester no more for all that he had kept the name in his new body, looked out from the public gallery onto the floor of the Curia to a spectacle he had never thought to see the likes of in all his days. Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and master of all the Westerlands, for many long years the effective master of all the Seven Kingdoms, was called to trial before the gathering of the new made Imperium.

What even was this hall, this Realm? It seemed to the old man that, though his body was now hale and whole, his mind was still twisting and turning as in in a fog. And now the trumpets rang fair and clear, and rods capped with iron were struck upon the floor in proclamation of a thing that three years ago lived only in the mind of the man upon the dark stone throne, and five years ago was not even a nightmare in the darkest dreams of Robert Baratheon. There were lords here who had escaped the Imperator's wrath, judges in their deep and somber robes, wizards who walked with the pride of their strange arts, and governors under the Dragon's hand.

One might almost expect to see there, by the envoy of the Iron Bank, one of the Faceless Men calling out to their deathly god, or in the corner there by the red-robed priest, some devil of the Red God in the guise of an angel ready to proclaim the doom of his very soul onto the accused. His mind flinched away from the fact that angels indeed walked these very halls. Pycelle had not lived a life without sin by any measure, least of all his own.

He was almost glad when the doors opened and two nameless legionnaires escorted in an old man in black unadorned. Even in the midst of his tumult, he could recognize the mummery; dress the villain in black and do not give him any grand escort to rob him of his power. Another king might have left some mark on the face or body of Lord Lannister, might have wanted to see him broken before the ones he had for so long cowed, but not the Imperator. He did not traffic in such crude shows of power before the vast hall filled with the lords of two continents, he did not need to. Lord Lannister looked pale, and he walked with a stiff gait, but he did not need to be pushed along still, and in his eyes burned a familiar defiance of pride that might almost grind down the whole world like a millstone ground grain.


"Tywin Lannister, you stand here accused of multiple counts of slavery, of three counts of murder and two counts of mass murder, multiple counts of violating the bodies of others by the use of flesh-craft and violating the minds of yet more with the binding magics by which you have enacted the above mentioned slavery," called out the Princeps Excelso Iudicio, Malarys Vanor, his voice clear and without inflection that Pycelle's ears could catch. One by one, he recounted what each of the accusations were related to, from the sack of King's Landing to experiments of flesh and steel that made Pycelle very glad indeed he had been too nervous to break his fast today. Once all the list was done, he asked, with the inevitability of steel portcullis falling, "How do you plead?"

A cold hollow laugh fell from the lips of the once Lord of the Westerlands. "I will plead before no dragon, but I must say that if you mean to recount all the blood I have spilled then you missed some of it, the Raynes and Castameres at least, and I have heard told that my stay as Hand was not too popular with high born or low." He raised his eyes to the throne of the Imperator, and with the courage that only a man who knows himself already doomed, asked, "Come now, Your Majesty, why waste the time of all these lords and other folk here watching declaiming the deed all know must be done? Call forth the headsman and be done with it." Then with a smile Pycelle hoped to never see upon any living face, he added, "Your father, too, was too fond of elaborate trials."

Do you react?

[] No, you care nothing for his baiting and have nothing to say to him that the evidence will not better show

[] Yes, if the son of a bitch wants an answer you shall give it to him
-[] Write in

OOC: Given the weight of what is happening I figured this deserves a few updates. Also a reminder that most people have less strong stomachs than Companions when it comes to describing abuse of flesh-craft. A lot of people are feeling mildly nauseous after that one. Also, yes, he remembered to use the proper honorific, he is that sort of evil SoB.