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fandomweekly2020-03-23 09:43 pm
m_findlow) wrote in fandomweekly2020-03-23 09:43 pm
Entry tags:
[#045] THE THICKNESS OF BLOOD (GAME OF THRONES)
Theme Prompt: #045 - Fall from grace
Title: The thickness of blood
Fandom: Game of Thrones (A Song of Ice and Fire)
Rating/Warnings: M (language). Spoilers for Season three.
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 1,000 words
Summary: Tyrion learns that blood has its limitations.
'Another step forward on your blossoming road to greatness,' Tyrion muttered as he stared around at his newest accommodations. 'From the Tower of the Hand to the lowest dungeons underneath the Red Keep. My but how the mighty have fallen.' He only wished that like Ser Barristan, he had gone out with a blaze of honour, keeping his head in the process. More like for him however, it would be with a whimper and Illyn Payne's axe. Cersei would make sure that his death was as spectacularly unspectacular as warranted a man accused of regicide.
A guard entered and dumped a bucket at his feet before standing silently by the door.
'I would have preferred a flagon of Arbor Gold, had you asked.' When the guard didn’t reply, Tyrion sat down. 'What should we talk about? Politics or religion?' His question was met with a stalwart blankness. 'No, come to think of it, neither politics nor religion are considered appropriate topics for conversation between strangers. I believe it was Aegon the First that said that.'
Tryion amused himself in the moment of silence by rubbing his wrists where the manacles had bitten into his wrists as he’d been dragged unceremoniously from the wedding feast, though how anyone could eat after what they’d witnessed boggled the mind.
'You strike me as a deep thinker,' he said, addressing the guard. 'I sense many fine thoughts swirling beneath that expression of a dullard. You should write a book. In fact, I was considering writing one myself. I was thinking of calling it "Why the world hates dwarves and the reasons why there are so many normal sized cunts who deserve far worse". A little wordy perhaps, but it’s still just a working title, I assure you. "Dwarf bigotry through the Ages" is no doubt already taken by some decrepit maester penning a similar tome to be locked away in the great library of Oldtown. Shall I read to you the first chapter? "Dwarves, throughout history, have sat lower than even the lowliest bastard in the eyes of their mothers and fathers. Whilst there have no doubt been many fine dwarves since the age of the First Men, none is worthy of note in this most illustrious text. What remains to be said however is that a dwarf, by virtue of his, or her, stature alone is unfit to grace the presence of men, to ply a trade other than that of a scullery lad or perhaps a court jester. The truly remarkable thing that can be observed about dwarves however is-"
The door slammed shut with a resounding thud as the guard exited, dislodging a shower of dust and from the ceiling above. He raised a hand against it so that it didn’t fall directly into his eyes. 'I expect a man of your education, or lack thereof should I say, cannot appreciate quality prose when he hears it.'
He didn’t have to wait long for it to reopen. This time it was not the guard who returned, but Lord Tywin, standing there as regal as ever.
'Have you finally made Cersei see sense?' Tyrion asked, expecting his father had come down here to demand his release.
'Did you or did you not poison Joffrey’s wine?'
'Ah, so not here out of fatherly affection,' he mused. 'I fail to see what difference my answer makes when I’m locked up down here.'
Tywin heaved a sigh as his jaw clenched, resisting every urge so it would seem to give Tyrion the vitriolic spray that he had been holding back for a good thirty five years now. 'The Kingdom is without a King and you opt for flippancy.'
'I prefer to describe it as openly observing the irony.'
Tywin’s eyes bored into him, a chill blue that had oft sent genuine chills down the spines of men he addressed. 'I’m trying to help your cause.'
Tyrion raised a curious eyebrow. 'Help? This isn’t like you. All those years of looking the other way and pretending I wasn’t there so that I wouldn’t presume my place in the world. All the menial tasks that were allotted to me on the premise of teaching me how to lead. What army of men would follow me?'
'The one that I gave you when I made you Hand of the King in my stead. You are a Lannister, are you not?'
'Ah,' Tyrion muttered, leaning back against the fetid pile of straw. 'Not just there to keep the leather warm supple in your absence.'
Tywin clasped his hands behind his back, patient and relaxed. 'Joffrey was not a good king, but he was still King. Your sister made sure that he knew it.'
'Cersei had no more control over that beast than anyone. The Seven Kingdoms will be far better off with Tommen on the throne.'
'Is that your confession?'
'Would you like it to be?'
'And what of your wife? A girl as feeble-minded as Sansa Stark escapes in the commotion and you expect me to believe that she had no part in all of this?'
'Would that we had. I imagine Sansa might have taken great joy from watching her father’s murderer get his comeuppance were it not for the fact that she is far too kind to wish such a horrible death on anyone.' Sansa’s idea of revenge had been sheep’s dung sewn inside a mattress.
Tywin’s smile with tight and thin-lipped. 'I believe I’ve heard all I need. You squandered your good fortunes, made a fool of yourself time and again with whores, and snubbed the opportunity to consolidate our power in the North by not bringing the Stark girl to heel.'
'So, you do think I’m innocent.' His father would never dare let any Lannister be humiliated and executed, even him.
'Your innocence doesn’t interest me. Your use to this family does, and it has become evident to me that you have reached the end of your usefulness.'
Tyrion smirked. 'And so it goes.'
Title: The thickness of blood
Fandom: Game of Thrones (A Song of Ice and Fire)
Rating/Warnings: M (language). Spoilers for Season three.
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 1,000 words
Summary: Tyrion learns that blood has its limitations.
'Another step forward on your blossoming road to greatness,' Tyrion muttered as he stared around at his newest accommodations. 'From the Tower of the Hand to the lowest dungeons underneath the Red Keep. My but how the mighty have fallen.' He only wished that like Ser Barristan, he had gone out with a blaze of honour, keeping his head in the process. More like for him however, it would be with a whimper and Illyn Payne's axe. Cersei would make sure that his death was as spectacularly unspectacular as warranted a man accused of regicide.
A guard entered and dumped a bucket at his feet before standing silently by the door.
'I would have preferred a flagon of Arbor Gold, had you asked.' When the guard didn’t reply, Tyrion sat down. 'What should we talk about? Politics or religion?' His question was met with a stalwart blankness. 'No, come to think of it, neither politics nor religion are considered appropriate topics for conversation between strangers. I believe it was Aegon the First that said that.'
Tryion amused himself in the moment of silence by rubbing his wrists where the manacles had bitten into his wrists as he’d been dragged unceremoniously from the wedding feast, though how anyone could eat after what they’d witnessed boggled the mind.
'You strike me as a deep thinker,' he said, addressing the guard. 'I sense many fine thoughts swirling beneath that expression of a dullard. You should write a book. In fact, I was considering writing one myself. I was thinking of calling it "Why the world hates dwarves and the reasons why there are so many normal sized cunts who deserve far worse". A little wordy perhaps, but it’s still just a working title, I assure you. "Dwarf bigotry through the Ages" is no doubt already taken by some decrepit maester penning a similar tome to be locked away in the great library of Oldtown. Shall I read to you the first chapter? "Dwarves, throughout history, have sat lower than even the lowliest bastard in the eyes of their mothers and fathers. Whilst there have no doubt been many fine dwarves since the age of the First Men, none is worthy of note in this most illustrious text. What remains to be said however is that a dwarf, by virtue of his, or her, stature alone is unfit to grace the presence of men, to ply a trade other than that of a scullery lad or perhaps a court jester. The truly remarkable thing that can be observed about dwarves however is-"
The door slammed shut with a resounding thud as the guard exited, dislodging a shower of dust and from the ceiling above. He raised a hand against it so that it didn’t fall directly into his eyes. 'I expect a man of your education, or lack thereof should I say, cannot appreciate quality prose when he hears it.'
He didn’t have to wait long for it to reopen. This time it was not the guard who returned, but Lord Tywin, standing there as regal as ever.
'Have you finally made Cersei see sense?' Tyrion asked, expecting his father had come down here to demand his release.
'Did you or did you not poison Joffrey’s wine?'
'Ah, so not here out of fatherly affection,' he mused. 'I fail to see what difference my answer makes when I’m locked up down here.'
Tywin heaved a sigh as his jaw clenched, resisting every urge so it would seem to give Tyrion the vitriolic spray that he had been holding back for a good thirty five years now. 'The Kingdom is without a King and you opt for flippancy.'
'I prefer to describe it as openly observing the irony.'
Tywin’s eyes bored into him, a chill blue that had oft sent genuine chills down the spines of men he addressed. 'I’m trying to help your cause.'
Tyrion raised a curious eyebrow. 'Help? This isn’t like you. All those years of looking the other way and pretending I wasn’t there so that I wouldn’t presume my place in the world. All the menial tasks that were allotted to me on the premise of teaching me how to lead. What army of men would follow me?'
'The one that I gave you when I made you Hand of the King in my stead. You are a Lannister, are you not?'
'Ah,' Tyrion muttered, leaning back against the fetid pile of straw. 'Not just there to keep the leather warm supple in your absence.'
Tywin clasped his hands behind his back, patient and relaxed. 'Joffrey was not a good king, but he was still King. Your sister made sure that he knew it.'
'Cersei had no more control over that beast than anyone. The Seven Kingdoms will be far better off with Tommen on the throne.'
'Is that your confession?'
'Would you like it to be?'
'And what of your wife? A girl as feeble-minded as Sansa Stark escapes in the commotion and you expect me to believe that she had no part in all of this?'
'Would that we had. I imagine Sansa might have taken great joy from watching her father’s murderer get his comeuppance were it not for the fact that she is far too kind to wish such a horrible death on anyone.' Sansa’s idea of revenge had been sheep’s dung sewn inside a mattress.
Tywin’s smile with tight and thin-lipped. 'I believe I’ve heard all I need. You squandered your good fortunes, made a fool of yourself time and again with whores, and snubbed the opportunity to consolidate our power in the North by not bringing the Stark girl to heel.'
'So, you do think I’m innocent.' His father would never dare let any Lannister be humiliated and executed, even him.
'Your innocence doesn’t interest me. Your use to this family does, and it has become evident to me that you have reached the end of your usefulness.'
Tyrion smirked. 'And so it goes.'
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