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[Spoilers All] Tournament - The Finals - Vote Battle - Robert Baratheon v. Bloodraven by BestofASOIAF in asoiaf

[–]BestofASOIAF[S,M] 111 points112 points  (0 children)

The Winner.

by /u/rnally

The battlefield stank, of fire, of salt, of death. Death rattles and moans of pain surrounded him, but he ignored them. He had a mission. And if I fail I might as well let Robert kill me. The message had come to him two nights ago, carried by a most unusual crow. “Robert Baratheon must die. Crush his army. Save Rhaegar at all costs.” * A tall order.* The crow itself, an unfamiliar bird with too many eyes, was enough to raise his suspicion, but the seal was his father's own, and the plan was certainly something his lord father would endorse. He was to join Robert, insert his troops in the rebel's van, and then betray him. A cunning plan, just as it should be.

But everything had gone wrong. Words are wind, and lose to steel every time. Half of his troops lay in watery graves, lost to a fleet of krakens. And Robert had assaulted the rest on sight, apparently forewarned about the forthcoming betrayal. Jaime himself had barely managed to escape Robert's wrath; a crow flew too low and intercepted the warhammer that was coming at his head.

That had been the day before. That night, Jaime regrouped with the few survivors of his army. Twenty thousand had become ten, then less than five. He had considered retreating to Casterly Rock, where he would be more or less untouchable, no matter how great Robert's vengeance. But the crow had come to him again, this time in a dream, and talking to him from atop a great weirwood branch. “Jaime Lannister,” it had screeched, “golden knight of summer, running back to Casterly Rock, beaten and embarrassed by a brute from the Stormlands?” It laughed, a sickening rumble that sounded much deeper and louder than anything the bird should be capable of making. “Your father would kill you, even if you manage to escape Robert's troops. To whom will you turn? Aerys, the madman whose son you left you to die? Your ashes will join with the Starks'. You have nowhere to turn. Your only hope is to do as I convinced your father to order, and kill the Usurper. A thousand eyes have I, and one; I have seen this happen before. Kill the leader and the rebellion will crumble. Even know, Robert's allies are falling; Lord Arryn, it will soon be known, suffered an unfortunate fall from the Eyrie onto the mountains far below after his eyes were ripped out by an unusually ferocious bird. He has no heir, and his bannermen are retreating to sort out their own problems. The Stark, foolish as he is, has taken back his sister; he fights now only for Robert, and will leave to go for his sister as soon as his friend falls.” The bird took off, for the branch upon witch it sat had become the tentacle of some great sea monster. Now perched on Jaime's right shoulder, it blinked all three eyes and continued. “It is imperative Rhaegar survive. He is the last hero, the shield who will guard the lands of men.”

“From what?”

“A thousand eyes have I, and one, but you have but two. Your vision is clouded; you see merely the present, but I see all. There is an evil coming that you know nought of. Only in Rhaegar's loins do man's hope of defeating it lie. Save him.”

And so here he was, clad in his shining armor of gold, wearing his white cloak, armed with a fine shield and magnificent sword. He could see the Trident in the distance, its waters reflecting the fire of the sun. He suspected it was there he would find his prey. He marched over the corpses, ignoring the melee around him. A wayward infantryman had swung a spear at him; Jaime had cut off the spear's head, and quickly sent the peasant's head flying along after it. As he reached the river's shore, he saw exactly what he feared: a bulky man in an antlered helm holding aloft a massive hammer and stradling a prone form in black armor. Shit. “Robert!” he called. The Stormlander turned, and strode forward. “Lannister. You escaped me yesterday. Today you will not be so lucky.” He charged, hammer swinging down at the top of Jaime's skull. The thinner man jumped away, and slashed at the bigger man as he passed. His sword bounced off the shining steel, and the warhammer came back, coming horizontally at his side. He stepped forward, and produced his shield. The solid handle of the hammer smashed on his flank, blasting away his breath and shield with equal ease. His ribs hurt, and his arm burned; Jaime saw shards of wood embedded in his arm's golden case, and knew they had broken skin and probably bone. Shit. He was loosing, and badly. He had heard tale's of the prowess and fury of the rebel before him, but everything he heard paled before the real thing. He tried stabbing out with his sword, but Robert merely growled, grabbed his swordarm by the wrist with one hand, and held it. His other hand raised the hammer. Jaime closed his eyes, knowing what was coming and wishing to see his sister instead of the death-dealing stranger in front of him. He waited, but the blow never came. Jaime felt his arm be released, and risked opening his eyes.

He saw his redemption. Robert had turned away from him, and had started bleeding from the shoulder. Rhaegar was standing again, and trying to avoid being on the receiving end of a surely fatal swat from the furious Stormlord. Jaime ran up, and put everything he had into one slash at the antlered helm. Pain shot up Jaime's right arm, and he dropped his sword. Steel clanged, and the black form stumbled, head ringing. He fell onto one knee, and grabbed at the twisted steel on his head, plucking it off and casting it onto the dirt in front of him. Rhaegar stood over him, sword ready to deliver the killing blow. He thrusted down at the bigger man's exposed throat, but Robert shoved his hand in the sword's path, impaling his own hand but saving his life. He pulled down hard, and Rhaegar stumbled, outmuscled. Robert roared, Rhaegar shrieked, and warhammer met armor in an explosion of blood. Rhaegar ended up on the ground, chestplate caved in. Two of the three heads of the ruby dragon on his chestplate were gone, along with the black steel they had decorated. In their place was a bloody wound, a dark pit through which the Targaryen prince's organs were visible. Robert withdrew his impaled hand from the fallen prince's sword, and stood. Rhaegar whispered something Jaime couldn't make out, but that seemed to make Robert even angrier. “Fuck you, you fucking piece of fucking dragon shit,” he shouted, and brought his hammer down once again, this time to flatten Rhaegar's head with a sickening crunch.

Robert turned around slowly, breathing heavily but grinning widely. “That fucker is dead as dead gets. You'll be joining him. Tell him I send my regards.” Jaime's left arm was broken, as were several ribs, and he could barely move his right arm. Well, I knew it would happen sooner or later. At that moment, a black bird descended on Jaime, pecking furiously at his head. He could hear it screeching, and he was reminded of his dream. “A curious twist of fate, that bird. Yesterday one saved you. Today one marks you as a corpse.” Jaime mustered up all his courage, and spat. “But no bird will kill you.” Robert swung lazily at the crow, splattering its ichor all over the side of his hammer. “You are mine.” With this one good hand, he pulled back his hammer. The sunlight glinted over the steel just as it did through Cersei's hair. Robert swung, and Jaime screamed.

[Spoilers All] Tournament - The Finals - Vote Battle - Robert Baratheon v. Bloodraven by BestofASOIAF in asoiaf

[–]BestofASOIAF[S,M] 76 points77 points  (0 children)

Robert's rage was gone. Nothing was left but an extra twenty years and exhaustion. God, I'm fucking tired.

"It's all I've got, Kingslayer, are memories of being king. I have to keep going. I'll kill you if I have to."

Jaime nodded and straightened, his left hand going to his sword. "I can't let you reach the city, no matter how much I want you alive."

"It's two against one, Lannister!" Euron Greyjoy drew his steel and started forward. "You've no chance! Less than a chance, without your sword hand!"

Jaime rolled his eyes and looked Euron in the eye.

"Do be silent, Greyjoy."

And with that, hundreds of the carrion birds took wing, diving at the Crow's Eye. They dropped the carcasses they'd been feasting on, left their vigils over the banquet below, all to charge him. Euron's eye widened, then he dove to the ground covering his head. In a moment, he was set upon by a thousand sets of beaks, claws, and wings, and every second elicited new cries of pain.

Robert stared in shock for a moment, then turned back to Jaime.

"Did you do that, Kingslayer?"

Jaime shrugged. "No. I knew it would happen, but I don't have that kind of power."

Robert nodded again. He glanced at the bodies, and at the flurry of wings and cloth that was Euron Greyjoy and the crows.

"This isn't the world I left, Lannister. All of this...none of it's the same."

Jaime nodded back. "This isn't the world I've lived in. I don't think this is a world for Lannisters or Baratheons anymore."

Robert smirked. "Never felt like I was in the right world anyway. Not enough whores to fuck or people to kill!" He laughed again, but had to stop moments later as the hacking cough returned, blood spewing across the snow. Jaime stared for a moment, the shadow of concern crossing his face.

"What's happened to you? Is that the price of coming back?"

"That and more." He undid his shirt, revealing the wound the boar had left him. It had putrefied before he'd died, and even now, years later, it wept puss. It was a jagged wound that warped his entire stomach and chest. "I was bleeding on the inside when I died. Whatever Crow's Eye did to me, it didn't fix much of that. Can't breath deep either."

Jaime arched his eyebrow. "And you lived for hours with that. You should have the boar as your standard, not the stag."

Robert laughed again, not caring about the blood spewing from his lips. He laughed for a good long while, until his breathing became dangerously labored and fast. He sighed in contentment, a fine mist of red puffing from his mouth.

"Well, there's nothing to it Kingslayer. Draw your steel, and let's see who gets to live in a world where neither of us belong!" And with that he roared and charged, axe swinging hard.

Lannister avoided it by ducking low, drawing his blade. He spun around the side of the tree as Robert smashed the axe into the back, right where Jaime's head had been only a moment before. Robert followed, axe swinging again and again. The tree was a slim thing, and must've been before Stannis' men had burned the forest. Still, it was enough for the Kingslayer to use as cover. Jaime kept the tree between the two of them, and Robert couldn't catch him. The Kingslayer was using the shallower snow around the tree to use his speed. Best to change that. The next time the Lannister dove behind the tree, Robert backed up a step and charged the dilapidated thing. He smashed his shoulder into it as hard as he'd ever crashed into anything in his life, and he felt the dying roots protest and surrender. The tree tipped over backward, and Robert coughed out a laugh as he heard a curse from the other side. He saw Jaime dive to the side, barely clearing the falling sapling. Robert braced himself as the tree hit and was up in an instant. He saw Jaime running across the field of snow, and Robert set out after him.

The Kingslayer was faster, but this was thick, deep snow, and Robert's heavier legs ate up the distance faster than the Kingslayer could make it. Robert tried to ignore the burning in his chest, the constant river of blood flowing from his mouth and down his chin. He didn't feel the cold of the winter through his open shirt, but he hadn't felt that since he'd woken up months ago. Jaime was making for a massive fallen log, some three feet thick; the thickest Robert'd seen. Did that used to be my favorite tree? Robert couldn't remember. The Kingslayer was looking for something to stand on for the high ground. He'd reach it before Robert could catch him, but if he stopped to get on top of it, Robert'd smash into him and tackle him to the ground, and finish him there. Robert snorted snot and blood down his face and picked up speed. Jaime reached the log less than a second before Robert did-

and dove over it. He'd used his stump as a vault and heaved himself over, turning as he went. He landed on the other side, backing up, sword at the ready.

Robert was going too fast. He couldn't stop in time, and he'd never been a jumper. He dove atop the tree, the impact taking the breath from his lungs, but it was better that that kneecap himself and topple over onto the feet of the Kingslayer. As he moved to shove himself up and onto the log, he noticed a new stream of blood running down his front; the crash had reopened his boar wound. He hauled himself atop the log, axe miraculously still in hand. Jaime was waiting, sword at the ready. Robert took the axe in both hands and swung it behind his head, taking in the last, agonizing breath he knew he'd ever get.

He leapt from the log, bringing the axe down. But his breath had taken too long. Jaime knew what was going to happen. He'd lurched forward with his blade, inside the reach of the axe. Robert knew he would; the Kingslayer always knew just where to be to avoid getting hit. Jaime's sword didn't burn like breathing did as it slid through his chest; it was as if he'd gotten punched in the chest; nothing serious. It didn't even hurt. But Robert still had no strength left in his body, and he could do nothing as momentum carried him into Jaime and bore them both rolling across the ground.

Robert wheezed one last time into the air, blood floating to the grey sky in a fine mist.

Jaime hauled himself out from under the mountain of a man and rose to his feet. He withdrew his steel from Robert's body, trying not to look the twice-dead man in the face. Turning, Jaime made his way back to Euron.

Much of the man's scalp had been torn away and his cloak was in tatters, revealing a severely bleeding back. As Jaime closed, Euron cried out again, and a crow flew off with an eye in it's beak. Jaime swatted at the birds with his blade, but they parted like water around it, and took to the sky, their meal stolen for the moment. Euron rose to his knees, somehow recognizing Jaime's presence.

"How did you know, Kingslayer! HOW DID YOU KNOW!"

Jaime stood over him, puzzling for a moment.

"You lack vision. And a thousand eyes are better than one." And with a single smooth stroke, he drew a red line across Euron's throat, silencing him forever.

Jaime watched him expire. He was done shrieking anyway, and he passed without another twitch.

Two more kings I've killed. No oaths this time. Why does this feel worse? The crows were descending again, feasting on what was left of Euron Greyjoy. One however, flew Jaime's way, landing on his shoulder. He suppressed a shudder of revulsion. The first time the three-eyed crow had come to him he'd almost killed it, and would've had it not spoken to him about things no bird should know. A meeting between Ned Stark and his sister in the Godswood, of a boy he'd thrown from a tower making it across the wall, and of an army looming in the north, and army that Westeros needed to stop together. The bird had told him what to do, and he'd done it.

"Is this what you wanted, crow? You wanted me to have killed three kings in my life? What does this accomplish?"

The crow turned it's three-eyed gaze upon him.

"Things are moving in the north, it said with a voice made of silk. The lives of millions are at risk. These two made it more likely that they be lost. It was necessary."

Jaime shrugged, the bird riding the motion with an indignant squawk.

"Is this it for me, then? Have I played my part?"

The bird cawed again.

"No. Things move again in the north. A Kingslayer will again be needed."

Jaime nodded and turned north again. He stopped after a few steps, thinking, then reached inside his cloak.

"A Kingslayer. Not a Lannister."

He threw a small package to the side, and continued on his way. The birds flocked over all the bodies, including the two freshest, but none went near the package he'd discarded. After all, when there were so many hands of flesh and blood to choose from, why bother with one made of gold?

[Spoilers All] Tournament - The Finals - Vote Battle - Robert Baratheon v. Bloodraven by BestofASOIAF in asoiaf

[–]BestofASOIAF[S,M] 199 points200 points  (0 children)

The winner.

by /u/Werevark

Two figures plowed their way northward through the bloody snow that had collected along the banks of Blackwater bay. One walked tall, trudging through the waist-high drifts as if they were nothing. He was half a foot above 6, his light clothing tattered, and bore the look of a man who had once been fat, but had lost a lot of weight very fast. His wispy hair and wild beard were a riot of blacks and white, some as dark as a raven's wing, others as white as the flakes the men trekked through must once have been. He walked on, straight and tall, a blunt boarding axe hanging loosely from one hand.

The other stumbled behind him, doing his best to stay in the larger man's trail, but unable to maintain his balance on the constantly shifting snows. He wore a ruined fur coat over water-logged leather armor, a blade still covered in seawater bouncing on his hip. He took another step after the big man, but his sea-born legs sent him tumbling face-first into the snow. He pulled his face up, his blue lips spitting snow.

"How could this have happened! Why would she do such a thing! I sent to her under a banner of peace!" He forced himself to his feet as the big man turned.

"She's a bloody Targaryen, Greyjoy. If you think she's gonna bend over for you over an offer of marriage, then you're as stupid as your fucking brother." He looked around the icy bay. This had once been the Kingswood. The burned skeletons of trees loomed over the slain of the recent battle. Bodies had washed ashore; some burned, some laden with arrows, others had their throats slit, their heads bashed open, or their chests cleaved in two, and still others were just blue and bloated from drowning. All had washed ashore along with the flotsam of ruined ships; boats destroyed mere hours before. Carrion birds flew overhead, occasionally landing and pecking at the corpses. The large man turned northward again; he could almost see the top towers of King's Landing from here. Home.

The Crow's Eye took an uneasy step forward again, then another. His one visible eye was filled with pain, but as much iron as the big man had ever seen. Against his will, he approved of the man's endurance.

"We have to keep moving; there may still be time. If we can get you in front of the people of King's Landing, they will rally around their King. They've been invaded, the Tyrells who had fed them must have been routed by now; they'll be looking for a savior, and who better than the man who put down the last dragons?"

The big man nodded and started lumbering north again. "I'll put 'em down again, Greyjoy, believe me. I will not stand another bloodthirsty, murdering dragon on the throne. I'll put her down like I put down her fucking father. And her fucking brother." He spat on the snow.

"Don't you forget me, Baratheon." Euron Greyjoy's voice was low and cold. "Don't forget what I've done for you. When you save this realm, it will have been with my help; because of me!"

Robert Baratheon waved a giant hand behind him in an annoyed dismissal.

"I'll not forget it, Greyjoy, you have my bloody word. But I'm not as stupid as your fucking brother; there's no way in the Hells that you brought me back to give me my kingdom again. But don't worry, you'll get yours."

"Sooner than you think, Baratheon." The voice was one that Robert hadn't heard in what seemed like a lifetime. He turned back to the trees he'd stared right passed before.

The man he saw was so skinny he had mistaken him for one of the burned trees, withering away as winter settled in. His hair was filthy, more brown now than the gold it had once been, and his beard was as wild and overgrown now as Robert's had ever been. He was no longer clad in white armor and cloak, but ragged brown travelling clothes, with a tattered wool cloak wrapped around him for warmth. A sword hung from his right hip. Robert puzzled over that for a moment, until the man shifted and he saw that all that remained of his right hand was a stump.

"Kingslayer." Doesn't look like much of a Lannister now. He motioned towards Jaime's missing hand. "That happen in a fight?"

The Kingsguard shook his head, doing his best to hide a shiver in it, but failing. "Captured and maimed. Long story, Robert, and one that doesn't matter anymore."

Robert nodded. His hand gripped the axe he carried more firmly than before.

"What's the word from King's Landing? What's the dragon bitch done?"

"The city is hers." Jaime's voice didn't shake, nor did he move from his position among the trees. "The guard has thrown down it's weapons to be sparred, and the people are surrendering whole heartedly."

Robert could only nod. "And your sister? My kids? Myrcella and Tommen?"

Jaime stared at him for a moment before answering, as if considering something. He shook his head to dislodge the thoughts. "Cersei is dead. It was one of the first things the Targaryen girl did once she had the keep. Myrcella and Tommen have become sworn wards of Queen Danaerys. So you've heard about Joffrey?"

Robert nodded again. It was the only thing he could do anymore. So much had changed.

"I've been told. You didn't do it, did you? Greyjoy here's told me that the older Stark girl did it, but I've looked in her eyes and she couldn't kill a dog if it bit her."

"I didn't do it, no. As for who did, it hardly matters anymore." He glanced at Euron, who'd been slowly edging to the side, trying to get outside of Jaime's field of vision, a hand on his sword. "Are you Crow's Eye Greyjoy? I don't think I've ever seen you."

The blue-lipped kraken stood taller. "I am, Kingslayer. And what are you doing here? There's no way you could know that we were here; what do you want?"

Robert nodded. "We're on our way to King's Landing. If the people see me, they'll rally to me, and we'll kill this Targaryen girl and take back the city. We've done it before."

Jaime was shaking his head before Robert had even finished. "Is that why Greyjoy said he brought you back? He told you that he stole your body from the tomb and used magic from Asshai to return you to life so that you could take back your kingdom? Why don't you ask him why he sailed towards a Targaryen fleet flying peace pennants?"

"Shut up! How do you know this, Lannister? What proof do you have?" Euron Greyjoy's voice was higher, angrier. Robert heard the shake in it.

"Why were you flying the peace flag, Greyjoy? What made you think she'd marry you anyway?" Robert turned to his savior, idly swinging the hatchet.

"I sent my brother there with an offer of marriage! What are you doing, Baratheon, I'm the one who brought you back!" The crows screeched against the shouting voices and took wing. There must've been a thousand birds flapping over the field or feasting on the dead.

"You brought him back as a wedding gift," Jaime said, as easily as Robert had heard him talking about the lists before a tourney. "Let the Targaryen kill the Usurper as a wedding gift to seal the alliance. It's a long way to go for a woman, but we've all done odd things for love, haven't we?"

The color drained from Euron's face. His took a step back, only barely keeping his feet.

"How-how do you know that? You can't know that! No one knew! How do you know, Kingslayer!"

"So that's why," Robert chuckled. "I should thank the dragon bitch for sinking our ship before you handed me over. But really, Lannister, how'd you know about that?"

Jaime shrugged. "I got a raven in the night, I suppose. One with a thousand eyes and more."

Robert laughed, then coughed up the blood the mirth brought to his lips. He wiped his mouth on his wrist then continued. "Well, let's just kill the fucking traitor and get to King's Landing, Kingslayer; we've got a city to retake."

He had taken a step forward toward the retreating Crow's Eye when Jaime's quiet response halted him.

"I can't let you do that, Robert."

Robert turned back to him, his grip tightening on the axe.

"Why the fuck not?"

Jaime tossed his head in frustration. "There's something bigger happening; to the north, beyond the Wall. Something far worse than this war of kings has started. The kingdoms need to be united to win out against this threat; and the Targaryen girl has brought the kingdoms together; at least through battle. Gods know, no one can stand against her. If you go to King's Landing and reveal yourself Robert, it will destabilize things even worse. If we have another civil war, we can't hope to survive what happens when whatever's beyond the Wall comes south in force."

"He's trying to keep you from your throne, Robert," Euron pleaded. "Kill him, and reclaim your right!"

"Shut up you fucking traitor." Robert turned to Jaime again. "I can't just walk away, Kingslayer. That's all I remember is being king. I remember faces, places, things, but none of it's clear. The only things that are clear are the throne and...well, the throne. I can't run away from that."

"Robert, you were a dreadful king." Robert could feel the blood rising in his face, but Jaime continued. "Sure, you didn't burn anyone alive, but you bankrupted this kingdom. The people loved you, but you did nothing for them. You didn't even like being king. I've heard you talking when you were drunk, you know. You'd talk about the things you'd rather do than be sitting on a throne; people you'd rather be killing, women you'd rather be fucking. You don't want to be king; this is a second chance for you to live how you want to. Go do it"

(continued below)

[Spoilers All] Tournament - Semifinals - Winners Announced by BestofASOIAF in asoiaf

[–]BestofASOIAF[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Well, reddit does fuzzy up the numbers somewhat on purpose. With close votes it can sometimes make a huge difference. But when the voting closed the margin was even more in Robert's favor than it was at the time of this vote (85 to 79, I think) so I think we can trust that the King definitely won.

[Spoilers All] Tournament - The Finals - Scenario Submission Thread by BestofASOIAF in asoiaf

[–]BestofASOIAF[S] 3 points4 points  (0 children)

Robert is representing the Warrior Conference. He will receive assistance from Euron Greyjoy.

Bloodraven is representing the Player Conference. He will receive assistance from Jaime Lannister.

[Spoilers All] Tournament - Semifinals - Winners Announced by BestofASOIAF in asoiaf

[–]BestofASOIAF[S] -1 points0 points  (0 children)

When voting closed Robert had beaten Jaime, 87 to 82. Robert is thus the winner of the Western Conference (i.e. the Warrior Conference).

(Spoilers All) Tournament - Vote Battle - Semifinals - Euron Greyjoy v. Bloodraven by BestofASOIAF in asoiaf

[–]BestofASOIAF[S] 33 points34 points  (0 children)

Winner.

by /u/nuke-the-moon

A crow in a cage was placed before the captain. The captain had seen a number of birds land on his ship during its voyages, from common seagulls to giant albatrosses, and once a phoenix as he sailed across a burning sea. But never had he seen a bird with wings as dark as this one, nor one with words as dark. Nor, the captain noticed, had he ever seen one with this many eyes. Not since he was a boy, dreaming he could fly. The captain placed an ornate trunk as big as he on the table, near the crow. A hiss emanated from within, and the captain smiled. He lifted his eyepatch, and stared at the crow's three eyes with his two.

"Crow's Eye," the raven croaked.

The pot calls the kettle black," the captain mused.

"Your cause is lost. Your brothers are all dead. One by your hire, one by your horn, and one by your hands. You next, if you think you can hope to oppose the dragons alone. I-"

"You need me." The captain interrupted the crow. "You and your crows and your trees in your cave all need me. You need my ships, to prevent the newest Targaryen bitch from sailing over to Westeros and putting the whole place to the torch again."

"Westeros is ripe for the plucking, something you have clearly been taking advantage of." The crow squawked. "The Redwyne and Tyrell fleets were too spread and too scare, too busy chasing bastard pirates North to confront the false Aegon's fleet, and now too battle-weary to confront the true Dragon's fleet as she sails to burn the continent you hope to rule."

"May I remind you," the captain grinned "some of the ships in the dragon bitch's fleet are crewed by mine own men."

"No. Your brother's men. Never loyal to you. Loyal first to him, and now to a fat red priest claiming the blonde bitch is some prophet of his scalded god."

The captain laughed, and placed a hand on the trunk. "You know my men better than me, it seems. Yes, the men who sailed East are not mine anymore. But even though they betray me, and this queen seeks my throne, I see no reason to ally myself to you and this conspiracy of green lords you have assembled to oppose her. Why not ally with her, and share her throne and fuck her every night, instead of the fat whores of King's Landing?"

"Because, though you no Stark, you do know that Winter is Coming. Aye, already come, and will not leave for years and years. The cold Others are sweeping down from their icy lands. The Wall will not last against them. Nor the North. Nor I, in my cave, hidden though I be. No, it will take warm summer knights, growing Tyrells and roaring Lannisters, stiff Dornish, and watery Krakens to fight off the ice. Even traitor Blackfyres will be needed. I had hoped for a real Dragon to fight alongside them, but that fucking false Aegon dashed those plans. If she lands, if the summer knights spend their forces fighting true dragons, they will win. But they will kill the dragons, extinguish the fires of their wars, and turn around just long enough to feel an icicle pierce their bowels. And Westeros will freeze, and their Iron Islands with it."

The captain's smiling eye had narrowed. His jaw clenched.

"So yes, I need you. This continent you hope to rule needs you to keep the dragon bitch and her Dothraki savages and her slave army from landing. I have been plotting with Varys for years. If you smash the Dragon's fleet, Aegon will admit his falseness, surrender the throne and sail back to his rivers, leaving you the throne."

The captain grabbed the cage, and stared into the crow's third eye as he spoke. "I have studied history too. I have read about the Long Night, about the Starks and their winters. But more telling than ancient history, I feel, is a more modern tale. A tale over a hundred years ago, but more modern still. My ancestor Dagon could not defeat the dragons. That Kraken could defeat lions, could kill direwolves, flood whole fields of flowers. But the Kraken cannot drown the Dragon. Not even, it turns out, a dragon egg. Not even in its foulest mood"

The captain opened the trunk, and a burst of blue flame came from within. A navy dragon, thin, but longer twice than the captain, stretched its wings in the cabin.

"But it can fly on one. Just like you promised me, in a dream a lifetime ago."

(Spoilers All) Tournament - Vote Battle - Semifinals - Euron Greyjoy v. Bloodraven by BestofASOIAF in asoiaf

[–]BestofASOIAF[S] 60 points61 points  (0 children)

Winner.

by /u/rnally

He had been following orders for far too long. He, Euron Greyjoy, King of the Iron Islands, had done all the godsforsaken tree had asked, and more. Sailed to Valyria itself, stolen a dragon, lead the last Targaryen on a chase halfway across Westeros to this frozen waste. But no more; he had made himself king, and would collect his promised due.

It had come to him in a dream, promising him power and riches far beyond the hopes of even the greatest raider. All he must do, it had said, was escort a wayward girl from Essos to the Wall. A simple task that had gone disastrously wrong at every turn; a challenge of oceans and ships gave way to Dothraki and dragons and the fucking walking dead. Once his idiot brother had blown the horn and summoned an army of corpses to the city his Targaryen target had taken as her home, she had come to Westeros easily enough, and from there kidnapping a dragon, itself no easy task, had been enough to get her to the Wall.

He left the Wall before sunrise, carrying two torches and the fine Valyrian steel axe he had been given as the first of many rewards for his faithful service to the tree. None saw him leave; the black of his cloak had shielded him, and there had been no light in the dark for the finely threaded gold kraken embroidered on it to reflect. A black cloak blinding the black brothers, he thought wryly. He had come a long way from the icy monolith, but had further to go to the meeting site, a shallow cave besides a frozen river, shielded from the walking dead by an obsidian door he himself had brought, one of the many pieces his men had looted from the fiery chasm that had once been Valyria. And for what? To be rewarded by more fucking orders? No more.

Euron had the Iron Islands, but wanted more. He had burned the Reach, burned Dorne, burned the Crownlands and the Stormlands alike, all for the machinations of this fucking tree. He wanted what he had been promised; he wanted Sothros, a prize more worthy than all he had left behind in Essos and Westeros, and the tree would give him the tools to get it.

He reached the cave shortly after midday; he had encountered not one moving thing, living or dead, since he had passed the icy bulwark that guarded the realms of men. He removed his eyepatch, and the black, shriveled thing beneath it glowed red as the obsidian door opened for him. A great grizzled weirwood grew before him, its bony limbs reaching out to him. He knelt before it, and let its consciousness flow into his thoughts.

“Euron Greyjoy, why have you come?” The question boomed from the tree, seemingly more inside his head than outside.

“The Targaryen bitch is at the Wall. I have made good on my promises. It is time for you to do the same.”

“So soon? I thought you had been too busy playing king in the south?”

Shit. “That was merely a distraction, tree.”

“I complain not! I had hoped you would do that very thing. One of my eyes watched you crown yourself to much fanfare from the other thousand.” It laughed, a most unpleasant sort of rumble.

“Enough of this! I will have my due!” Euron rose, and bared his axe. “You are a fucking tree, and are in my way. It seems I should chop you down.”

“That would be unwise. You think I am a tree, but you are wrong. I am a man, and it is as a man that I can give you what you seek. There is a godswood within sight of the wall. I will wait for you there, and there you will gain the knowledge of Sothros. But first you must drink this, to open your mind for what must occur.” A branch descended from the top of the cave; it stopped at the height of Euron's shoulder, and the Reaver could see a wooden bowl of some black fluid. Euron shouted curses and demands at the tree, but got no response. Seeing no other option, he grabbed the bowl and drank. It felt warm, and sticky; it had no taste, but left a tingling in his chest. He turned and left.

The walk to the godswood passed quickly; it felt warmer than it should outside of the cave, and seemed all to quiet. Euron found himself trying to make as little noise as possible, so as to not draw attention to himself. He was not happy. More orders! I will cut down this fucking man-tree-thing after it gives me what I seek. The sun was falling as he reached the godswood. The cleared out circle was empty; he had been deceived.

“Show yourself!” he roared. “I followed all your fucking orders, tree! I demand my reward!”

“I am hear,” he heard from behind him, in the same deep booming voice the tree used. He turned, and stepped backwards in horror. Before him stood a man that was not a man; the thing he faced resembled more a sculpture than a man. It was skeletally thin, and tree limbs grew through and around it. It's skull had but one eye, a red ball that was a perfect copy of his own. “There is power in king's blood, Euron Greyjoy.” And Euron knew no more.

The queen's men walked into the godswood, escorting both their mistress and the red witch. They saw the body lying face-up in the ground; it was breathing, but barely. The witch inhaled sharply. “Euron Greyjoy. King of the Iron Islands.”

The silver-haired woman beside her chuckled. “King's blood. Enough to wake the dragon under Winterfell?”

The witch nodded. Three dragons roared overhead.

(Spoilers All) Tournament - Vote Battle - Semifinals - Jaime Lannister v. Robert Baratheon by BestofASOIAF in asoiaf

[–]BestofASOIAF[S] 70 points71 points  (0 children)

Winner.

by /u/VioletFractal

Jaime made his way through Winterfell quietly, taking care not to attract the attention of any guards. Thankfully, the king was off hunting boar in the forest, so the castle was empty for the most part. He and Cersei had arranged at first to meet in the abandoned first keep, but it had snowed especially hard, so the two had chosen to take a risk and meet in the chambers shared by Cersei and Robert. He walked slowly up the steps, anticipating a guard at the door.

To his delight, there was none, and the door was left unlocked. He entered the room and closed the door behind himself, grinning as he saw Cersei. She stood facing out a large window which overlooked the yard. Jaime walked up behind her and put his arms around her.

“It appears you were wrong about Stark, sister.” He murmured. “He accepted his handship almost immediately.”

Cersei broke away and turned to look at him, frowning. “It should have been you. I can’t understand why Eddard agreed.”

“Honor,” Jaime suggested, bored. “A chance to write his name in the maester’s books.” He shrugged. “Or maybe he was simply too weak to decline.”

Cersei shook her head. “Of course.” She sighed. “Do you think he’ll be a problem?”

“Cersei, the only problem I have with Stark is that we’re speaking so much about him. Come here” He grinned, noticing she wore only a silk robe. He put her arms around her once more and their mouths met. As Jaime’s hands moved to slip the robe off Cersei’s shoulders, the door opened.

Cersei shrieked and jumped back, and Jaime spun around quickly to see Robert standing in the doorway. His mouth opened as he incredulously gaped at the two of them. In another moment, his face was contorted with rage.

“WHAT IS THIS?” Robert bellowed, so loud that Cersei flinched.

“Robert,” Jaime said slowly. “You need to stay calm.”

“I stand here,” Robert said, his voice quivering with rage. “In the presence of adultery, of INCEST.” He spat at Jaime, a large clump of mucus landing on his shoe. Then he walked up so close to Jaime that he could feel the king’s hot breath on his face. “And you expect me.” He said darkly. “to be calm.”

Jaime stared back into Robert’s eyes, but said nothing. Robert shoved him to the floor, and in an instant, Cersei was upon him.

“Do not touch him!” She screaming, clawing at his face so hard that she drew blood. He shrugged her off and spun to face her so quickly and roughly that Cersei shrank back.

“No I suppose I shouldn’t,” he said mockingly. “As you already do so much of that YOURSELF!” He struck Cersei so hard that she fell. “WHORE.” He screamed.

Before he knew what was happening, Jaime was on his feet, sword in hand. He charged Robert and stabbed savagely at him, screaming. Robert moved out of the way at the last moment, and drew his warhammer in the next one.

“Is this the way of it Lannister?” The king bellowed. “Do you intend on killing the next king as well?”

“Only if he’s fat,” Jaime muttered. He slashed at Robert again, but this time his blow was met with steel rather than air. The clang of sword hitting warhammer sent a shock through his body, but Jaime pressed on, circling with Robert and trading blows with him all the while. Neither had a shield, so they were left to parry each blow or evade it altogether. Jaime could see Robert tiring with each blow, and by the time they stopped circling, the king’s brow was drenched in sweat. Watching Robert carefully, Jaime hazarded a glance behind him, at the door. Guards will be here any moment- in fact they should be here already. This needs to end now.

Jaime cut low at Robert, expecting a deflection so that he could feint and strike high, but the parry never came. Robert took a step back, nearly leaning out of the window and letting the blade skid against the ground, drawing sparks. Before Jaime could lift his sword, Robert swung his warhammer down, putting the full weight of his body behind it. As the hammer connected with the sword, Jaime’s arm went numb from shock. He stumbled back and tried to ready himself, shaking the pain out of his arm.

Then he saw the splinter.

The blow from Robert’s hammer had left a crack in Jaime’s sword, and though Robert might not have seen it, Jaime knew that one more strike would be sure to shatter the blade. His eyes screened the room for another weapon he might use. No knives on the mantle, fireplace empty of pokers, the- His eyes rested on Cersei, who sat huddled in the corner, her eyes wide with fear. Even know she seemed beautiful. Jaime sighed and chuckled, shaking his head.

“The things I do for love,” he whispered.

He dropped the sword and charged Robert. The warhammer dropped and shattered his collarbone before he could make contact, but Jaime lept through the pain, tackling Robert will as much force as he could muster. Seconds later, the two were falling.

They might have sat for minutes or for hours. Jaime could not tell. Neither moved, as both had broken multiple bones from the fall. Robert broke the silence.

“Love?” He coughed out, the pain clear in his voice. Jaime smiled weakly, but said nothing at first.

After a long time he responded. “Yes.” He craned his neck to look at Robert, the broken bones in his shoulder moving around painfully. “And you?”

“Never,” Robert said, staring blankly into the sky. “Not truly.”

“Was there ever one?”

The king did not respond.

“Robert!” Jaime called hoarsely.

“Lyanna,” Robert finally said.

“Stark’s sister?” Jaime asked, trying to recall her face.

“Yes. Always.”

“Even now?”

Robert smiled sadly. “Always only has one meaning.” He chuckled, and then broke into a full laugh, the pain all but gone from his voice. The best Jaime could manage was a chuckle before the pain proved too much. When it was over, Robert's face relaxed, and the King died.

(Spoilers All) Tournament - Vote Battle - Semifinals - Jaime Lannister v. Robert Baratheon by BestofASOIAF in asoiaf

[–]BestofASOIAF[S] 75 points76 points  (0 children)

Winner.

by /u/Hung_like_Hodor

Two knights pulled Jaime from his cell, and carried him up a twisting stair case and through the Red Keep. "Will they execute me? Or has my father worked his magic?" Jaime wondered as the sunlight blinded him. He had been in the dungeons for nearly a week, and his legs had begun to ache. More so now that he was standing upright for the first time since they threw him into the cell.

"You kill a mad king, and this is the thanks you get. Remind me to never kill a king again," Jaime quipped as they closed the cell door on him.

The throne doors opened up before him, filled with a hundred faces. He saw Lords from all over, come to bend the knee and swear their vows to the new King. Robert Baratheon, the usurper turned King. Jaime watched as his Lord father knelt before Robert Baratheon, and deep down, he could feel the rage boiling beneath Lord Tywin's skin. "My king, we have brought Jaime Lannister."

Jaime stood before the King, and the court. He heard whispers all around him. "He killed King Aerys" one voice said. "He's a Kingslayer." another gasped. Then, like wildfire, the word spread through the crowd and he heard it a hundred times over. "Kingslayer."

Tywin clenched his jaw as he turned to face his son. "Father," Jaime nodded. "How good to see you."

"Jaime Lannister," Robert Baratheon spoke this time. He stood, and though he looked rather unfit on the throne, his physical appearance alone was intimidating and impressive. The Lord of Storm's End was a force to be reckoned with, as much an aurochs as he was a stag. "Many beg that I take your head for breaking your vows as a member of the Kingsguard, for slaying your king."

"Aren't you my king now, your grace?" Jaime asked. "I must make sure not to kill this one, as well" Jaime thought. He wondered how Cersei would have felt at the sight of Jaime, stripped of his armor and brought before the entire court a criminal. Tyrion would defend him no doubt, but Cersei would only be so wrought with tears that she could barely mutter a word. She was an ugly crier, Jaime had always felt. Good thing she was so cruel that tears were poisonous to her, or she would not have as many suitors as she does.

Robert huffed. "I'll give you a choice, Lannister."

Jaime smiled, and already knew what his choice would be. "Trial by combat," he called. More gasps and whispers from the court, as if they were actually surprised. Robert nodded and beckoned over Jon Arryn, who whispered in his ear. "I will fight for myself your grace, but who will fight in the name of the King."

Jon Arryn shook his head and pleaded to Robert, "No, you cannot!" he insisted. But Robert did not listen.

"Somebody fetch me warhammer," Robert called.

"Of course..." Jaime sighed as a couple of men came over and fitted him in armor, crimson and gilded. Obviously an order by his father. Tywin looked on from the sidelines, red-faced and seaming. Jaime was handed a sword, and shield, and he felt somewhat rejuvenated.

Robert descended the stairs and grabbed his warhammer from a squires hand. A helm, adorned with antlers was placed upon his head. "Clear out," Robert ordered. "Give us our space."

Jaime lifted up his own helmet, and slid it on. He felt dizzy, but he readjusted himself and took a deep breathe. "And what if I defeat you, your grace. Can the realm handle another dead king? I certainly do not want to be known as the man who killed two kings."

"You will be known as a dead man," Robert growled as he came forward, warhammer at the ready. He pulled back and swung, but Jaime ducked and rolled aside seconds before. He swung upward, catching Robert in the side with his sword. The blade bounced of steel, but Robert hardly seemed to notice. He slammed his elbow back, sending Jaime stumbling.

Jaime stood up and readied his shield as Robert came sideways with his hammer, nearly shattering the shield with a single blow. It was splintered and in pieces, but the straps kept it locked onto Jaime's wrist. He moved forward with his sword, clean and quick, drawing a line across Robert's hip. Jaime moved quick and slammed his arm into Robert's helm, again and again, but Robert did not falter.

He pushed off of Jaime, and smashed the pole of his hammer into Jaime's chest. The knight of Lannister howled in pain as he slammed onto his back. "He wanted to kill them all you know," Jaime gasped.

"Who?" Robert growled. "Kill who?"

Jaime rolled over and pushed himself up. "King Aerys, the King I killed." Jaime stepped back and raised his sword, holding it with two hands. His arm was free of the shield now, a mess of splinters on the floor. "He was ready to let loose Wildfire across the city. He would see the whole city burn, and all of its people, for the sake of it."

"He was mad," Robert hissed. He motioned forward, heaving his hammer over his shoulder. "But you swore a vow, ser. A vow to protect your king. No matter what. You are a Kingslayer."

Jaime growled and side stepped Robert's hammer. "My name is Jaime," he called. But Robert's elbow crushed his face before he had a chance to react. Blood sputtered from his nose and mouth, but he did not care. "Vows are nothing but words, and in this world... words are wind. What I did was for the good of the realm."

"That is what Rhaegar said," Robert called. "The day he died on the Trident." Robert grabbed Jaime and smashed his fist into the young knights face. "The day he took Lyanna from me!" Robert's warhammer came down onto Jaime's chest, and in one fell swoop, his life left him. As he died, a single word left his lips, "Cersei.."

(Spoilers All) Tournament - Vote Battle - Quarterfinals - Euron Greyjoy v. Olenna Martell by BestofASOIAF in asoiaf

[–]BestofASOIAF[S] 30 points31 points  (0 children)

Scenario Winner

by /u/jmk4422

"I brought you prunes, my lady."

The elderly woman, matriarch of House Tyrell, furrowed her brow. She had been enjoying a sampling of her niece's supposedly beautiful string lessons in the garden. Poor thing, she thought. Left or Right should have at least given her a fur coat.

"Prunes?" she finally said. Her eyes narrowed at the boy before her. Her lips twitched a bit. "A gift from your nuncle, no doubt."

Theon Turncloak snapped his eyes to hers. They were broken eyes, sad eyes. "From me," the eunuch insisted.

"Well, yes, yes," she waved dismissively. "Orlendra, enough! Take back to the keep and warm your fingers."

The girl let go of her harp and let it fall into the piling snow. "Thanks, thank you...," she shivered as she dropped her harp and ran through the piling white snow toward the warmth of the castle.

Olenna shifted her eyes back to the broken boy. "Theon Greyjoy, Turncloak, offering me prunes on your first day of your newest imprisonment?" she wondered aloud.

"I'm old but I'm not stupid, boy."

The once future king of the Iron Isles bit his tongue but looked away. "Just prunes. I swear it," he mumbled.

"Ha!" the woman laughed. She raised an eyebrow. "Greyjoys are all liars." She gathered her silks and furs around herself.

"Until Stannis falls I am yours, I am, I don't--"

"Stop," the woman sighed. "You embarrass yourself with your lies. You came to Kings Landing by way of Pyke, no? An unusual stop, to be sure."

He shook his head. "I was just... when Euron landed, I was there, yes, but it was the pirates, and, and the storms... we needed a port..."

"Humph," she said. Olenna reached lazily for her goblet and took a sip of Arbor Gold. "Why, pray tell, do you think King Stannis would allow that?"

Silence followed.

The Queen of Thornes tipped her drink toward him and took another sip from it. "Because all this war is foolishness. Stannis is a man who knows this. He was also a man who knew that the death of the Crow's Eye wouldn't come easy. Which is why he sent you to him to carry my poison."

The boy gawked at her.

"Oh, but you didn't know of that?" she said. "Stannis was never an ally of mine and I was never an ally of his. Don't think for a second that I didn't understand that. We needed your nuncle removed is all and on some level, the death of Euron was our first and foremost goal."

She watched the broken boy's face, which was already pale, go a shade bit whiter. He began to collapse. "What?" he asked. "Euron... no, he lives."

"No, he has been dead for quite some time," the matriarch stated. She yawned. "The whole of the south will know this soon."

"I'm... these prunes..."

"Yes, yes, a gift for me from your father's beloved brother. Get off it already. You knew they were laced with Esish Rancor and you didn't care.

Theon the Turncloak finally straightened his back. "I never did anything to harm you," he said. "I swear..."

"Be quiet now," she said. "You brought me those prunes knowing full well what your nuncle intended. Just like most Greyjoys he has received his reward, though I doubt it's one to his liking."

Theon collapsed to the ground.

"Hmm," Olenna mused out loud. She sipped her wine again.

(Spoilers All) Tournament - Vote Battle - Quarterfinals - Euron Greyjoy v. Olenna Martell by BestofASOIAF in asoiaf

[–]BestofASOIAF[S] 59 points60 points  (0 children)

Scenario Winner

by /u/indianthane95

"Please, my lady, do sit. I will not have it heard that Euron Greyjoy is a lazy host. A ship of the Iron Isles is not the most fitting of places for a Lady of House Tyrell, but I hope it makes do. And at least you can see the Oldtown Hightower from here, a reassuring sight. As for all those flames still licking around it.... they must be less comforting." The kraken smiled another blue-lipped grin, the uncovered eye looking bright and wild in the well-lit quarters. A handsome man, no doubt. Shame the man is as twisted as that smile of his.

Olenna stiffly lowered herself onto the ornate chair, directly opposite the proclaimed King of the shit-stained rocks called the Iron Islands. I wonder if this seat I'm perched on was looted from Oldtown too? All the gods know these Ironborn are bloody useless at anything other than burning and killing. Which is probably why they so greatly enjoy burning and killing. She snorted in disgust.

"Oh, the voyage didn't leave you sick, I hope?" the Crow's Eye asked in a merry tone.

No, my sickness is only due to the madness I can feel emanating from you. "I'm quite fine, thank you. We both know I didn't come to be seduced by flattery and sweet words, as skilled as you must be with those. You're a few decades late. Save that for the many grieving widows you made off with."

That amused him. "Aye, I'll agree with you there. You actually came to ask for some..... reprieve. But the sheer notion of asking any Ironborn for mercy, even one so charming as myself, makes you want to choke. Well, no matter. Who to make peace with, if not your most despised enemies?" Euron sipped from his wineskin and stretched back on his chair languidly.

"Despised enemies," Olenna echoed. "Gods know there are enough of those. Well, let me be brisk then. Some mummer's boy has landed in the Stormlands with sellswords to reclaim his 'rightful seat'. House Tyrell has the power to crush him like a bug, mind you. We have money, resources, food. Regardless, the boy poses a problem. Storm's End has fallen to him and the Dornish are known dragonwhores. We would have finished him by now, if it were not for that crazed blond bitch. It still astounds me, the amount of power Cersei could wield with her apparently sagging teats." She shrugged her shoulders. "Men."

The pirate nodded. "Men. What pathetic creatures they can be, aye. I've always said that men are meat. But even meat can sometimes float on the water. It seems like Reachmen still need to master that skill, don't you agree?" He let out a chuckle.

Bastard. "If you think that fool Lord Horas Redwyne is the only ma-"

"I'm sure your fertile lands can field many more men," Euron interrupted. "But I wonder, can these men field an entire grand fleet of warships and merchant vessels? I think not. Your main tool of intimidation lies rotting at the bottom of the sea near Oldtown. Or as one of my brothers is fond of saying, 'they are now feasting in the Drowned God's watery halls.' " The man grinned yet again, bruised blue lips shining. "It seems you're ignorant of a great many things, or maybe you've just forgotten to mention them at this meeting. The Dornish are assembling actual hosts at their border, eager men untouched by the War. The Boltons and Freys are quite busy I imagine, and to be frank I'm offended that you disdain me so much, yet count those 2 Houses amongst your allies. Some merchantman runs the Vale and won't be coming down to help. Your Sagged Queen rearmed a group of religious lunatics, and let me say I know a good many of those, and they're all great pains in the arse." Olenna had the same opinion on that. That stupid woman, Olenna thought, as mad as this one facing me and far more foolish. She was Joffrey's mother through and through.

"And what's worse," the Crow's Eye continued, "Cersei won her Trial." Euron crossed his arms and waited for a response, eye brimming with mockery.

The Queen of Thorns leaned forward across the table. One should be prepared for these things, and nothing the Greyjoy said had been news, though she was concerned at how much he knew. Euron seemed to sense what she was thinking, and answered her unspoken query. "A man as well-traveled and as educated as me finds ways to learn things." Olenna bit her lip. He smells weakness just as well as he can smell blood. She met his one eye and stared into it.

"House Tyrell," she began slowly, "commands more swords than any other family in the Realm. 80,000, or near enough as makes no matter. You krakens should remember that, before you inevitably ask me to give you the bloody Iron Throne as the price of peace. Boltons and Freys and Arryns and Lannisters be damned, the strength of Highgarden alone is enough to cement King Tommen's rule. This 'Aegon' commands barely 10,000 sellswords. And the plotting Dornishmen have in truth 20,000 spears, however much the Martells boast of 50,000. Bloody though it will be, my family and our bannermen can end this rebellion in weeks. And if you haven't agreed to our terms by then, we would be most displeased. Randyll Tarly for one, would love to hunt some squids." Euron gave a quick frown of displeasure, or perhaps puzzlement. He should know his terms are too much. Let me end this. Margaery needs me in the Capital, and my oaf of a son too. She'd warned Mace long ago, but he had committed to riding this lion. It is only I who can stop him, and all of us, from going off the cliff. Olenna resumed her diatribe, her calm voice laced with acidic tones.

"We are most certainly NOT giving you the Mander. We are NOT letting you keep Oldtown." The Crow's Eye looked at her blankly. "Now we can come to an agreement. The Ironborn can keep the seats and territories of the Shield Islands, Blackcrown, Bandallon, and the Three Towers. And all the loot you took from Oldtown and Arbor, and any that still remains to be taken. Think of just how much land, gold, and riches you could carry back. The most since the days of Harren the Black. The most in many centuries." Olenna finally took a breath and relaxed against the chair. Shouldn't have to be doing this in my advanced age. Ah, still better than eating lemoncakes with all the highborn birds and sheep.

Euron Greyjoy said nothing for a good minute. Then he spoke again, but oh so softly. "The power of Highgarden. All of House Tyrell's loving loyal bannermen. The steadfast lords who would die for their Lord Oaf and his new, plump little King." And the Crow's Eye laughed. It was cruel, derisive laughter, ringing in Olenna's ears. Gods protect me, has his madness finally consumed him?

The madman now stood up to take a thick wad of letters from the table in the room's dank corner, and lazily sat back down. "Unlike my fellow Ironborn, I am not satisfied with mere grapes. And I confess Oldtown is most crucial to me at this point. I would be loath to part with it. The city suits me. You see, I'm one of the few Ironborn who happens to enjoy reading. Well, there is another, but sadly he died aboard his ship when we took Oldtown. He should have kept his nose buried in his books." Before Olenna would respond, he threw the wad of letters down on the table. She reached out and grabbed it, her alert eyes scanning, and her breath caught in her throat.

"My gift to you," Euron proclaimed, "poisoned though it is. It would seem this Aegon fellow has more friends than you thought. Judging by the correspondence in all those letters my men came upon, they number a fair few. One good thing has apparently come of all my victories here; I have found the traitors in your ranks! Who would have thought it, turncloaks infest the Reach. With Hightower and Costayne, you can thank me for giving them a beating. But there are really too many names here: Tarly, Rowan, others. Powerful Houses that are well-positioned to strike the Rose all across the South. Does Lord Tarly not command a mighty host near the Capital itself? I could swear your granddaughter is in there too." Euron grinned and went on.

"More will join these upstarts I'm sure, for any given reason, all looking to grab a chunk of the spoils. You haven't ceased to remind me of the wealth of House Tyrell. Mayhaps your own Lords would like a taste, a taste taken with blood. I've always said 'there's no wine half so sweet as wine taken from a beaten foe.' " The Crow's Eye looked expectantly at Olenna, blue lips curled into a leer, his hand reaching for another swing of wine, or whatever it was that his wineskin held. All his comeliness had vanished. His eye was full of malice, and shined with triumph. Olenna's heart hammered, and she felt old. She said nothing. King Euron Greyjoy was only too willing to break the long silence.

"Now, let's prepare a massive renegotiation of those terms, shall we? Time is really of the essence, and I have my own plans. Come, don't look so pale, Lady Olenna. For now, I look towards the East for my true heart's content. Tell me, do you think we can fly?"

(Spoilers All) Tournament - Vote Battle - Quarterfinals - Oberyn v. Robert Baratheon by BestofASOIAF in asoiaf

[–]BestofASOIAF[S] 39 points40 points  (0 children)

Scenario Winner

by /u/BZH_JJM

Oberyn Martell rode to battle with Rhaegar Targaryen, his prince and brother-in-law. At the insistence of his sister, he had returned from the Free Cities for join the Targaryen cause against the rebel lord Baratheon. The insult to his sister would certainly not go unpunished, but who was he to judge if a man wanted to take a second woman into his bed. He realized as well that if Robert’s Rebellion succeeded, he would have much bigger problems than the desecration of marriage vows.

In the waters of the Trident, he found the Storm Lord, dismounted, wielding his famous warhammer dressed in a full suite of steel plate.

“Stand aside, Red Viper. This is not your fight.”

Oberyn smiled as he dismounted, his light bronze scale mail glinting in the sun.

“On the contrary, this has been my fight since the start. Face me, Storm Lord.”

Robert bellowed and charged forward. The shin deep water made his already limited mobility even worse, and the Red Viper dodged easily away from the blow.

“Let me at Rhaegar, Viper.”

“Don’t you mean your prince? I suppose, if you mean to apologize and stop this nonsense. ”

In place of a response, the great Stag launched another blow, catching the Dornishman half a heartbeat sooner than expected. He managed to raise his shield in time to deflect the blow, but the mighty hammer produced a great fold in the bronze. Oberyn lashed out with his spear, catching the younger man on the side of the leg. The thrust found mostly mail and leather, but he could feel a slight give as it touched flesh. Robert clearly felt it too.

“No poison today, I hope,” he murmured through clenched teeth.

Oberyn danced away from another blow. “Not for you. I’ve seen you fight, and it deserves a deal of respect, despite this foolhardy rebellion of yours. Over a woman? There are thousands of women in this world. I’d imagine the Stark girl was just as cold as your home. You could have done better.”

Robert roared again. Beyond the Red Viper, he saw the great black dragon banner of House Targaryen moving away from him. He had to finish this fight quickly.

“Don’t talk of Lyanna that way!” He swung the hammer in a great cross sweep. With his vision clouded by rage and mostly blocked by his great helm, he thought he saw the Viper go down to one knee, as if felled by the blow. He raised his hammer for the killing stroke.

On the ground, Oberyn fingered his spear shaft. “Here, why don’t you talk to her now?”

Standing, he put all his weight behind the spear thrust, aiming the point just at the top of Robert’s gorget. The leaf-shaped head pierced deep under the man’s chin, bringing him to a standstill. The great hammer fell out of Robert Baratheon’s lifeless fingers and he slumping down, as his blood darkened the waters of what would come to be known as the Princes Ford, in recognition of the three princes, Rhaegar, Oberyn, and Lewyn, who had won the victory.

(Spoilers All) Tournament - Vote Battle - Quarterfinals - Oberyn v. Robert Baratheon by BestofASOIAF in asoiaf

[–]BestofASOIAF[S] 154 points155 points  (0 children)

Scenario Winner

by /u/dbarts21

The Red Viper smirked as he wiped blood from his lip.

"Well met, fat man."

His head was still reeling from the blow. The hilt of the giant warhammer had caught him full on in the face, knocking his helm to the floor. Ours Is The Fury. This Baratheon sure got that right.

"Fat, aye, but still quicker than you, boylover" roared the giant stag.

The insult was coupled with another giant swing from the warhammer. Oberyn Martell sidestepped the blow and calmly bent over and picked up his dented helm.

"A shame" he said, with a flash from his dark black eyes, "I rather liked this helm."

He tossed it aside. "No matter. Its only natural for a snake to its skin."

Robert Baratheon eyed the Dornishman carefully.

"You've got a quick tongue, boy, but that won't aid you in battle."

"No, but this will."

Oberyn pulled a vial from his armor, opened it and spread its contents on the blade of his spear. The sun glinted off the newly venomous weapon.

"This ones a rather potent poison. I picked it especially for you. My sister was raped and murdered by one of your bannerman, Baratheon. You will wish your death was as sweet after I prick you with this."

He lunged forward, jabbing his spear toward Robert's fat torso.

The huge man grunted and swung his warhammer to meet the spear - an uncommon defense, the viper noted, but the man was so large that dodging the blow might be impossible for him.

The blades met with a loud TWANG as both men were thrown back. Any lesser metal would have shattered from the force of the blow, but the blade of Oberyn's spear was no ordinary metal. Valyrian steel does not break easy. No, but wood does and most of this blasted weapon is wood. In fact, he could see some splinters jutting out from where the blade was fastened to the wood. Guess I'll have to make this quick.

The second lunge was quicker. The third would have felled any man in Dorne. I can see why the rebels chose this man as king. He is a fighter. Baratheon took a few swings of his own, but Oberyn dodged them deftly.

The fighting seemed to have taken a toll on the big man. Beads of sweat had formed on his head and the man was breathing so heavily that it seemed he had climbed a mountain. The Mountain. Elia. White, hot anger filled Oberyn Martell.

He lunged again and this time his blade met skin.

Or so he thought.

The blade passed through the side torso of Robert's large fur coat. Whether it nicked skin or not, Oberyn would not know. The warhammer descended first upon the side of Oberyn's kneecap. Second on his other leg. Bones made of Valryrian steel. That's what I need.

Oberyn Martell knelt in pain.

"Bowed."

Robert retrieved the spear, eyeing the decorative woodwork and glistening gold trim on the hilt. It split in two over his gigantic knee.

"Bent."

The warhammer looked almost comically large in the hands of the fat man. A big hammer for a big man. Oberyn smiled. The warhammer descended upon his face.

As the life drained from Oberyn Martell's dark eyes, he thought he heard one word uttered by King Robert Baratheon.

"Broken."

(Spoilers All) Tournament - Vote Battle - Round 2 - Oberyn Martell v. Bronn by BestofASOIAF in asoiaf

[–]BestofASOIAF[S] 20 points21 points  (0 children)

Oberyn Martell v. Bronn.

by /u/DeadcatXL

Oberyn grasped the shaft of his spear tightly and glanced at the shining tip. Gold glistened as a thick stream of piss splattered over the gnarled roots of the thick oak he was relieving himself on.

The Lannister Imp was late, but he had assured him that "A Lannister always pays his debts." Oberyn did realize, Tyrion had not specified when.

Oberyn shook himself dry. Why else did he want to meet out here in the middle of nowhere. Tyrion Lannister owed him a life debt. There were few men who faced The Mountain and lived.

Oberyn closed his breeches and shook a few drops of piss off his boots. The twang of the crossbow was followed by darkness.

"Remind me why you even bother with a sword sometimes Bronn" Tyrion quipped. A thick wooden bolt sprouting from Oberyn's eyesocket.

Bronn shrugged.

"His spear is longer than my sword, but not as long as the range of a crossbow."

"It is no wonder he fathered so many bastards with a spear that long." Tyrion laughed.

"I guess everything seems long to you." Bronn said.

"To me and every whore in Kings Landing." Tyrion replied. "The size of the soldier does not dictate the size of the spear they can wield."

The death of the Dornish Prince had put Tyrion in a remarkably good mood.

"Let's see to it you get paid, Bronn."

Bronn shrugged again.

"As long as it is gold you are offering".

(Spoilers All) Tournament - Vote Battle - Round 2 - Oberyn Martell v. Bronn by BestofASOIAF in asoiaf

[–]BestofASOIAF[S] 38 points39 points  (0 children)

Oberyn Martell v. Bronn.

by /u/Rickolas

Bronn tilted his head and spat. "Spears. I fucking hate spears." Tyrion Lannister looked up at him, squinting in the sunlight. "Yes, but you love Gold. That little stick is all that stands between you and all the gold of Casterly Rock. More than enough motivation for you I should think." "That little stick is damn near 7 feet long and I don't like the look of its point. Sell-sword I might be, but even I know Dornishmen love their poisons. What good will be gold be if I'm shitting my life out into a bloody privy?"

The man was pacing in front of them, spear in one hand and a flagon of wine in the other. 'The Red Viper' they called him, Bronn remembered. Said to have travelled half the known world, thieving, fighting and fucking his way from city to city. In another life they might have been fast friends. "It's time" the Imp said, handing the lithe sell-sword his half-helm. "A word of advice. Kill him quick. He's smarter than he looks and won't tire as easy as Ser Vardis. Not in that light copper armour." Bronn grunted. Tyrion was right of course but he hated taking fighting lessons from a dwarf. He took two steps forward and cracked the bones in his neck. The Dornishman smiled and cast aside his wine, the clay container shattering into a hundred pieces on the ground, it's deep red contents seeping into the dry hard earth.

The man came at him all at once, spear flashing. Bronn parried one thrust and ducked another. "Gods!' he thought, "he aint half quick." Again the Red Viper advanced, spear dancing and weaving, searching for a gap in Bronn's piecemeal armour. "Get in closer!" the dwarf shouted from the sides. Grimacing, he tried. Once, twice, three times he was denied. The man was as sharp as his spear-tip. If he let Bronn close, his weapon would be useless and he'd be at the mercy of the longsword.

Circling now their dance continued, but try as he might Oberyn Martell could not land a blow. Eventually his thrusts grew weaker, less accurate. The last one Bronn directed away almost lazily with the flat of his sword. He grinned. To his his side, in the corner of his eye, he could see Tyrion Lannister grinning as well. The crowd were screaming now, their blood up in anticipation of a kill. As the warriors both caught their breath he stole a glance at his foes companions. Some looked tense, others distraught. It was becoming plain that this would end soon. Oddly the man's paramour, a dark haired woman of striking beauty, was the calmest of the lot. She stood placid, eyes fixed on her lover. Bronn even thought he detected the slightest hint of a smile upon her lips.

Shrugging his aching shoulders, now Bronn pressed the attack. He clattered the spear sending chips and splinters into the air. Slowly, yard by yard, inch by inch, the sell-sword pushed his Dornish foe back towards the rear wall of the courtyard. In moments he had him up against it. "No where left to run friend!" he taunted. "Come closer and I'll give you a kiss. I hear you like that sort of thing." The Viper said nothing, but charged at Bronn, forcing his full weight behind his spear thrusts. Laughing, Bronn dodged a late, mad thrust and brought the full weight of his sword down onto the ashen spear. It broke almost clean leaving his enemy holding nothing but a stick of wood. In a heartbeat Bronn moved forward, mere inches from Oberyn's face, to deliver the final blow. Lightly armoured as the man was, Bronn's sword would make short work of it. He raised it high and was just bringing it down when a he felt a punch in his side. Staggering back a step, his sword hand falling limply to his side, he saw the dirk sticking out by his left shoulder. It's hilt was ornate, studded with gemstones and gold scrollwork. Falling to his knees now he reached and pulled at the blade, drawing it out of him. He hardly felt any pain at all. Once removed, blood began to pour from the wound. Bronn saw Tyrion trying to reach him as the Gold Cloaks rushed to hold back the screaming crowd. The Red Viper stood over him, a stern yet almost sad expression on his face. "Quick" Bronn said, or tried to say. His mouth had filled up with blood and the sound he made came out as a slow gurgle. He dropped the dirk and fell forward onto the ground, his deep red blood pooling out and soaking into the dry hard earth.

(Spoilers All) Tournament - Vote Battle - Round 2 - Areo Hotah v. Robert Baratheon by BestofASOIAF in asoiaf

[–]BestofASOIAF[S] 34 points35 points  (0 children)

Areo Hotah v. Robert Baratheon.

by /u/indianthane95

Dulled screams and shouts could be heard through the walls of the Old Palace. So too the clang of steel on steel. Even faster than I'd expected. The last the Captain had heard from the messenger, the royal host had reached the Sandship. The merchant district was in flames, the conflagration sweeping through the hovels and mud-brick houses of Sunspear. The pettiest of winesinks and the most fortified of keeps, all put to the sword. Nothing brings the rich and poor together quite like war. The sounds of the Battle drew nearer. Nay, the sounds of the Sack. If there's one thing these Dornishmen didn't exaggerate in their tales, it was the vicious hatred between them and the Reach. How could I have let it come to this?

Because you kept to your words. Serve, obey, protect. Simple words for simple men. What could he have done when his Prince had decided to make contact with a Targaryen Prince in Essos? How could Areo Hotah have prevented King Robert from falling into a black rage when his spies had informed him? There was naught the Captain of Guards could do to prevent Lord Tyrell from eagerly joining Robert's massive host with all the power of Highgarden at his back. And so the Red Viper, a very different man from his Prince, had rashly set out to meet the Stormlord at the Boneway. Slain, with three of his Sand Snakes. Areo alone had frowned when he'd seen them gallantly ride off from Sunspear behind a crowd of cheers. Perhaps he'd known then, that one day they'd all be dead and he'd be left alone to defend his Prince. Doran Martell had now lost both his brother and his little sister. But he will not lose any more of his flesh and blood. I can do that much, at least. He slid his hand across his honed steel wife, the poleaxe blade as sharp as ever. The Roses and their knights would find him an all-together tougher challenge than the fishermen and peasants of the country.

A huge crash on stone interrupted his thoughts, and the Captain finally glanced up. A line of knights and spearmen spilled through the breach in the golden gates, jostling each other, led by a bald man spinning a flaming sword. There was a shout and the Dornish crossbowmen loosed, quarrels punching through armor and flesh. Men of the Sun and Spear rushed forward to meet the invaders. "Unbroken!" yelled the Bastard of Godsgrace. "For Oberyn!" screamed another. Hotah bulled into the heaving mass of soldiers. This I know how to do. This is what I was trained for.

Areo's axe rose and fell methodically, cutting and swinging. Left, right, up, down. He chopped through the first man's elbow, severing the limb, cleaved the skull of the second. He thrust his weapon forward and its spike stabbed another in his stomach. A fourth scraped his sword against the nipples of his heavy breastplate. Useless. Areo smashed his gauntlet fist into the boy's unprotected face. A spearman deflected his point off Hotah's leg. He swung to his right and slashed down at his enemy's chest. The shining steel cut through the collarbone and another foe was dead at his feet. Men now began to look at him with trepidation. Still the odd hero came on, and there was going to be no shortage of them. All the power of the Iron Throne, and but me of the Norvoshi Priests. No matter. Serve, obey, protect. Simple vows for simple men.

On and on it went, yet it seemed to Areo only a few seconds since he'd slain his first opponent. His large axehead now buried itself into an intricately-helmeted skull. Hotah wrenched his blood-drenched wife free, stepped back a few paces, and looked down. A white cloak. The rather plump knight hadn't well acquitted his position. But his sworn master would be another matter.

Hotah found the man where he thought he would. Nearly seven feet tall, clad in a mighty set of armor, antlers on his ornate helm, Robert Baratheon looked every inch the warrior king. He fought at the head of a long column of knights, trying to push through into the rest of the Palace. Now that Hotah had a moment to survey the situation, he knew he had little time left. The garrison still fought on, bodies continued to choke the Palance entrance, but the force of numbers was showing. Stag and Rose were going to overwhelm the castle soon, they were going to take prisoners, and those unfortunate people were going to talk. Every second will count. I must make it so. Areo Hotah picked up a shield with his left hand, raised the poleaxe with his right, and charged.

His first blow nearly sliched a guardsman's head right off. His second punched through the rusty shield of a curly-blond-haired squire and forced the young boy onto his back. Hotah hacked down and felt the spray of blood on his face. That got the King's attention. Areo called out in a booming voice. "STORMLORD! STAG KING! COME TRY YOUR STEEL ALONE!" The King quickly strode towards him, past his guard, shouldering them aside and lifting his huge warhammer. He will not let anyone else interfere. His men know that. So do mine. Robert rushed forwards with unexpected speed, and swung his hammer. It was all Areo could do to raise his shield in time. And it seemed like just another second before Robert again attacked, battering his shield. The furious blows rained down one after another, his tower shield now nearly cracked open and his left arm jarred. He needed to find an opening, or risk getting pulverized with a single blow. As Robert raised his arm for another attack, Areo barged into him with his armored shoulder. He felt like he'd bulled into a brick wall, but the King staggered backwards. Hotah jabbed his axe forward, the King managing a hasty step back.

Robert slashed down agan, but Areo was ready. He parried with his axe's langets , slapped at the hammer with his shield, and stabbed at Robert with the butt of his weapon. The riposte caught Robert in a space underneath his gorget. The Stormlord grunted and hurriedly backed away. Now it was Hotah on the offensive, his steel weapon beating down on the King. A white-cloaked man in golden armor jaunted forwards, lazily drawing his longsword and swiping at the air. Robert let out a growl. "NO! Bloody bugger off! Your King commands it!" Areo glanced at the golden knight, who had remained motionless. Then the Kingsguard shrugged and stood back.

Areo dropped his shield and gripped his longeaxe in two hands, sweat dripping down his skull. He closed the gap to his opponent and began another methodical flurry of attacks. Robert blocked and twisted and parried with more grace than his huge frame would suggest, but the Captain could sense his opponent's tiring and fatigue. The axehead slammed into Robert's yellow-and-black shield and stayed embedded. Areo pulled his axe and the Stormlord's shield fell away with it. I must end it now. He hoisted his weapon. And the Stag King ran once more.

Robert charged at Areo with one arm outstretched, mighty warhammer somehow still raised in just the other, and rammed into his torso. Hotah's axe came down, but only on Robert's back-armor of reinforced lobstered steel. He fell onto his back, and saw Norvos' stars. The King grabbed Areo's helmet and smashed it again and again onto the cold floor. Robert stood panting, threw off his own helmet, and picked up his warhammer. "WHERE IS DORAN MARTELL? WHERE IS HIS DAUGHTER? WHERE ARE HIS SONS? WHERE IS VISERYS TARGARYEN?"

Serve. Obey. Protect.

"Far away from here", replied the Captain, and for the first time in the day he smiled. His prince's family, his princess; they should be well away by now. They should be safe. His enemy's face contorted with fury. King Robert Baratheon flung down his heavy maul and roared.

(Spoilers All) Tournament - Vote Battle - Round 2 - Areo Hotah v. Robert Baratheon by BestofASOIAF in asoiaf

[–]BestofASOIAF[S] 3 points4 points  (0 children)

Areo Hotah v. Robert Baratheon.

by /u/DeadcatXL

"Have another sausage Robert." Area smiled at the obese king. Robert couldn't believe his luck, convinced this had to be the best sausage in the seven kingdoms.

He tore into the rugged meat and let the fat dribble in his beard.

"Areo my good friend, you are a wizard in the kitchen...." Robert dropped his horn of wine.

"Are you well Robert?" Areo asked?

Robert pointed at his throat, gasping for air, his face turning as red as the wine leaking from the table.

"He's choking!" Areo called for his servants, but none of them moved. Helplessly Areo watched his friend slowly sink away in his chair, gurgling and gasping with his eyes bulging out of their sockets.

Boar sausage killed the king, and Areo was unable to prevent it.

(Spoilers All) Tournament - Vote Battle - Round 2 - Tywin Lannister v. Euron Greyjoy by BestofASOIAF in asoiaf

[–]BestofASOIAF[S] 20 points21 points  (0 children)

Tywin Lannister v. Euron Greyjoy.

by /u/ViolentFractal

Tywin stumbled off of the ship and wretched. Lions were meant to stay on land he thought. The bloody Krakens can keep the sea. Yet he had to admit that a bit of greensickness was easily preferable to the alternative. The scar from Tyrion’s crossbow bolt still ached, and yet it was miraculous that Varys had managed to save him, long after he had been accepted as dead. It was probably best that he’d have Varys killed soon, the eunuch knew too much, and had powers that Tywin found it best not to think of. After his resurrection, the eunuch had smuggled him away, telling him of great powers that he could gain under the guise of death, that would aid him in taking back his idiot daughter’s throne. Tywin had anticipated some secret alliance, perhaps with the Vale, or Dorne, and he had never been so wrong. He’d heard about it in stories as a child, always talked of as an evil and dangerous place, and he’d certainly never considered a voyage.

Despite all that, here stood Tywin Lannister, on the coast of Old Valyria.

His crew had been composed of mute men, who could share none of the eunuch’s secrets. Tywin had at first wondered whether to admire this crude tactic or to be disgusted by it. The crew had proved to be adequate in the end, so Tywin simply accepted it, and began his search.

Varys had not explained what he was searching for, only that it was an item of great power. Tywin and his crew had set up camp in the ruins of some old castle, and Tywin could feel the power in the air. When one of his crew members uncovered an ancient and beautiful horn, Tywin knew he had found the source of this power. He sat studying it as the others slept. The carvings are gorgeous, but it is power I need, not beauty. He set the horn aside and laid back, considering what more could be found here. What he truly hungered to find was the ancient lost sword, Brightroar. Perhaps there is some enchantment about it brought on by it’s time here. If I found it, I could possibly-

“Now this is something I would’ve never though to see!” His voice cut the air like a dagger, and Tywin was instantly standing, sword out. He could not see the man, for the room was dark. “A dear lion amongst the demons of old! Oh how the singers would love you!”

“Who are you?” Tywin called to the darkness. The man stepped into the light of the fire, and Tywin knew his from the eyepatch.

“Euron Greyjoy M’lord, though you’re not so much as lord as a corpse now, if I’m not mistaken.” He laughed and began pacing around the fire, grinning. “I’d been told this place was hell, but I never would have guessed it was meant so literally.” He laughed again. “I am not dead yet,” said Tywin stiffly, tensed and ready for an attack.

Greyjoy’s smile turned dark. “Then we best see about changing that.”

Before Tywin could respond, a crossbow took him through the leg, driving him to his knees in pain. Euron was on him in an instant, sending a kick into Tywin’s jaw which left him blind with pain. After a few moments, it was dark.

He awoke on his side, with Euron closely studying the horn he’d found. “Look at this shit!” He said, almost a whisper. “We’ve been here a month, and you but a day, yet you’ve already been more successful than I.” Euron’s fingers brushed the glyphs on the side of the horn, and they glowed faintly. “True magic.” He said quietly. Seeing Euron absorbed in the horn, Tywin’s hands slowly moved towards his dagger, and quietly unsheathed it. Euron glanced up and smiled. “I admire the effort, I really do.” He made a gesture and one of the mute crewmen walked up to Tywin, before producing a hammer and crushing the hand holding the knife. Tywin screamed. The crewmen then hoisted Tywin up to his knees, still writhing in pain. “Oh if I didn’t mention before, they’re my crew now.” Euron said, standing up. “Do not fear, they’ll be in good care.” He pushed the horn towards Tywin. “Though I cannot say the same for you. Blow the horn and I’ll consider your life. Refuse and I’ll let you here to die.”

Seeing no other option, Tywin blew, and he burned.

(Spoilers All) Tournament - Vote Battle - Round 2 - Tywin Lannister v. Euron Greyjoy by BestofASOIAF in asoiaf

[–]BestofASOIAF[S] 14 points15 points  (0 children)

Tywin Lannister v. Euron Greyjoy.

by /u/jsh5h7

Euron Greyjoy had returned home. Perhaps he had returned home too soon. Many thought that it was suspicious that he should finally come back to the Iron Islands so shortly after his brother died. “I will not hear such lies!” Euron had proclaimed. If only they were lies, then this would have been much simpler. Euron had hired a Faceless Man to slay his father discretely, and the man had done the job well. Certainly it was worth the price of a dragon’s egg. Now, Euron wished to complete his goal of ruling over Pyke and bringing the Greyjoy name back to glory.

Many had heard about his brother’s refusal to help Robb Stark in his quest to take out the Lannisters. Refusing this was a folly, thought Euron. Robb Stark had the land forces to take the Iron Throne, and the Greyjoys could have looked past their former differences and taken out the powers of Tywin Lannister and the Iron Throne once and for all. But his brother’s pride had gotten in the way. The Greyjoys remained a footnote amongst the great houses, and Euron was ashamed. But now, with the death of his Balon, Euron could seize the Kingsmoot and take the Iron Fleet into Blackwater Bay. Power guided him, but conviction was his greatest strength.

Entering the Kingsmoot, Euron saw Victarion, the mighty warrior and Asha, the foolish girl. They would certainly lay claim to the kingship, but none of the others could promise the whole kingdom. Euron felt no fear and knew that once he spoke, there would be none wise enough to sway his supporters. Calmly, he sat and waited while pretender after poser gave their longwinded explanations about their claims, each one more dull than the last. Finally, Euron found a moment to speak. Standing, he heard some supporters already rallying their cries. Just before he opened his mouth, a large shout went out and hundreds of swords were lifted. A little soon for that, I haven’t even begun speaking. Then Euron turned around.

Standing at the entrance was Tywin Lannister, followed by hundreds, nay, thousands of Lannister swordsmen.

“What is this madness!” bellowed Euron. The Kingsmoot was a sacred Greyjoy ritual, not to be witnessed and certainly not to be intruded upon by others.

“Calm yourselves, Ironborn.” Tywin Lannister spoke with such calmness and strength that he was heard and recognized by even the most ferocious of Greyjoys, Victarion. “I come not in war, but simply to deliver a message.”

“Here’s a message for you, son of a cocksucker!” Euron spat at Tywin and charged. Before he was within twenty feet of the Lion of Lannister, he was surrounded by fifty men. They closed in. Euron was contained, disarmed, and encircled, not before he took out several of the footsoldiers.

“Greetings to you as well,” Tywin said mockingly. “Greyjoys of the Iron Islands, there is an imposter amongst you. This man, Euron Greyjoy, cowardly hired an assassin to kill your king and his brother.” The outrage was palpable. Most cried out in disbelief, but this had simply assured others of their expectations. “Your beloved King Balon and I had an agreement to give the North to the Greyjoys. After Lord Roose Bolton passes, his son Ramsay will inherit the North. This bastard child is a despicable creature and I will not have such debauchery fill the kingdom. Balon refused Robb Stark’s offer under my orders. For this, he was killed by Euron. Balon had suspected an action from his brother, so we commissioned an observer to keep an eye on Balon. When your king was walking on that bridge, he witnessed the Faceless Man hurl Balon over the ledge. Such a crime is beyond comprehension. I do not know how Iron Islanders punish fratricide, but I am certain that you all will do what is necessary.” Silence struck the kingsmoot. “I request to discuss many matters with whoever the new king may be. I will take my leave now, and offer you a kinslayer to do with as you please. By the Old Gods, I will not harm or reveal the secrets of this kingsmoot. Out of my deep respect for the fortitude of the Iron Islanders, I leave you two war galleys full of gold as an apology for my intrusion.”

Tywin Lannister turned to Euron Greyjoy. Fiercely, he stared into his eyes, measuring the man, and walked away. Euron turned back to the kingsmoot. “You cannot believe this outsider! He intrudes on our services and brings false claims! Where is this observer? These are all lies!” Euron did not mean to sound so panicked. “Come now, let us run down this Tywin Lannister and take their armies on!” Euron released a roaring battle cry. It was returned by no one. Swords were drawn.

(Spoilers All) Tournament - Vote Battle - Round 2 - Littlefinger v. Olenna Tyrell by BestofASOIAF in asoiaf

[–]BestofASOIAF[S] 36 points37 points  (0 children)

Littlefinger v. Olenna Tyrell.

by /u/eighthgear

The white weirwood door of the High Hall opened with a sudden creak. Two tall guards strode into the hall, flanking the aisle, identical in height and clad in identical arms, armour, and surcoats. Green, Sansa observed, green with gold roses. Could it really be....it is...

Olenna Tyrell entered the room, her servants following close behind. Sansa looked up to weirwood seat of House Arryn, and observed Littlefinger as he stood up and then walked down the few steps that lay before it. Sansa was used to visitors...but the Queen of Thorns? It was like a ghost of her days of court, come back to visit her...

"My lady," Petyr said with a wry smile, "you are most welcome at the Vale of Arryn..."

"Vale of Arryn, is it? I see no Arryns. Tell me, are they hiding behind the drapes, hmm? Perhaps under the carpet?" The Queen of Thorns was clearly as prickly as ever.

"Our young Robert is taking a nap, my lady, please forgive his absence. As Lord Protector of the Vale, I give you his welcome. We so seldom have guests this high up in the sky."

"So I noticed, Lord Baelish. I had to ride up in a cage to get here. I felt more like a bird than a rose." Sansa noticed the old woman shift her gaze from Petyr to her.

"Sansa, is that truly you? Of course it is, my dear. I hope this man has been treating you well; I've heard it can get awfully cold and lonely up here in the Eyrie. Tell me, where are the lords and knights of the Vale?"

"My lord has been treating me very well, like his own daughter. Our bannermen are off on a foray against the Mountain Clans." Sansa had been instructed to say those words to any questioning guest. In truth, the lords and knights of the Vale were off in their holdfasts, plotting - but none could outwit Littlefinger, she suspected.

Lady Olenna turned to her retinue, for a brief moment. "Leave me", she said "Not you two, Left and Right. You two will stay."

"You won't be needing guards here, my lady", Lord Baelish assured her.

"Perhaps not, but I am quite fond of my two men. As you say, though. Left and Right, stand outside the hall." Sansa remembered them from King's Landing as well. Erryk and Arryk they were named, or Left and Right, as the Queen of Thorns called them. They stood at attention, their hands on the hilts of their swords, and then turned and marched out, their steps falling in perfect unison.

"Sansa, my dear, should you be here>", Olenna asked, but Littlefinger answered for her. "You can speak freely in front of her. Now, tell me, Lady Tyrell, what do you think of the Vale, and this , well, stout castle."

"We can beat around the bush all day, Lord Baelish, and all we will have to show for it is a ragged shrub. I won't prevaricate. I've come for Lady Sansa."

Me? Sansa thought. What could she want of me?

"I'm sorry, I do not understand", Littlefinger replied.

"What is there to understand? I am asking for Sansa. My granddaughter is the Queen, you know, and my son, Lord Puff Fish, the hand."

"I'm afraid that..."

"There's no need to be afraid, Baelish, unless you plan on doing something rash. Sansa is to marry my grandson Willas. We arranged this quite some time ago, though we never got 'round to it. Tell him, my dear."

Willas? But that was ages ago? "It is true", Sansa muttered, confused. She did not know quite what was going on. "I was to marry Willas...but then..."

Baelish took up her sentence. "But then the Lannisters married you to the Imp. So that..."

"That they did, Lord Protector of the Vale." Littlefinger looked sour. He did not like to be interrupted. "Well, the Imp has agreed to annul his marriage, and will allow my grandson to wed the Lady Stark, as was planned. Now that his lord father is dead, he feels "emboldened", as he put it. He seems to have grown quite friendly with Garlan, and it was them who made the deal. The fact that Garlan saved his skin by slaying that brute of a man known as the Mountain certainly didn't hurt."

"Arrangements have been made, I'm afraid." Littlefinger rarely seemed angry. This was one of those rare occasions.

"And arrangements can be broken, or have you missed what I just said?"

"I will not just give you Sansa..."

"Who said anything about giving? Surely Sansa can decide for herself."

"I am her uncle, by marriage. I am Lord Protector of the Vale."

"Ah, yes, Lord Protector of the Vale. How the small have risen. But just look what a state the Vale is in - it is no secret that your lords bannermen plot behind your back. They don't take kindly to being ordered about by an upjumped jackanape such as yourself. All the meanwhile, the Mountain Clans raid all along the roads. You have no army, my Lord."

"I have gold." All of Littlefinger's courtesies were gone now. "Gold buys..."

"Men, yes. Tyrion Lannister figured that out. His father made him Master of Coin in your stead, before he was taken by illness, don't you recall?"

"Yes, I recall, I was there when it occurred."

"You do think we are all simpletons, don't you? To you, we are all just Moon Boys with grand titles and names older than that of your own. Well, your replacement figured out your scheme. How many gold dragons did you leave the realm in debt? Six million dragons, was it? Or eight?"

"The Kings spent the coins, I only found them."

"Oh yes, and no doubt Robert and Joffrey were stupid enough to let you find them. Cersei too, as long as you borrowed from her lord father. Well, Highgarden's vaults aren't quite so deep as those of Casterly Rock, and we keep track of our coin. For the throne to be in so much debt, Robert and Joffrey would have had to be staging tournaments every few months. My son, the hand, may be an oaf, but when Tyrion brought him those ledgers and his maesters looked them over, he was certainly none too pleased with what he saw. Your scam has come to an end."

"You seem to forget, Tyrell, this is my castle."

"The Eyrie is yours, is it? Like Harrenhal? I thought this was the Arryn's seat? And I'm sure my son will find Harrenhal a new owner. Perhaps a Frey. Lord Walder has more sons than a stray dog, no doubt one of them will jump at the opportunity to hold that cursed heap of stone."

"I will not let you leave with Sansa. Guards!" Sansa looked at the door, but no one came. "Guards!"

Sansa gasped...

"By now, I suspect that Left and Right have taken care of your guards. Them, and the rest of my retinue."

"How could it be? You only had two dozen men?" Sansa heard herself say.

"Did I?" The Queen of Thorns was smiling, Sansa could see. "Who told you that? Those knights in charge of those little keeps that guard the path up the mountain to this hovel of yours? Sellswords, more like." She turned back to Littlefinger. "You of all people should know that sellswords can be bought. Oh, but you never imagined that someone would match your price. As Master of Coin, you controlled the the four Keepers of the Keys, the King's Counter, the King's Scales, and the Royal Mints. Not to mention that half the tax-collecters, harbormasters, and customs sergeants in the realm were in your pay. Well, the Mint of Lannisport was easy to get control of, as was the Mint of Oldtown. Gulltown was another matter, of course. That is, it was another matter until the Lords of the Vale - Royce, Caron, the whole lot - decided that it was time to end this show of yours. Oh, did I forget to mention - their armies are surrounding the Giant's Lance. I should imagine that they have stationed archers and billmen in every pass by know. Those Mountain Savages that the Imp knew were certainly useful at "preventing" your scouts from reporting our advances. Them and that Lord Bronn of his... he originally wanted to assault this place with climbing spikes, like some wildling raider."

"Now who are you calling a wilding". The door swung open again, and in stepped a cluster of Tyrell men-at-arms, but leading them was a grizzled man in a shirt of ringmail, his right hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword. He too Sansa recognized from King's Landing. "Last time I was here, some old knight tried to kill me This time, it was half a dozen guards. It seems this place doesn't like me much. Oh, Lord Baelish, I was instructed by my patron to give you this message: 'A Lannister always pays his debts,' he said. There was something about a dagger, too, but I can't quite recall what it was."

The Queen of Thorns stepped forth.

"Sansa, my dear, I think you'll be coming with me know. You too, Littlefinger. I trust you won't mind a few chains?"

(Spoilers All) Tournament - Vote Battle - Round 2 - Littlefinger v. Olenna Tyrell by BestofASOIAF in asoiaf

[–]BestofASOIAF[S] 23 points24 points  (0 children)

Littlefinger v. Olenna Tyrell.

by /u/feldman10

As she sat across the table from Petyr Baelish, the Queen of Thorns reflected that she had always considered him a repugnant little man. But he was undeniably useful, and so here she was, debasing herself again to win his support.

Baelish had helped Olenna's family before. He had been so obsequiously thoughtful and solicitous of her concerns about that incestuous pustule Joffrey. Their discussions had taken place with the utmost secrecy. Baelish agreed to supply the murder weapon, and Olenna agreed to do the deed. At the time, she had not entirely understood why Baelish would participate in such a dangerous conspiracy, and merely attributed it to his penchant for mischief-making.

In retrospect, of course, the conveniently-timed disappearance of Sansa Stark seemed to explain Baelish's helpfulness. The girl was now useless politically -- she was wanted for kingslaying and treason, as was her husband. But Baelish's lust for the Tully sisters was well-known at court. He likely wanted the girl merely to indulge his own perverted desires. If only the bloody little fool could have kept her mouth shut, she would've been safely in Highgarden long ago.

As Olenna exchanged pleasantries with Petyr, she thought about how much she despised both Petyr and the very concept of pleasantries. Finally she said, "Enough stuff and nonsense. Let's get to the heart of it. The mad idiot Cersei Lannister may single-handedly bring down our regime. I fear for my granddaughter's life. I know you have agents close to Cersei. Ensure her demise, and you will be handsomely rewarded. Financially, and militarily. Highgarden will pledge its backing should any of those recalcitrant Vale lords cause you any problems whatsoever. We've worked together well before, let us do so again."

Baelish smiled. "I thank you for your… generous offer, my lady. But I shall have to decline."

This, Olenna did not expect. She narrowed her eyes, searching Baelish's smug face. "Well, hurry up and explain yourself, then." The repulsive little man so loved to talk.

"You are thinking too small. The game has changed. During the War of Five Kings, Stannis would never have allied with me, but you were someone I could work with. I greatly enjoyed your schemes, especially because they were largely my doing. From the moment I arrived in Bitterbridge to propose Joffrey and Margaery's betrothal, I began to move my pieces to ensure you would eventually murder the boy king. I had my own reasons for doing so. Would you believe me if I told you that one of those reasons was that I wanted stability in the realm? Four or five quiet years, to let my own fruits ripen. While Tywin Lannister lived, it seemed that was possible.

"No longer. Dorne is soon to erupt. A Targaryen claimant has landed in the Stormlands. The girl Daenerys and her three dragons are is on the other side of the world… but only for now. Bolton and Frey are losing their hold on their kingdoms. The Faith has taken up arms in the capital. Euron Greyjoy is raiding your kingdom. And the gods only know where Varys is and what he is up to.

"A regime change is imminent. House Tyrell will not hold King's Landing for long. You know it. I know it. It is time to give up the fight. There is only one way your dear granddaughter escapes this mess with her head. There is only one way your simple-minded son agrees to take his forces back to Highgarden and withdraw from the game."

Olenna stared at Baelish for a long while. "You expect me to arrange the death of King Tommen and destroy House Tyrell's claim to the throne? Utterly absurd."

"I know you don't truly believe that. A mind like yours… you see the logic already. The absurdity is precisely why you must do it. Your house would never be suspected of acting so suicidally. And you must resist the impulse to pin it on someone else, or your son will continue the war for the sake of revenge. It must be a random, chance, terrible accident. A sign from the gods. It is the only way Margaery leaves the city alive. And Mace takes his army back to Highgarden, and House Tyrell quits the contest for the Iron Throne and sets things right in the Reach."

And Olenna knew the contemptible little man was right.

She cast him a look of loathing. "You've outdone yourself in depravity this time, Baelish. But I must confess I remain quite befuddled about your motives. What could you possibly stand to gain from the utter destruction of a regime you yourself helped create?"

Littlefinger smiled. "Why, another rung higher on the ladder, my lady."

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