Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and works; all other characters and worlds belong to their respective owners. I'm just playing with them.
Betad by Priapus, Beans, Malcolm Tent
The Unbound
Chapter 36: Meridia
– King Orys Baratheon –
I'd be lying if I said becoming this blessed figure wasn't, by far, the greatest thing that has happened to me. My coronation and betrothal to Margaery are fighting for second place, but my power as Orys the Blessed is undeniably the greatest. Even if I wasn't a Baratheon, even if I wasn't the Crown Prince, this is the kind of power that changes the world.
"The Lady wishes for us both to be empowered, stop being so selfish," Melisandre demands in an almost bratty way. If she hadn't been kneeling, I'd almost expect her to stamp her foot in a huff but as it happens…
Kinvara doesn't answer, her mouth otherwise occupied as the High Priestess of the Red Temple of Volantis practically inhales my shaft. She pays no attention to her own comfort, her need to breathe, her nose buried in my pubic region as she swallows the entire thing with an almost desperate need. Mephala whispers that Kinvara, like many Red Priestesses, was born a slave and bought to serve in Volantis as a Temple Prostitute. She is all too familiar with this position, though it has been a while since she has found herself in the submissive role.
Both of their red dresses are pulled down to their waists, exposing their perfect breasts and slim waists. Too perfect, actually. They are sculpted, not naturally formed. It doesn't make them any less enticing as Kinvara's breasts jiggle with each rapid movement of her head, but my senses can tell the difference. I wouldn't call it unnerving, exactly, but it's ever so slightly off-putting.
Despite being utterly ignored by her 'ally', Melisandre doesn't let it distract her for long as she leans forward again and takes my testicles into her mouth. Her tongue rolls against them, showing a perhaps unsurprising amount of skill. She's far older than she appears, her age returned to her by Meridia at the cost of binding her forever to the Lady of Light. Meridia's control over her followers is second to none, even Molag Bal. Euron may be his tool, but the pirate has his freedom. These two might as well be puppets on Merida's strings, being tugged wherever she pleases.
I won't deny, the idea that my balls hold the key to divine power is both ego-boosting and highly amusing. More importantly, Dibella has pointed out in her usual giggling way that I could genuinely empower the Order of the Mother's Mercy by bedding the Septas involved. Mara huffed a little but didn't deny that fact. She's ever so mildly disapproving of my manwhoring ways, but the fact that Margaery both knows and accepts, even encourages, them has done a lot to unruffle her feathers.
I'm distracted from my musings as Kinvara all but inhales my cock, her tongue dancing around it as her throat constricts with practised expertise. She's not the best I've had, but it's hard to beat Moonshadow, one of the top three Courtesans of Braavos. That said, she's certainly the second best I've had, and my fingers thread into her dark locks and grip her head as I grunt. It's all the encouragement she needs to speed up even further, desperate to extract the seed that will bring her more in line with her Goddess.
Or, bring her Goddess further into this plane of existence.
I am still not entirely sold on Meridia, for a multitude of reasons, but pragmatism forces me to admit that if there is one God I could use right now, it's the one who hates undead with a passion and has tasked herself with their extinction. I can't trust her enough to make a pact, but the fact that she takes away her followers' free will means that I can treat the actions of her priestesses as her actions. If they betray my trust or start scheming, it is because their Goddess demanded it. As such, giving them just enough power to be useful and seeing what they do with it is a good test of Meridia herself.
Groaning, I pull her off my cock, despite her best efforts, and stroke my length to finish myself off. Melisandre practically muscles Kinvara out of the way as she opens her mouth and sticks out her tongue, eager for my deposit. Kinvara doesn't give an inch, retaking her lost position as my seed splatters on two faces equally. Their tongues catch the majority of it, even as some lands on their cheeks and noses, eagerly gulping down my load before, despite their clear rivalry, the pair practically attack one another, trying to lick the other clean to not waste a single drop.
The sight of two high ranking red priestesses fighting over my cum is certainly a sight to see. They're technically part of a rival religion, and here Meliasandre is trying to lap the cum that dripped onto Kinvara's chest before Kinvara can hope to wipe it up and eat it herself. Kinvara scowls before she realises that there's still semen to claim, taking my cock back into her mouth to suck it clean. Yeah, it's good to be King sometimes.
There's no way I was going to go soft with a sight like this before me, Kinvara's hand under her dress as she pleasures herself while suckling the last drops off my shaft. At the same time, with Mephala's gift, I can see Meridia's influence over them growing stronger.
It isn't erasing their personalities, but with each drop their ability to refuse her falls all that much further. They see it as a blessing. I cannot. It is why I doubt I will ever fully pact with Meridia, because it is in her very nature to try and do the same to me. She'd make me immortal, but at the cost of forever leashing myself to her will. My pacts, while they affect my mind, still allow me the freedom to choose for myself.
"Her power courses through me," Melisandre says, eyes wide in abject worship as she begins to pray to her goddess, right there. Kinvara is more composed, but no less awed. She's simply better at controlling herself. As a High Priestess, she's basically a Highborn in Volantis, and has had to play the same games we Westerosi Highborn play for many years. She won't show her joy or awe when it could be used against her.
"A true blessing, your Grace," Kinvara says, her hand still stroking my cock to prevent it from going soft. "You honour us with your essence."
Again, it's good to be me. Not many men can say that they've had a pair of powerful women say it was an honour to have their faces coated with his semen and mean it.
"Will that suffice for you to be of aid in the march on the Eyrie?" I ask plainly, unwilling to show my own enjoyment of the situation. I'm doing this for their good, after all.
"The Lady of Light's power flows through us, your essence the conduit. We are far from at our best, but my flames will guide the way and cleanse the madness of the Laughing God," Kinvara swears.
"Please, your Grace… I can feel that I am on the tip of a revelation. Her power is there, just out of reach. Grant me another of your blessings, so that I can see her light," Melisandre begs, and Kinvara pauses in surprise. She opens her mouth to respond before I see the bond she has with Meridia flash and her caustic remarks die on her tongue.
"The Lady of Light agrees. Melisandre has a talent for prophecy that exceeds my own. Bless her, and the Lady will light our path to victory," Kinvara agrees, whatever opposition she had gone in an instant. Again, she can't disagree when Meridia has spoken.
Pausing for a moment, I call on my own bonds for advice. Talos says to fuck her stupid. Thanks Talos. Sometimes, it feels a little like he's their world's version of my father who decided to become a God rather than a King. Mara sighs, explaining that ever since the Thalmor tried to ban his worship, he's taken on a more Nordic aspect since most of his remaining active worshippers are Nords. It doesn't take much deduction to recognise Nord as being similar to the men of the North.
There's a brief, momentary, conference between Daedra and Aedra, many of who have reason to dislike Meridia. She's said to be one of the 'Good' Daedra for her hatred of the undead, but good doesn't mean nice. I can think of many 'good' men who were monsters for whatever cause they believed in. After a moment, Mephala returns to me.
And tells me to fuck Melisandre since Meridia has some control over time and as such, may very well have future knowledge. They should all be capable of such things, but with Ithelia active, their own ability to see the future has become unreliable. They can't predict each other, or her.
Talos feels awfully smug.
"Remove your dress," I order, seeing Melisandre's eyes light up like I just gave her the greatest gift imaginable. As she rises, her dress doesn't come with her for the journey. Guiding her to bend over the desk, I watch as she spreads her legs wide in preparation for what is to come. "I won't fuck your pussy, but Lady Mephala and Dibella assure me that anal will suffice."
Given my… sizeable features, you would think that such a thing might worry her but Melisandre couldn't reach back to spread her pert buttocks any faster if she tried, exposing her asshole for me.
"Of course, Azor Ahai. Please, make use of me however you wish," Melisandre says, her entire body submissive. But then, you'd have to be submissive to be in that religion. Their entire philosophy is one of surrendering to a higher power.
"Allow me to prepare her, Your Grace," Kinvara says, moving behind Melisandre as she, without hesitation, latches her mouth onto Melisandre's asshole and begins to lubricate it. Both are very clean, thankfully, as they clearly came here with the intention of being bedded, but as hot as this might be, I can't deny that there's still that unsettling edge to their every action. Pulling back, Kinvara kneels obediently as I move forward and press the tip of my cock against the tight backdoor.
Melisandre barely lets out a gasp at the sudden fullness, my shaft sinking into her hole with ease. She's incredibly tight, but what catches me by surprise is the warmth. If it wasn't for the fact that there is only pleasure, I would think I stuck my cock into a furnace.
"Do not hold back on my account, Son of Fire. Sate your lusts upon my body, it is yours to use as you see fit," Melisandre encourages in that unsettling zealous way of hers. Well, I don't need a written invitation as I begin to pound her from behind, hands gripping her hips as Kinvara rises and presses her nude form against my back, nibbling on my ear and kissing my neck as she whispers sultry encouragements. Melisandre's ass comes back to meet each thrust, with more force than I am using, desperate for me to flood her backdoor with my divine essence.
Reaching under her to grope her perfect tits, I don't hold back at all as I rut into Melisandre's tight asshole, pounding her as my thighs clap against her again and again. My balls slap against her soaked pussy as she withholds her moans. I suppose that is wise. I'll be telling Margaery about this but we don't need rumours of me being corrupted by Red Priestesses the night before we go on the march. Kinvara did some kind of magic to muffle sounds, but not stop them entirely.
With such a tight, hot hole clenching down on my cock, I can be forgiven for not being at my most observant. I've gotten too used to divine energy, not even noticing anything strange as I feel a surge of it until the last second. For a moment, I fear Meridia has, for whatever reason, decided to betray me before I realise that it wasn't her at all. Not exactly, anyway.
The flare of power came from her bond, but not by her design. No, someone else took advantage of her distraction and the bond to enact their own foul plans.
Melisandre gasps, eyes blazing with fire as the heat becomes nearly unbearable, the temperature in the room rising rapidly and with a groan, I unleash my seed directly into her backdoor. Only, it's not exactly hers at the moment as Meridia, Lady of Infinite Energies, the Radiant One, the Lady of Light and the the Prince of Life and Light, suddenly orgasms in the body that someone just booted her consciousness into.
In the astral plane, I can hear drunken laughter as Sanguine makes his escape, his work here done. I can't exactly focus on him as I cum again, Melisandre's body shifting and moving in a way that breaks my endurance in a second. By the time I manage to pull out of the absurdly tight hole, I had already climaxed four times, each load pumped right into the metaphysical bowels of Meridia. Kinvara drops to her knees in desperate prayer, Melisandre lies utterly unresponsive as the last spurts hit her legs, twitching wildly.
As quickly as she came, her presence is gone and Mephala whispers that she's shrouded this from my Kingsguard to stop them from charging in to save their King from the fire they should have felt.
"To even be worthy of being her Consort…" Kinvara says in awe, as I hear Dibella and Mephala laughing. Ah, she's already started the lies as Melisandre rises on incredibly shaky legs. She can't admit to her followers that she got pranked into possessing Melisandre, so it was all a part of her grand design. Otherwise their goddess is someone who got tricked into getting assfucked. Not exactly the divine harbinger they worship.
"Did this work, Melisandre?" I ask, well aware of the way that she is blazing with power. It's already fading, most of it coming from the divine remnants of her ever-so-brief possession, but she got a lot more essence than I intended. I pretend not to notice the way Kinvara stares at the dollops leaking from Melisandre's ass with clear avarice. What a day.
"It- it did, Your Grace. Inside the Gate of the Moon, a woman remains a bastion of Order and can betray the defences for us. Myranda Royce has kept her mind, aided by Jyggalag, Sheogorath's hated foe, and is hiding in the castle she once maintained," Melisandre reports.
The others are quick to explain that Jyggalag is Sheogorath's rival and/or former life. Something about him being cursed by the other Daedric Princes and turned into Sheogorath before they split again and someone else took up the mantle of Sheogorath. He hasn't chosen Myranda as a champion, I'd have felt that… but then so would Sheogorath. No, he's placed a piece on the board, in the perfect position to remove the strongest line of defence between me and Sheogorath's games.
"She hides from Lysa's loyalists who have taken the Gate of the Moon, knowing her father was murdered by the mad woman. She won't trust anything she sees, as this is a place of madness now, but Yohn Royce can convince her to open the gates," Melisandre continues, panting heavily as the last of the divine power leaves her. Even still, she's considerably stronger than Kinvara now.
Not having to siege the Gate of the Moon will simplify matters considerably.
"If this information is correct, then you will have proven the benefits of this alliance. Even still, I expect your aid in the battles to come," I say, fixing my trousers as having Kingly discussions with my sausage flapping about is rather unregal of me.
"You will have it, and more," Kinvara swears, the avarice obvious even without my gifts. She's Melisandre's rival, but their Goddess 'chose' Melisandre to possess and now her rival has jumped ahead in power.
"Dress, and leave me. We will talk more in the morning, but I have work to do with this new information," I command, watching the pair do so. With a pair of deep bows, they leave me and I flex my powers just a little to… clean the smell.
As Barristan enters, he frowns for a moment.
"Speak freely," I say simply.
"I don't approve of you meeting those two alone. Their intentions, and powers, are unknown. The time it would have taken to open the door might have cost you your life," Barristan replies simply.
"I know. Unfortunately, this was less a meeting of King and Priest and more a negotiation between the Gods. Those two and I were hardly even the middlemen, more like the parchment they used to write on," I snort. "Their religion has had a schism in response to this new era of divine power. They represent the Lady of Light, Meridia, who they believe to be the true God, rather than R'hllor. They've been sent on a divine mission to war against the undead in the North. Negotiations with foreign, potentially hostile, gods need to be done with a very soft hand. They're easily offended, and we have enough trouble with the madness of Vale and the undead in the North without accidentally insulting a prickly fire god and finding ourselves facing an entirely new threat."
"...these are confusing times," Barristan finally responds.
"You have no idea how right you are. Dealing with those two was… draining, but they provided good information, if true. Send for Lord Royce. I need to speak with him at once," I order, getting a quick agreement despite the late hour. As he leaves, I let some of my exhaustion show as I pant slightly. I swear Meridia drained me to my last drop.
…I need a long sleep.
But as always, a King's work is never done.
– Days Later –
The trek to the Gate of the Moon was by no means easy.
Hungers haunted our trek, and I can't deny that the two priestesses were of great help as their fire and light could ward off the monsters unless it was a concentrated attack. But, politics remains an issue. As the Living Embodiment of the Seven, I can't let the Red Priestesses outshine me in battle, but at the same time, while I can give off a glow that wards off the monsters, it's draining and I need to focus on it where my skills are better used in the battle itself.
So, the Septas who I brought with us, with their healing light, had to be able to match the fiery heat of Meridia with the soft light of Mara. The Order of the Mother's Mercy is in its infancy, but their healing powers are likely never going to be more needed than they are during this battle.
Thrusting into the woman beneath me, I watch her large breasts sway each time I sheath myself inside her. She's on the older side, still beautiful as the Septas' life has been good to her, but certainly older than my usual lovers. No less passionate, and I have to wonder if it was a long dry streak or the idea of being closer to the Mother that has her hips moving to meet mine. Either way, I sheathe myself inside her and unleash my seed deep into her womb. It won't plant a seed, as Lady Mara handles that for me. She normally does things the other way around, but she can just as easily prevent the seed from taking root. It's not as much as a threat with this woman, past her prime breeding age, but more so for the two naked Septas on either side of her, both leaking my cum from their freshlyfucked cunts.
After the first night, Father had laughed and patted me on the back for bedding two Septas, laughing that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Oberyn raised a mocking toast to me. The septas' explanations that this was done for logistical reasons was both laughed at and frowned at, as some believed I'd fed them some lies about them needing to bed me, abusing their faith.
Then, when the Hungers came, the two Septas I'd bedded shone like the summer sun and warded off the darkness. The fatigue-draining aspect of the Hungers was driven away, as they healed the injured with far greater effect than before. Nobody laughed or frowned when three Septas left my tent the next morning.
My legend has gained another chapter, and a bawdy one that I'm sure the bards will love. King Orys and his divine spear, piercing the faithful with my divine power.
Standing at the entrance to my tent, Lady Brienne tries very hard to pretend she isn't watching out of the corner of her eyes. I am almost amused by how the others went 'well, she's the Knight of the Mother, she should be the one there for this'. My Kingsguard are around, of course, but she's my direct guard at the moment.
Pulling out of the Septa, I let her recover her breath as I grab the closest of the two giggling audience and pull her on top of my previous partner, face to face as I retake the girl from behind.
A King's work truly is never done.
– Later –
I cannot deny that a cold fear grips my chest as I wait for the signal.
I've fought before. Several times since starting this march, but usually I fight with a bow. It's a smart choice, away from the danger, with my Kingsguard between me and everything that wants to hurt me.
This time, I clutch a sword tightly as we all lay in wait. The guards of the Gate of the Moon aren't firing down at us. They aren't manning the defences. It's not tactically sound of them, but madness rarely is. Ask the Targaryens. But, if the fight is to be indoors, then I can't just hide at the back with a bow.
I didn't come this far to cower.
Time seems to drag by, seconds stretched to minutes as we wait to see if Lord Royce and Melisandre can deliver. As the gates creak open and a red ball of light fires into the sky, I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding and we begin the charge before anyone can wake to stop us.
The Gate of the Moon has been an orgy of debauchery, depravity and madness, and the once-proud defenders are mostly just laid around, passed out in the aftermath of whatever chaos they were causing during the daylight hours. It doesn't stop them from reacting to the sound of armoured feet pounding our way inside.
Father, despite his size, is the first in the fray. A guard wearing a once sky-blue, now stained black brigandine, rushes him with a crazed expression. That same crazed face meets a hammer, then the inner wall before his head bursts like an overly-ripe pumpkin.
Father doesn't even stop to wipe the gore from his helmet as he charges in.
"Protect the King!" Barristan bellows as we meet the first signs of organised resistance. We literally caught them with their pants down, most of them not even dressed, but whatever self-preservation they once had is long gone now as they charge us, some armed with swords and spears, some with kitchen knives and woodcutting axes and others don't bother with weapons at all.
And yet, a man with no fear for his own life can do a lot of damage before he perishes. All sensible combat doesn't apply here, how do you fight men who will throw themselves onto your sword just to claw out your eyes?
The first to reach me is armed with a literal rock he must have found on the ground, and with a swing of my sword, I show Barristan that he hasn't been wasting his mornings as my blade carves open the man from hipbone to the opposite shoulder, my shield knocking the man back at the same time as I step over him and continue my run.
Balon stabs the man in the heart as we move forward, unwilling to risk leaving even a gurgling, dying man at our back. Wise, given the circumstances.
It isn't a fight, once we're inside. Not really.
I watch Eddard slice a man in two, the top half just… flopping off. Sandor kills a man by grabbing him and smashing his head against the castle walls. Oberyn laughs as he dances between blows, each strike of Bitter Mercy ending another life.
This is a massacre.
Step, shield, stab. Another man dies, his unarmoured thigh cut deep with my blessed steel blade. A slash slices his throat, ending his suffering quicker as the blood rushes to my ears.
Barristan's training serves me well… but it was for fighting knights. For fighting people who wanted to live. These lunatics are throwing themselves onto our blades, dying with crazed smiles showing off bloodstained teeth.
If this is war, I don't enjoy it.
"INVADERS!" A female voice bellows out as the fighting slows, a confusion spreading through our ranks as a woman with dark grey skin approaches us, wielding a mace of a material I don't recognise. Her armour is made from the same, but… well, I would hardly call it armour. The chest piece barely covers her bosom, leaving her upper chest and stomach entirely on display and the skirt barely reaches her midthighs. It looks like a mockery of armour, made to entice not to fight. "You dare invade the realm of the Duchess of Dementia?! By the Mad God, you will die here. Dark Seducers, to me!"
It looks less funny when one becomes twenty, foes appearing from seemingly nowhere. The veil between this world and the Shivering Isles has grown thin here, and Hircine warns me that conjuration is possible for those with the know-how.
And Gods by damned, it looks like Lysa knows how.
As the swarm of barely-dressed women charge us, two things happen. Some of the men, loyal and proud knights, hesitate to strike a woman. The first who does this doesn't live to learn from his mistake as one of those blackened maces strikes his chestplate and crushes it, and his chest.
Brienne, funnily enough, doesn't share their reticence as she kicks at the one charging her, her armoured foot meeting soft belly and knocking the woman back. Before she can recover, the Knight of the Mother lunges and brings down her blade with a shout, removing head from shoulders as the body… fades.
Secondly, the one who spoke at the beginning chants and glows with purple light and I give out a shout to Harrold. Despite the chaos, he hears me and as I drop my sword, he tosses me my bow and an arrow. Catching it, I take aim and shoot the arrow in an instant, watching it fly between three different heads to strike true. If she's going to leave her organs exposed, she can't blame me for putting an arrow in them.
And yet, the second it took was a second too long as the woman stumbles back but lets out a shout in a language that is as foreign as it is grating.
I'd like it to be known that I have never actually seen a crocodile before. I've read about them in my books, heard that they can be found in the rivers of Sothoryos and the Summer Isles. I've seen an illustration done by a travelling Maester.
But in that illustration, it wasn't walking on two legs… and it certainly wasn't nine feet tall.
The creature- a Daedroth, the Gods supply- lets out an ear-shattering roar as it charges at us. The first poor fool brave enough to stand in its way learns that regular steel is no match for daedric scales, his blow scratching rather than slicing.
The Daedroth responds by eating his head in a single bite.
My second arrow flies free and true, Valyrian steel tip piercing its eyeball as it lets out a shriek. That worked a little too well, because now the nine foot tall maneating crocodile from the daedric planes is charging right at me without a care in the world for anything else. Sandor is batted aside, his stomach torn open by its claws, Oberyn's spear strikes true and the fucker just keeps running, taking the spear with it as it is yanked from the Viper's hand.
Dropping my bow, I grab my sword again and ready myself as the Kingsguard move in front of me despite the opposition.
It doesn't reach them.
"DIE, YOU SCALY CUNT!"
Not exactly the words of the great bards, but effective all the same when bellowed by the Demon of the Trident as he meets the monster's charge with one of his own. It takes a brave man to stand in the Daedroth's way.
A braver one to see it charging and decide 'Fuck that, it's my turn'.
Father's swing isn't aimed at the beast, but at the end of the spear currently sticking out of it, treating the thing like a nail in need of a hammering as he smashes Stendarr's Hammer down on Bitter Mercy and forces it all the way through the Daedroth which lets out a roar of pain and anger as father's hammer meets scaled stomach. The charge stops, knocking the creature back a single step.
That's a blow that I've seen crush armour like it was made of wet paper, and yet the Daedroth merely lost its monumentum from the strike.
"Come on, you bastard!" Father bellows, swinging again as he strikes at the creature's knee with speeds that someone that large with a hammer that big really shouldn't be allowed to move at, and the monster lets out a roar of unmistakable pain as we all hear the crunch and watch the creature fall onto a shattered knee.
And yet, it is far from done as it grabs him with both arms, claws scratching the detailing on his new armour. Knowing that those claws can shred regular armour, I think my foresight for making my father his own set of blessed steel but it simply raises one hand and rips off his helmet, raising him to its large, gaping maw as it crushes his arms against his body.
Father responds by headbutting the chin.
Either he's insane, or he has a level of faith in the one watching his back as Eddard Stark lunges forward with a shout, Ice swinging downwards in a move I suspect many an executed fool in Winterfell saw at the very end.
Ice cleaves through air, scale and bone with that one single swing, and Father falls back to the floor as two scaly arms hit the ground.
Then he headbutts it again, before swinging his hammer and smashing it against the side of the creature's head, sending it topping to the ground.
It tries to rise.
Try being the key word in that sentence as Stendarr's hammer is reintroduced to the elongated head of the monster again and again until there is no head left to strike, Father panting with a savage grin on his lips.
Spotting a 'Dark Seducer' staring at my father in disbelief, I shake myself and am privately glad that I'm not the only fool left gawking at the return of the Demon.
Then Dacey grabs the other woman and rips her in two with her bare hands. Claws. Paws.
…heh, bear hands.
Damn it, time and a place, Orys.
Still, with the main monster dead, and the Dark Seducers deciding that showing off their belly buttons was more important than being armoured, the day is ours and as the last of their number falls and the Septas begin healing the wounded, including a grumpy Sandor, the cheers begin.
Now, all that remains is the climb to the Eyrie.
…for the first issue.
— Bonus Scene — Tyrion Lannister
In truth, he adored his new role. Not least of which was because he got to sit opposite his father and force the bitter old man to treat him as an equal. They were both Lords, after all, both members of the Small Council.
The loss of his position as 'heir' still stung, but only faintly. In truth, he'd long known that if he was the last Lannister who could possibly inherit Casterly Rock, his father would grab a pickaxe and dig away until the entire thing fell into the sea. Watching his father's face twitch every time Tyrion was referred to as Lord Lannister was worth his weight in gold.
Lord Tyrion Lannister, of House Lannister of King's Landing. It really did have a nice ring to it.
As Orys said, he got to sit around, fuck Shae eight times a day… oh, and drag King's Landing into modernity at the same time. The smell had actually begun to lessen, just somewhat. Aegon might have been a powerful warrior and King, but the man knew nothing about proper waste management. It was going to be a long project to get King's Landing to the level he wanted it to be, but he had time, resources and the support of Orys the Blessed/Smith/Healer/Lover (depending on who you asked). Even Cersei, as much as she looked like she was resisting the urge to physically strangle him sometimes, supported his efforts 'as long as you do not embarrass your far-too-generous King, imp'. She was sweet like that.
So yes, his life was rather pleasant. He had Ser Bronn, the first knight in service to his house. An empire of brothels. A lover who was as beautiful as she was witty. And, for the first time, the genuine respect of his peers. Yes, his father spoke to him exclusively through gritted teeth and Cersei twitched in a most amusing way whenever she had to deal with him, but the others saw his appointment as wise, praised his efforts and for the first time, he was more than just 'the dwarf'.
It was only natural then that he would take offence to the idea of something that could put a stop to all of that in a single moment.
Standing in the underbelly of the Dragonpit, he stared at the dusty jars with wide eyes and a pale face.
"Varys, please tell me the workers were wrong," Tyrion asked quietly.
"...I fear I cannot. Those are, undoubtedly, wildfire jars," Varys replied, his usual simpering soft voice deathly serious. He wasn't even doing his half-whispering thing this time.
"Aerys?" Tyrion asked.
"He did keep the Pyromancer Rossart in his closest confidence, even to the very end. He even made the man his Hand of the King," Varys explained. "I… have no idea how safe it is to even move the jars."
"Why wouldn't he have used these in the final battles if he had so many? Why just hide them all in the Dragonpit?" Tyrion asked, before he paused and let out a curse. "They're not just in the Dragonpit, are they?"
"Almost certainly not," Varys confirmed. "...a thought occurs to me."
"More than one, I hope. Preferably on how to remove hundreds of jars that are likely to blow us all to pieces," Tyrion replied bluntly.
"I'm afraid not. Your brother is an honourable man, despite his moniker. Did he ever explain why he chose to murder the King?" Varys asked, causing Tyrion to freeze as he ran every detail through his mind.
"Oh, for the love of-" Tyrion cursed in realisation. Did Jaime know these were down here? In truth, he'd half believed Jaime had murdered Aerys on his fathers orders but if not then could it be possible that Jaime had learnt of some mad plot and taken matters into his own hands, even if it meant breaking his vows.
"He did hunt down Rossert and several other pyromancers in the aftermath," Varys informed him.
As Tyrion stared at the jars, he had never felt so conflicted. If this was true, then Jaime was a hero who saved the city. Who then decided to, for reasons that only made sense to him, not tell anyone about it or the countless jars of highly explosive wildfire beneath their feet.
Jaime and his new wife had better have already produced an heir because when Tyrion saw him next, he was going to punch his idiotically heroic brother, hard.
And the advantage to being a half-man is that every straight hook was aimed at the natural weak spot of all men.
But first, he had an entire city to search, and a council meeting to call.
Orys had entrusted them with King's Landing. Tyrion didn't intend to let him down.
Besides, he hadn't finally gotten his life moving in a direction he was happy with only for a Mad King to blow it all to hell from beyond the grave. He refused to let fate beat him the moment he let his guard down a second time.