I thought it would be nice to have a thread with few good GoT short fics and I'm interested in writing them too.

You all know the rules.

Target: Anybody
Prompt: "Joffrey is a terrible person, yes, but he's a great king too."
Length: ~1000 words

And like I mentioned I will take a challenge.

 

Target: Anyone
Prompt: Arya kills Joffrey. The more creatively and violently, the better.
Length: Shouldn't take her too long.

 

Prompt: "Sometimes, you just have to believe in the good in people."
Target: 1,000-1,500 words

 

Target: Anyone
Prompt: "Winter is no longer coming. It has already arrived"
Target: Whatevers convienent

 

From the Journal of Jenna
​

Everybody liked the old King. He was a simple man and anyone who looked upon him would understand him fully. He is remembered fondly, even now, as a sort of genial red-faced grandfather, his greatest deeds long since faded away into history, along with his strength and his mind. Everyone liked his great big booming laugh and his wide infections smiles.

No one likes to see the new King smile.

When his heritage was called into question, just after he had taken the throne, and the Seven Kingdoms were plunged into civil war, I remember thinking that I knew exactly what King Robert would do. Robert would have been on the front lines; a great inspiration to all as he led his troops into battle, his great big hammer in hand. But Joffrey only went into the Red Keep and closed the doors behind him. He was young and untested, and the people of King's Landing called him craven.

But the thing is... Whereas his father's mind had been a hammer, bashing away at any problem until it went away, King Joffrey's mind was more like a corkscrew. And if his mind did not work as other men's did, then that was just as well, since he was not destined to be a normal man. If his mind was twisted then it allowed him to twist his way around problems in ways that no normal man would think of. Perhaps his mind is less like a corkscrew, and more like one of the sharp strange devices that can be found in the hidden halls underneath the Red Keep. Perhaps it is his frequent use of these halls that has made him so adept at taking things apart.

He took Stannis Baratheon apart.

The war was won quicker and more decisively than anyone had expected, with King Joffrey directing the whole thing from his chambers. "He's Tywin's spawn all right," men would say, remembering both how he won the war using his quill rather than a sword, and the way he meticulously pruned the family tree afterwards, eradicating any trace of Stannis Baratheon. The Rains of Castamere went out of style as a new song took its place. It had an awful melody, but every line is burned into my memory, as a client of mine asked me to perform it for him.

When thought weak, the young stag strikes;
the Storm is ended, drowned in sin;
and in the Keep on an iron spike
Stannis finally found his grin.

When men slammed tankards together they would praise both 'the New King and the True King', meaning Joffrey Baratheon and Tywin Lannister. This joke went on for five years, until Tywin fell ill and all but disappeared. It was then remembered that this illness seemed peculiarly similar to the one that had taken King Robert and forced young Joffrey to take the throne. That was when people stopped making jokes about the King.

I was there, when he announced that the North had rebelled. By mere chance I was close enough to see his face and hear his voice, rather than to have his words repeated back to me at the back of the crowd. At the age of thirty, King Joffrey looked nothing at all like his robust father. He was perpetually skinny, his face growing gaunt as he aged. I'd seen his father often enough, and I knew that his eyes had been constantly muddled by drink and dullness of mind. But when the new King's gaze passed over me, for but a brief moment, I felt as though my face would melt off, just like Stannis'.

I could not hear any anger in his voice as he told us how Lord Brandon Stark had declared himself King in the North. "They think they can withstand us," he said, "they think they are out of our reach." And he smiled a smile full of promises. 'They do not know what they have done,' I remember thinking. Say what you will, but in that moment I thought 'better to be a whore in King's Landing than a king in the North' and I thanked the Seven for Joffrey Baratheon.

There are those who say that Tywin is still alive, and perhaps old Robert too, stowed away in one of those hidden halls under our feet. Mind you, some people will say anything... Still, I am glad that I have a good hiding place for this account, else I would not dare put these words down. It is just the sort of rumour that would put a smile on His Grace's face.

 

Joink.



Winter is coming.

The Stark words, old as the Wall, older than anyone alive can remember.

It speaks to us of cold days, of famines and peasants rotting from inside while their arms shatter due to impossibly harsh weather.

When fires are running out faster than you can chop wood.

When the Mother Winter herself descends upon the land, breathing its cold breath, freezing with her hair and covering everything in a thick layer of snow.

You might wonder how Winter can be anyone’s mother, or how she can breathe. Marveling at the turn of a phrase, at the embellishment.

Don’t be mistaken.

As long as the Direwood speaks and the Starks dream, the Winter draws breath.

The Starks have manned the wall for thousands of years.

The North has many sayings. Most of them are half-forgotten and ignored, hoping that they wouldn’t be true. There’s so much truth in there that it’s staggering - no other part of the Seven Kingdoms remembers anything that well.

And finally, There must always be a Stark at Winterfell.

What happens if the Starks are no more?

If the oldest son has a wolf’s head? If the two boys never reached their safe havens - neither on this side of the wall, neither on the other? If the daughters never escape the capital?

Who will be the Stark in Winterfell?

Roose Bolton might fancy the name Warden of the North, but he doesn’t know what it truly means to ward the North. Nor is he in any way a Stark, however much he likes to drape himself in the slain wolf furs.

The boy on the wall isn’t it, either. There’s Stark blood in his veins, but that doesn’t change his lineage. His blood boils too strong - too unpredictable - too warm. He’s still the last hope for the Starks until his blood stains the Wall as he falls in the eve of winter.

So, when Mother Winter finally comes, she doesn’t go to him. Nor does she reach out at Eddard - nor Rob, nor Riccon, nor Brand.

She comes to me.

She breathes words to my ears, as they are frozen icicles. She runs her cold fingers down my back and makes me shiver for the first time in years.

Stark.

I might have given oaths. I might have forsaken the family name - promised many things before the old gods. But Winter is older than that. She doesn’t care.

You belong to me.

I rise to see the night fall down. I stumble to feel the cold from inside my heart - to grasp for the breath of cold air. I breathe out it even colder, and shake off a pelf of snow - so reminiscent of a giant direwolf shredding its winter fur to pieces, emerging from inside.

Finally.

The sword is lost.

The castle fallen.

The Winter smiles, and I feel her sharp smile etching words into my heart.

Take my sword.

Ice - I remember. You’d think that valyrian steel is a measure of warmth - something of Dragons and flames.

Ice is different. It’s the warmth that creeps into your heart as the cold becomes unbearable. It’s the flame with which the dead skin burns when exposed - the flame of the last breath. It’s not a valyrian steel blade - the Starks have earned it ages before valyrian steel ever made itself known in the seven kingdoms.

My frozen fingers find the hilt of the greatsword, and I remember. My brother wielded it before his son, and now, broken and destroyed it was gifted to us again.

Benjen Stark. It is time.

Brandon the Builder built the Wall - not to keep the Others out, nor to protect the realms from the wildlings. He marked the place where the Winter had fallen - after the battle which was forgotten by all but few. He build the wall to keep the Summer out of the Arctis Tor.

I straighten myself, to stand on the top of the remains of the Wall - the Horn of Joramun is echoing still, the Night’s Watch buried alive, beneath the crumble of ice.

The Giants are forming lines - the Host of the Winter Fae is gathering behind me.

Ice is burning hot in my hands.

Go, my Knight.

I bow my head to Mother Winter and take a step forward.

The army follows.

This war is as endless as the world, and there will be come a time where this army will fall and the new truce will be stuck.

But there must always be a Stark at Winterfell.

The Winter is no longer coming. It is already here.




p.s. If you really want to, swap the last sentence with It has already arrived.

 

It was a bit different than I thought it would be, but in a pleasent way I tip my hat to you Nauro.

 

Target: Anyone
Prompt: "Sansa" King Joffrey drawled. "You are to marry Ser Gregor Clegane."
Length: However long you want

 

What the fuck is wrong with you, SPO?

 

For All Seasons: Autumn​

Winterfell was busy with preparations.

King Robert was coming and everything needed to be ready for his arrival.

“We are almost done,” said Ned.

“And they are almost here,” answered Clark.

They were very close, he knew it. He could hear Lyanna's heartbeat two, maybe three hours away. It wasn't really a sound that he heard even if he perceived it that way, but it allowed him to know where she was and if she was safe. If he could do that years ago, maybe the war could be avoided.

“Jon can't wait for Lyanna's arrival,” said Ned observing him and Robb teaching Bran shooting arrows. “He thinks of her as a mother he never had.”

“And he is like a son to her,“ said Clark. “She is not happy with his plans of joining the Night's Watch.”

“It's his decision.”

“Yes, it is. That's why she's bringing a gift for him too. A sword made of Valyrian steel.”

“Robert probably is not happy with his Queen giving it away to a bastard, even if it's mine.”

“He probably doesn't care what she's doing anymore.”

He knew that Ned was torn between his best friend and his sister and both of them usually were civil to each other in his presence. But it was the only time when the King and his Queen were on speaking terms.

“I sometimes think that Robert would be a lot more happy if he married Cersei like Tywin proposed to him,” said Ned.

“Maybe,” Clark answered. “At least he would have a heir by now.”

“Do you think he will legitimize one of his bastards? Or even think of remarrying?”

“I think the only thing stopping him from doing it is your friendship.”

“And you? Are you happy with your wife?”

“I'm not unhappy,” said Clark. “Can't say the same for her though.”

“And where she is now?”

“Helping your wife in the castle. It's too cold for her to stay outside for too long.”

“Even after all these years she didn't get used to a northern weather?”

“I doubt she ever will,” Clark said.

“Father!”

“Yes, Sansa?” Asked Ned.

“Arya disappeared. Again,” complained his oldest daughter.

“Where is your sister?” he asked his sons.

“With Joffrey,” said Robb. “He is giving her 'dancing' lessons.”

“She hasn't given up yet?” asked surprised Ned. “I though that after the last time she would have enough of it.”

“She is too stubborn to give up,” said Jon.

“But the King will be here soon and she's not ready,” informed Sansa.

“I will go get them both,” said Clark and went where he knew they were practicing.

Ned wasn't happy about his daughter's desire to learn fencing, but he let her for two reasons. One he wanted his daughter to be happy and two he thought that these lessons could make it easier for him to convince her to marry Joffrey one day.

For his part Clark was happy too that his son connected at least with one of the Starks, but sometimes wondered how much of his help was because he liked Arya and how much was because he found someone who willingly let him beat them. But then he remembered what his mother always told him.

“Sometimes, you just have to believe in the good in people.”

And that how he treated his son, even if he wasn't truly his son.

He knew it because he couldn't have children with humans.

Clark was a last son of his race and nothing could change that. It didn't stop him from trying to be a good father.

He quickly found them and observed as Arya attacked Joffrey. He easily disarmed her in most painful, but not harmful way. Then he lecture her about her mistakes and she tried again to hit him with a wooden sword.

Her stubbornness reminded him of Lyanna.

He knew why she and Robert were coming to Winterfell. Both of the reasons.

One wasn't a secret really. Jon Arryn wanted to retire from his position as the Hand of the King and Robert wanted Ned to take his place.

The other though he only learned because of his close friendship with one of the members of the small council.

Even far in the North everybody heard about Mother of dragons and her crusade against slavery. And everybody knew that once she is done with it, she would return to Westeros for what she thought was rightfully hers.

Robert didn't want to wait. He was planning to send an army to help her enemies in Essos, but he knew that no army has a chance against dragons.

No, to deal with them he needed someone blessed by gods and that person was Clark.

People knew about some of his abilities. Only Lyanna knew about all of them and even she wasn't aware of how powerful he was slowly becoming.

When he was younger and discovered them for a first time, he was afraid how everyone will react and for a good reason.

And then he used them in front of the whole court to save his friend and his father. He failed and was captured.

To his surprise when the war ended people didn't think of him as a monster. For one reason or another, everybody assumed that he was blessed by Seven and accepted him for who he was.

He wasn't sure if it was just a luck or someone helped him, but it was one less problem for him to have.

“Arya! Joffrey!” He made his presence known. “The King is almost here. You need to get ready.”

He sometimes wondered how his life would be if Robert agreed to marry Cersei. Would everyone be more happy than they were now?

He wouldn't need to pretend that he doesn't know of his wife infidelity.

Lyanna would stay in the North, watching over her son even if she couldn't be a mother to him.

Robert would have a wife that could give him a heir and was more agreeable with him.

Cersei would finally be a queen she always wanted to be and she wouldn't need to live in the North that she hated.

Or maybe a fate would make them as much miserable as they were now, only in different ways.

That he didn't know. What he knew though was that he appreciated the peaceful time he had in past few years.

But Starks were right, the winter was coming and for some reason he was sure that it wasn't Mother of dragons that they should be worried about.

 

Ah, it's that story with Braniac, right? From the plot bunnies? Seems a bit exposition heavy, so far. Have anything more?

 

Half of it till the end of the Rebellion. And I'm not sure if I would use Brainiac for the main villain in this one too.

And no, I have nothing more. I just wrote it as what if Clark was married Cersei because the line in the challenge was quite fitting to this scenario.

 

I think the relationship dynamics are interesting enough, now that the marriages are redistributed like that but I honestly don't see the appeal of having Superman there. What could anyone do that would be a problem to him?

Still, good one shot, definitely interesting. Am curious to see where the Superman thing would lead though. Either he carves a new order out with his vastly power, which would be interesting but sorta boring after a while or he doesn't due to morals and ethics, which would be frustrating.

Thanks for sharing though.

 

It's a matter of scaling his power and challenges as he gets older.

At first he was simply stronger than most people. Then when the Rebellion happened he was strong as five people. Now he is strong as a dragon and that's why they are his challenge. His next challenge would be the Others and magic.

And I'm not sure if he would want to create a new order in the Seven Kingdoms. He fights for Truth and Justice (motto of his family and names of ancestral swords of House Kent), but considering his upbringing it's Northern Way, not American Way for him.

But there is a matter of what technological knowledge from his world he should share with everybody. I was planning to avoid this by having AI Jor-El explain that the last time Kryptonians did it, it ended badly for everybody involved and he should let them discover things on their own.

 

It may be better to completely ignore problem - this explanation is rather poor. just because that something failed once it is not a good reason to never again attempt doing something similar.

Or maybe go with that of multiple attempts almost always it ended in disaster, rather than go with a sample size of one attempt?

 

It's good explanation when if you fail you will probably kill millions or annihilate the whole race depending how unlucky you are.

 

Target: Anyone

Prompt: Cersei stood next to her horse, in dirty breeches and a loose shirt, her hair tied back in a ponytail. If Robert still loved Lyanna, as she could tell when he called her the dead Stark girl's name when he was drunk, fucking her, then screw it, she was going to be Lyanna.

Length: However long you want

 

Cersei stood next to her horse, in dirty breeches and a loose shirt, her hair tied back in a ponytail. If Robert still loved Lyanna, as she could tell when he called her the dead Stark girl's name when he was drunk, fucking her, then screw it, she was going to be Lyanna.

*

"Why?" asked Jaime who observed his sister from afar.

"What why?"

"Why is she doing it?"

"Because dear brother, our sister has a plan," answered Tyrion.

"And that plan that makes her behave as a wildling?"

"Apparently."

"What's her goal?"

"To make the King love her as he loved the Stark girl."

"Will it work?"

"It just may," said Tyrion. "She knows that she can't compete with a remembrance. But she can replace it. It will not happen tomorrow or even next year, but one day King Robert will think about his beloved and it will be only Cersei's face that he remembers. And from that day our dear sister will finally be the only woman in his heart."

"It's not really about getting Robert though, is it? She simply wants to get even with a woman that dared to challenge her."

"Even if said woman is no more than a ghost, yes."

They both watched Cersei, dirty and tired, once again sit on a horse to continue her ride.

"I will never understand women."

"Neither will I, dear brother. Neither will I."

 

Valar Morghulis.

All men must die.

Whether king or beggar, soldier or septa - all were gifted in the end, one way or another, as she had been. It was the only truth that mattered, that never changed.

She didn’t open her eyes. Instead, she tasted. The air was not filled with the salt of the sea, so familiar for so many years now. No, instead she felt the cold and smelt the wilderness. This was familiar too, though long forgotten. Would she remember? Who was she? Not Cat or Beth or Nan, no. Was she someone or was she No One?

She opened her eyes and saw the face carved into the heart tree crying tears of blood. She smiled. Without hesitation, she took the familiar path back to a place called Winterfell, idly noting how her body was that of a child.

Fear cuts deeper than swords.

The walls stood tall and proud, unsullied by fire or the ambition of kings.

A boy ran up to her - whole and grinning and innocent - and said, “Arya, Mother is looking for you!”

She only nodded and watched the boy race away, quickly climbing one of the walls.

Arya. Yes. She was Arya Stark and this was Winterfell and her family - ungifted and whole.

Smiling to herself, she whispered,“Valar Morghulis.”

Perhaps the Many-Faced God had deemed her service acceptable to grant her this.

She was Arya Stark and she had some gifts to give to so many, many people.

___________________________________

The first to receive the gift was Prince Joffrey.

He was as cruel a twisted little fuck as Arya remembered - and just as stupid as he was spoiled. Like before, Sansa was utterly taken in by his charm. It made Arya want to cut off his cock, gorge out his eyes and gut him, but she desisted. Patience and planning and only then the fun, she told herself.

In the end, it was far too easy. For everyone had a weakness and, at the core of it, Prince Joffrey was a little boy who wanted his father to be proud of him.

Arya Stark woke early that day and spent most of the time in the woods, gathering the necessary ingredients or preparing the scene. Slitting Joffrey’s throat would have been much simpler and much more satisfying, but it would also have brought too many problems upon Winterfell. Besides, this was no simple gift. No, this would be an elaborate one.

Then Arya Stark slept for some time and in her place appeared a young servant named Derik. Derik was a small boy, not very strong, but quick and fast in his duty of serving House Baratheon.

“He told me to give it to you when no one else was present, my prince,” Derik bowed. “A gift, His Grace said, from father to son.”

A spark of interest appeared in Joffrey’s eyes as he eagerly began to open the letter. Then his gaze fell upon the bowing Derik and he scowled.

“Get out of here, scum!” He kicked Derik with one foot, and the servant fell down to the floor. Then the prince turned away, uncaring as the servant bowed out of the room, still clutching his ribs in obvious pain.


Joffrey, my son,

it is time for you to become a man. Like I became a man, so will you. Take the horse in the stable saddled for you this night and ride it to the place marked on the map that I have included. I have a surprise for you waiting there that will be to your liking. Tell no one and take no one with you, not even the Hound. This is a tradition of House Baratheon and only true Baratheons like you may engage in it. It gives us Baratheons our strength.

I know I will be proud of you, boy.

Your father,

King Robert.


Alysia the Whore awaited the Prince Joffrey in a small, secluded hut in the Wolfswood. It was sometimes used by hunters, but had been specially changed for this occasion. Candles burned brightly in the darkness, giving off a faint, sweet smell. Covers of black and yellow silk covered a bed. Alysia the Whore did not know who had prepared this hut this way, but she did not need to. She had been paid handsomely by a royal servant and given explicit instructions in the name of the queen on how to entertain her son for the night.

“I was to give you this, my prince. Instructions, I was told,” Alysia the Whore handed Joffrey the letter that was left with her, leaning forward in such a way as to deliberately show off her assets. The gown she wore was better than all the others she possessed and she was assured that she could keep it after educating the prince this night. It covered little, but accentuated much. And it also seemed to work well, if the bulge in the prince’s breeches was any indication.

And so began the night. The prince was an eager little boy and cruel besides, though Alysia managed to divert his attention to more pleasurable activities; she knew well how to deal with such males and they were no different, whether highborn or peasant. Drunk on wine, she collapsed in the bed and woke only hours later. The prince was nowhere in sight. Perhaps she ought to give him an extra lesson? Decided, she searched for him, but she did not expect to find what she did. Alysia the Whore ran as fast as she could back home, completely horrified.

Arya woke up late that morning. It did not take her long to recognize that something was afoot. But she was not Arya Underfoot for nothing. Quickly, she found a young servant boy and, munching on fresh-baked bread, got the whole story.

“Joffrey the Deer-Fucker? Really?” she asked with incredulous shock.

Apparently, it was all over the castle. Prince Joffrey rode to some secluded cabin in the woods, fucked a whore - who was right now telling all the world of Joffrey Baratheon’s shame - and engaged in some black magic ritual that had him fucking a deer in the process.

“It is true. I heard it myself from some of the king’s men who found him. There was a circle made of blood on the ground and candles burning around it. The knights said that he was as naked as a babe, with his cock in the deer and covered in blood. It seems that the deer did him in. The maester says he was trampled to death. Rumor is that they found evidence that it was the queen’s will that urged him to this insanity.”

Arya thanked him and spent the rest of the day watching the reactions of the people. Sansa was horrified at what her charming prince had done, a rather common reaction among the people of Winterfell upon hearing the news about Joffrey's death. Or perhaps the will of the gods for such a hideous act, people whispered. King Robert was furious, in any case.

“Where is my wife?!” Perhaps the rumors about it being her fault were something King Robert believed? Arya certainly hoped so - it had not been quite that easy to forge the letter in the queen’s hand she had planted on Joffrey. Or to exchange it for the other forged letter she had written in the name of the king.

“I believe I saw her going into the First Keep this morning, Your Grace,” Arya commented in a helpful voice. She looked on as the king got up and stormed out, his guards behind him. Ours is the Fury, indeed, and what a sweet fury it would be. Arya only hoped that Queen Cersei and her brother liked the spiked wine she had prepared for them. She turned to Bran and engaged him in conversation. Arya would keep her brother close for now. There was no need to take risks, after all.

The pack was complete and together and Arya would do everything to make it stay that way, even if it took a bit more effort and planning than just gutting Joffrey and being done with it. She smiled. Drugged wine was not something she liked to use. But it had worked marvelously with Joffrey. She perked up as she heard loud yelling from the direction of the First Keep. It seemed that it had worked just as well with the queen and her brother.

Valar Dohaeris.

Arya Stark served well. And she had many, many gifts to give.



___________________________

AN: Tried my hand at this. Hope it was creative and vicious enough, though it's my first try at ASoIaF.

 

Would've prefered a more hack and slashy approach, but that probably wouldn't have been very subtle. Well done!