tikific: (Default)
[personal profile] tikific
Title: A Song of Pie and Fire (Mythklok Interstitial)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Story time with Lady Raziel.
Warnings: Lots of stupid Game of Thrones references, so there might be spoilers if you haven't read the books and have any idea what's going on.


“What is it, Sariel?”

“There is no such thing as the Song of Pie and Fire.”

“Of course there is,” tutted the little angel. “It is a beloved series of sword and sorcery novels!”

“Wanna hear da sords!” piped up Raziel's young daughter, Abby, who already fancied sword dueling and the like.

“An da maddick!” agreed her redheaded twin, Liam.

“Seeeeee?” taunted Raziel as she settled herself on the sofa in one of Valhalla's many comfortable sitting rooms.

Charles sat down beside her. “I suppose you wanna hear too?” Charles asked his young son, who had gathered on the floor next to his cousins and their various pets.

“Uh-HUH!” Elias nodded. He liked his Auntie's stories.

“Traitor,” grumbled Charles, who most certainly did not.

“Sooooo,” began Raziel, “there was a mighty lord of the North, Nathaniel Starksplosion, who everybody called Ned....”

“How do you get “Ned' from 'Nathaniel?'” asked Charles.

“Start with an N and add E-D. Anyways, one day, the king came to visit...”


“Uhhhh, yeah, I know, King Shiva dude,” said Ned. “Remember, we have like a big long backstory of bro-hood before you threw it all away to become the king dude?

“I come to you in a time of great need, friend Nathaniel Starksplosion,” continued the blue king of stuff.

“Uh, yeah. Hey, do you think you could keep your entourage guys from STRIPPING MY CASTLE?” he asked, as several of King Shiva's retainers pulled down a wall hanging from MetalFell's great hallway.

“King Shiva is troubled, friend Nathaniel Starksplosion,” continued Shiva, now tugging a resisting Ned down the hallway. “Shiva has come to you for a reason!”

“You wanna filch all my good silverware?” asked Ned.

“Shiva's closest advisor, the Leather Glove of the King, has been killed!”

“Oh, that John dude?” asked Ned.

“John? No, John died under mysterious circumstances many years ago,” explained King Shiva.

“Oh, all right, then who came after John as the Leather Glove of the King?”

“That was Phil.”

“So Phil was killed?” asked Ned.

“Oh, no, friend Ned Starksplosion! Phil passed away in a bizarre gardening accident some years ago.”

“Uh, then the guy after Phil?”

“Alastair,” answered King Shiva.

“Alastair?” asked Ned hopefully. Shiva had pulled them both into the Starksplosion family crypt, where their conversation was being watched by the spooky stone effigies of Ned's ancestors, glaring down at them.

“Alastair spontaneously combusted!” announced Shiva cheerily. “And then Shiva hired N'Rileieh, who was unfortunately devoured by wolverines. And then there was Bashir, caught in a stamped of Thompson's gazelles. And Calabasas, who died of bad humors.”

“Uh, Shiva dude,” said Ned, “Did all your Leather Glove dudes end up KILLED IN HORRIBLE WAYS?”

“Yes, Ned Starksplosion! Absolutely all of Shiva's Leather Glove of the Kings have unfortunately passed away in record-breakingly gruesome manners!”

“Huh,” said Ned. “Well, that actually sounds pretty AWESOME. Are there CHICKS down there at Tyrant's Landing?”

Shiva winked. “Stick with King Shiva, my boy.”

“METAL! King Shiva dude, you have got yourself a new LEATHER GLOVE OF THE KING!”

“So you will come to Tyrant's Landing with me?”

“Fuck yeah,” promised Ned. “I'll come, and I'll BRING THE KIDS!”

“So, uh, you and you. You're my kids, right?” said Ned, as two motley young people slouched before him.



“So, I'm gonna take my bravest son and my prettiest daughter...”

“Uh, Dad, Sansoki is a son,” said an annoyed looking lad with long silvery hair.

“Oh, you're a boy?” Lord Ned asked the kid he'd taken for a daughter.

“Ja, I ams Sansoki!” trilled the same.

“He's got a mustache,” sighed the silver-haired boy.

“OK, I'm bringing Sansoki, and whoever the hell you are,” corrected Ned.

“I'm Sarya,” said the silvery teen, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah. Sansoki and Sarya. You're coming with me!”

“Coming with you where?” asked Sarya.

“To TYRANT'S LANDING. And I know it's totally lame and not metal, but there are CHICKS there. Uhhhh, not that either of you looks interested in chicks....”

“But I don't wanna go!” whined Sarya. “I wanna stay here and poke things with a sword.”

“Kid, do you HAVE a sword?” asked Ned, green eyes narrowing.

“No! Because you won't give me one!”

“Then how are you gonna STAB STUFF?” taunted Ned.

“I don't wanna go!” insisted Sarya.

Ned, who was not a small man, walked over very close to Sarya. He loomed over him, like the judgment of the Seven Gods, fixing an eye on him. “Smart ass. You wanna be MY DAUGHTER instead of my son?”

“Er,” said Sarya.

“OK, you're going! PACK YOUR SHIT!” ordered Ned.

Lord Ned of MetalFell stormed out, leaving Sarya grumbling and making stabbing motions empty hand. Sansoki, by contrast twirled around with giddy happiness.

“Oh, you think I ams meets da handksome prince?” asked Sansoki.

“What, you mean that guy?” asked Sarya, pointing to the sneering Prince Joffgaar, who had just arrived on horseback, intentionally knocking down peasants as he rode.

“Pffft!” sneered Prince Joffgaar, tossing his reigns to one stable boy and punching another stable boy in the balls as he stalked off.

“Uh, Sansoki, Prince Joffgaar seems like a big douche,” confessed Sarya.

“No! Ams handksome ands chivarousk,” argued Sansoki.

“Sansoki, the guy has two facial expressions: sneery and sneerier!”

“You ams just jealousk!”

“And did you notice the prince looks NOTHING like King Shiva?” wondered Sarya. “Doesn't that strike you as weird?”

“You ams dat brats, and you deserves to gets poked wit' da swords!” said Sansoki, who stormed off.

Sarya stood alone for a time, twining some of his long silvery hair around a finger. “Fuck, I hate having long hair,” he grumbled.

“Hey, Scharya!”

“Oh, hey MurderJon,” sighed Sarya. Unlike others of his family, Sarya actually liked Ned's bastard son. However, MurderJon was a big downer, and just the person he least wanted to see now that he was already depressed.

MurderJon sighed deeply. “I know everybody hatesch me becausche I'm a baschtard.”

“Uh, no, MurderJon, actually everybody hates you because you're a big dildo,” Sarya told him.

“Oh, well, I gotta admit, that'sch true,” said MurderJon, ruffing Sarya's silvery hair.

“Hey! You know I hate people touching my hair. So, what did you want, MurderJon?” asked Sarya.

“Well, asch the official baschtard, it's my duty to leave forever, and take my schtation up with the black brotherhood on the Darkschide of the Wall.”

“Oh, no, an art rock concept album!” sympathized Sarya.

“Yesch, it isch to be my fate. Only legitimate schonsch are metal enough to run MetalFell! But before I go, I had the armourersch make schomething for you, asch you are my favorite brother.”

“Oh. Uh, yeah. I dunno if we'll be able to take it to Tyrant's Landing,” hedged Sarya. He hoped it wasn't something like an iron maiden: MurderJon loved gruesome torture devices, especially ones with cool names.

“Oh, you don't think you'll wanna take thisch?” asked MurderJon, whipping out an awesome sword.

“That's an awesome sword!” said Sarya.

“Yeah,” said MurderJon. “I heard there's a bunch of backschtabbing baschtardsch down in Tyrant'sch Landing, scho I figured I'd give you a head start on the stabbing part.”

“I already know someone I wanna stab,” said Sarya, taking up the blade and thinking of Joffgaar.

“You be careful around that prinsche,” warned MurderJon. “I don't like his schneer.”

“Goodbye, MurderJon! And thanks!” said Sarya. They moved as if to hug, and then both decided not to, as that would be too gay, so Sarya raised his hand, but MurderJon didn't take it.

“I think I'll schake the hand without the schword, if you pleasche,” laughed MurderJon, dodging the blade.

“This place sucks,” grumbled Sarya as he watched his father's men bring their stuff in from the wagons and into the palace at Tyrant's Landing.

“Ams romanticsal!” trilled Sansoki, who Sarya knew was just hanging around so he could “bump into” Prince Joffgaar.

“Why do you still like that guy?” asked Sarya. “He was a complete jerk on the trip down!”

“Hims ams misunderstoods!”

“He was rude....” ticked off Sarya.

“Hims ams brash!”

“He was arrogant....” continued Sarya.

“Ams darings!”

“Sansoki, he strangled your kitten!”

“Maybes my kittens deserved to be stranglesed!” said Sansoki, who could be damnably stubborn. “Oh, looks,” Sansoki gushed, “it ams hims!”

Indeed, Prince Joffgaar had just come striding into the room. He had no sooner arrived than he kicked one of Ned Explostark's men in the balls for no reason.

“Oh Joffgaar!” trilled Sansoki, who flounced eagerly over to him just as he was winding up to kick another of the hapless workers. Instead, Sansoki, gave the guy a good punch in the balls.

“Pffft,” sneered Joffgaar, and he and Sansoki went off arm in arm.

“Huh. Maybe he is a good match for the little douche,” muttered Sarya.

“Dood! You t'ink my nephew is a douche?”

Sarya jerked his head, looking in vain for the origin of the voice. He looked down: it was a queer little redheaded man, even shorter than himself.

“Uh, sorry. About that,” muttered Sarya. In trouble again, he thought.

“Naw, he is a douche bag,” laughed the little man. “Ah'm Pycklion, but folks call me da ImPickles,” he said. “Wanna hit?” he asked, proffering some kind of smoke.

Sarya waved him off. “I've heard it stunts your growth,” he said, realizing too late what a dumb thing it was to say.

“Yeh, and how!” laughed the ImPickles, hopping up on a crate to sit beside Sarya. “Are yoo one of Lord Ned's brats?”

“I'm Sarya.”

“Yoo realize yer Daddy's gaht a jawb wit' a high mortality rate?”

“Uh, yeah. He thinks that's pretty awesome.”

“Heh. Ah like Ned. Dat's why Ah'm tellin' yoo, unless he figgers out wut killed da udder Ledder Glove doods, he ain't long fer dis world.”

“Why are you warning me?” asked Sarya.

“Maybe Ah like yoo, kiddo,” said the ImPickles. “Or more prahbably, Ah'm high as a kite raight now!”

“OK,” said Sarya.

“I hate it here!” Sarya told his father.

“You think you hate it?” sighed Ned Explostark. “Geez, you should've had to sit through this stupid King's Tribunal meeting.”

“Are they all scheming backstabbers, Father?” asked Sarya, wondering who he could stab.

“Nah, but they had some EXPERT come in, I can't pronounce his FUCKING NAME. And Lord Stampingswhatever always wants to RECAP EVERYTHING. It's SO FUCKING BORING! And then the Queen, Cervetta, is sucking face with some dude the whole time.”

“Uh, not King Shiva?”

“Why would King Shiva be making out with Queen Cervetta?”

“Good question,” admitted Sarya. “Can we go back to MetalFell?”

“No, not yet, your dad has gotta go INVESTIGATE STUFF!” said Ned. “I want to find out why the last dozen or so Leather Gloves got their asses FRIED.”

“Oh, can I come?” asked Sarya.

“It'll be DIRTY AND DANGEROUS. Perfect for a fucking kid. Yeah, let's go.”


“Uh, so tell me again why we're starting our investigation at a house of ill repute, Father,” said Sarya a while later as they rode down a particularly shifty looking alleyway in Tyrant's Landing.

“DON'T YOU KNOW ANYTHING? Wait, you're a kid, so you don't know anything. YOU ALWAYS START INVESTIGATIONS IN A STRIP CLUB. It's like, a law or something.”

“If you say so,” said Sarya. He had no interest in the whorehouse, but at least he was away from horrible Joffgaar for a while. They dismounted, and Ned ambled up to the house, where Sarya saw a lot of comely, half-dressed women beckoning from the windows upstairs.

“Hey, where do you think YOU'RE GOING?” Ned demanded as Sarya started to follow him in.

“Uh,” said Sarya, who had just run into his much larger father. “Aren't I-?”

“You're staying out here? What kind of father do you think I am anyway?”

“Uh. A cool metal father?” urged Sarya.

“Hmmm. No, you're not gonna talk me into it. YOU'RE TOO YOUNG! While I'm investigating, you can go to that BLACKSMITH SHOP down the road and investigate there,” said Ned, pointing down the rutted alleyway.

“What am I supposed to investigate?”

“Out!” said Ned, who quite decisively slammed the door in Sarya's face.

Sarya sighed and, with one longing look up at the ladies, walked down the alleyway towards the blacksmith's shop. He could see sparks flaring out, so he hoped they would at least have a couple of cool swords or something to look at.

“Uh, hello?” he said at the entryway.

“Hello yourself!” came a voice. Sarya peered into the shadows.

He caught his breath.

Standing there, stripped to the waist, holding a hammer in a sexier fashion that Sarya would have ever thought possible, was the hottest guy he had ever seen.

“I am Gandry,” said the shirtless youth, pausing to let the light hit the sweat trickling down his bare chest just so. “A simple, dead sexy blacksmith peasant boy.”

“Buuuuh,” said Sarya.

Gandry came around the anvil and approached Sarya, pushing a tangle of black hair out of his face. The hair fell right back. “You're a cute little thing. Who are you?”

“I'm uh.... I'm uh....” said Sarya, who realized he had forgotten his own name. “SARYA. I'm Sarya.”

“Sarya,” repeated Gandry.

Sarya swooned. His name had never sounded so.... Well, something. It was getting very, very hard to form a thought. “Uh, you always go around without a shirt?” he asked stupidly, noticing suddenly that thoughts were not the only thing of his getting hard.

“I find smithing is hot work,” said Gandry, leaning in very, very close to Sarya. His lips were only inches away from Sarya's. They looked soft. And wet. “Very, very … hot,” breathed Gendry.

Sarya found himself wishing Gandry were wearing clothes just then, so he could have a very pleasant time tearing them off.

“Is that your sword?” inquired Gendry.

“Uh,” answered Sarya. “Oh, you mean my sword?” he asked, fumbling for the blade that MurderJon had given him. Without a second thought, Sarya, who was normally a suspiciously little jerk, handed it over to Gandry.

“Hmmmm,” said Gandry, turning the blade over in his long-fingered hands. “This is very nicely wrought. Did you come her to have me make a new one for you, Sarya?”

Sarya took a moment to reply, as he seemed to be getting googly-eyed every time Gandry said his name. “Uh, no. Actually, I'm investigating something. For my father. He's the Leather Glove of the King.”

“Oh, the king? He was good friends with my mother, or so I've heard. Very, very good friends.”

“How good?” asked Sarya.

“They would drink and talk and have frequent unprotected sexual relations,” enumerated Gandry, handing back the sword.

“Oh,” Sarya. He forced himself to quit ogling Gandry's chest for a moment and studied the boy's face. “Hey, has anybody ever told you....”

“I'm really hot?” winked Gandry.

“You look just like-?”


“Oh, hey, Father,” said Sarya. “You're done, uh, investigating already?”

“Hey, IT HAPPENS SOMETIMES!” grumbled Ned.

“Not to me,” promised Gandry.

“Uh, Father,” said Sarya. “This is Gandry, the hotsmith. I mean, uh, the blacksmith. And, uh, his mother was good friends with King Shiva.”

“Oh, uh, yeah, kid,” said Ned, flipping a coin at Gandry. “Here, buy yourself a shirt.”

Gandry mimed a “call me” to a baffled Sarya as he and his father rode off. “Father,” said Sarya, “did you notice that Gandry looks a whole lot like King Shiva.”

“Yeah, well, it wouldn't be the first time. Shiva has a lot of female 'friends' in Tyrant's Landing.”

“And Shiva's heir, Prince Joffgaar, looks nothing like King Shiva?”

“Yeah, I-” began Ned. “Huh....” he mused. “Well, I guess it doesn't matter until King Shiva DIES,” he allowed.

“Lord Ned, KING SHIVA IS DEAD!” announced a man as they rode into the palace.

“Ah, shit. That means I have to go to a FUCKING TRIBUNAL MEETING!” thundered Ned. “Go get yourself to bed, Sarya or whatever your name is. We'll talk in the morning,” he told Sarya.

Sarya sighed and started to make her way to her family's quarters in the palace. Suddenly, a small man jumped out in front of her.

“Sarya! DOOD! I have a warnin' fer yeh!”

“Yeah, I know, ImPickles. King Shiva is dead,” sighed Sarya.

“No, it ain't about King Shiva.”

“Then is it about my father?” Sarya asked.

“No, it ain't about your father,” said the ImPickles.

“Then who are you warning me about?”

His dagger was already at her neck. “Me!” grinned the ImPickles.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck!” said Sarya. For the hundredth time, he tried the door in his tower room. Locked. He opened the shutters and looked out of his window. They had imprisoned him in the highest tower of the palace. There was no chance of climbing down to make an escape.


Sariel turned to see an odd looking girl was standing in his room, next to an open window. But the door was still barred.

“Who the hell are you, and how the fuck did you get in my room?” he asked.

“I'm Daeneraziel, and I flew in on dragonback!” she announced.

“You have a dragon?”


Sarya blinked at the girl. “You have lavender eyes, sparkling hair and a dragon?”


“You realize, of course, that you are just a big Mary Sue?”

“I'm not Mary Sue, I'm Daeneraziel! But, you can call me Raz.”

“And, why are you here?” asked Sarya.

“Oh,” said Raz, hopping onto Sarya's small bed, “I was getting bored hanging out on a different fictional continent, and then I read ahead and realize my storyline doesn't join the main one for five more books!”

“How many books does it take to get me out of this fucking tower.”

“You don't wanna know,” said Raz. “But here's a clue: don't cut your hair!”

“FUCK!” Sarya thumped down on the bed next to Raz.

“So, what's going on over on this imaginary continent?”

“Well,” sighed Sarya. “From what I've heard, King Shiva died during a boar hunt.”

“Oh, did the boar gore him or something?” asked Raz.

“Yeah. After he was stabbed in the back 59 times.”

“That'll do it,” said Raz.

“And now Joffgaar is on the throne. And he wants to behead my dad, who was Leather Glove of the King for Shiva!”

“Why? Does your father have secret information that would undermine his legitimacy on the throne?”

“No. Because he likes chopping heads.”

“Little jerk.”

“But he's not the legitimate heir! From what I can tell, King Shiva and Queen Cervetta slept with everybody in the kingdom but each other. I just met one of King Shiva's natural children. He's nothing like Joffgaar.”

“Oh, how is he?”

Sarya looked around, even though there was no one else in the room. “He's really hot,” he whispered.

“Ooooo!” said Raz.

“What can I do, Raz. I wanna rescue my father. And punch Prince Joffgaar in the balls.”

“Let me see if my sweet Baboo has any ideas,” said Raz, pulling out her cell phone.

“Daeneraziel, what the hell is that! Cell phones are anachronistic!”

Raz glared at him. “OK, what year is it, smarty?”

“Uh, it's not any year, this is a parallel universe.”

“No wonder it's so fucking hard getting service,” grumbled Raz, who nevertheless dialed the phone.

“Who are you calling, anyway?”

“My sweetie, Kal Wrogo, a barbarian king of the east.”

“A barbarian king with a cell phone?”

“Hello my Sun and Stars! Yeah. Yeah, they're fine, the flight did them good. Well, it's bad news, King Shiva is dead. Yeah, yeah. Stabbed 59 times and then gored by a boar. Yeah, that'll do it. Well, I'm sitting here with the son of the Leather Glove of the King. No, not John. Not Alistair. No, not Rahul either. Ned. Ned. Yeah, they do go through them like tissue. Anyway, we were wondering if there's any way to save Ned....”

“Are you sure you're OK? You still look kinda pale,” said Raz as they hurried along the palace's vast network of dungeon cells.

“I'm fine!” protested Sarya. “I'd just never ridden on dragonback before. Not with a crazy person,” he added, holding his stomach at the memory.

“Oh, they're always like that. Now, is this the cell?”

“It might be. Want me to pick the lock?”

Raz cried out and then kicked the door in.

“Well, I guess that's another way,” said Sarya.

“Doods! Yoo rescyooed me!”

“Oh, not you,” said Sarya, pulling his sword out at the sight of the ImPickles. “What the fuck are you doing down here anyway? You betrayed me!”

“Yeh, dood, but den someone double betrayed me!”

“Fucking Tyrant's Landing,” grumbled Sarya, sympathetic despite himself.

“Dood, I wanna find King Joffgaar and punch him in da balls!”

“You aren't the only one,” said Sarya.

“We'll take you with us, but you can't betray anybody,” offered Raz. “Else I'll feed you to my dragon.”

“Dood,” the ImPickles asked Sarya. “She's gaht dragons and sparkles? Don't dat make her...”

“Don't worry about it,” Sarya told him. “Now. Do you know where they took my father?”

“Yeh, dood, raight here!” said the ImPickles, pointing to a cell. “Did yoo want me t' pick da lawk?”

“YAAA!” said Raz as she busted down the door.

“METAL!” came a familiar voice.

“Father!” said Sarya.

“Hey, are you my kid too?” Ned asked Raz. “You got great tits, and if you're my kid, it would be weird.”

“Father, we don't have time for tits!” said Sarya, taking his arm.

“NO TIME FOR TITS!” protested Ned.

“We gotta get out of here NOW!” urged Sarya, and with Raz and the ImPickles's help, the wrested the northern lord out of the dungeons.

“All right, is everybody assembled?” asked Raz from their lookout up on the hill above the palace.

“Hi, I'm Gandry,” who had just ridden up to meet them.

“Whoa. Are you ever,” said Raz, looking him up and down as he gracefully leapt from the back of his mount.

“I thought I gave you money to buy a FUCKING SHIRT!” scolded Ned.

“I thought it was … hot today,” said Gandry, sidling up to Sarya.

“Buuuuh,” said Sarya.

“Fucking kids,” grumbled Ned.

“All right, everybody get in your earplugs, now! Here come my babies!”

All looked to the skies. For the first time in thousands of years, dragons had returned to the lands. The graceful creatures dove low as gathered masses of Tyrant's landing – lord and peasant alike – stopped they were doing and pointed to the sky.

“Let'sch hit it, boysch!” screamed a familiar voice from the back of the biggest dragon.

Suddenly awe turned to screams of terror and pain as the sound of music came from above.

“Welcome back my friend to a show that never ends come inside, come inside,” blared the music.

“Oh gods no! PROGRESSIVE ROCK!” wailed Nathan, who quickly put in his other earplug.

There was shrieking, wailing, and stampeding, as everyone in town tried to hide from the dreadful music. It continued for some minutes, until Raz signaled for a halt.

Sarya picked up a bullhorn. “Listen up, people of Tyrant's Landing! We have evidence that King Joffgaar is not the true heir of King Shiva! Bring the little bitch to us, and we'll stop playing this fucking awful music.”

“Whoa, look at 'em run!” said Raz, who was duly impressed. Before long, an angry mob was up on the hill, carrying with them King Joffgaar. As they sat him down, a random peasant punched him in the balls.

“Ow. My balls,” he groaned as he sank to his knees.

Cervetta and Sansoki were among the people accompanying him.

“Don't ams punches my Joffgaar!” Sansoki yelled at the peasant.

“Pfffff...” sighed Joffgaar.

“Cervetta, is Joffgaar King Shiva's rightful son?” demanded Sarya.

“Ams of course nots!” scoffed Cervetta, who was already locking tongues with the peasant who had punched King Joffgaar. “You ams expects I ams sleeps wit' dat guys?”

“Oooohhhh!” said Ned. “So, if you didn't sleep with Shiva, how is Joffgaar your kid?”

“Father,” sighed Sarya. “Joffgaar is Cervetta's kid.”


“He's just not Shiva's kid.”

“Oh. OHHHHH!” said Ned.

“Gandry is Shiva's kid! He should be Shiva's rightful heir!” said Sarya.

“But dat dood is a blacksmith!” protested the ImPickles. “How does he qualify t' be king dood?”

“I am tall and really, really good looking!” said Gandry.

“I'd schtand on him,” said MurderJon, who was standing around with his buddies, the black brotherhood from the Dark Side of the Wall.

A murmur went through the crowd of peasants. “He's tall! And good looking! And he has a nice smile!” And then finally, “HAIL, KING GANDRY!”

“And as my first edict,” said King Gandry, “I would like to officially thank the brothers in black from the Dark Side of the Wall for helping us.”

The crowd cheered. MurderJon and his black brothers all grinned and bowed.

“Perhaps Lady Daeneraz would grant them use of one or more of her dragons, to keep their fires warm in the wintertime?” suggested King Gandry.

“Oh, hey, dat's akshually a gud idear,” grumbled the ImPickles.

“And I would like to make the ImPickles my official Minister of my new Food and Recreational Drug Administration!”

“Yes, I cud doo dat!” said the ImPickles.

“Hey, the dude is actually GOOD at this,” muttered Ned.

“He's tall and good-looking,” reasoned Raz.

“Well, I've had enough of this bullshit. I'm going back to METALFELL. Are you coming with me, Sansoki?”

“I ams stays with Joffgaar! He ams dreamsky!” he protested, hugging onto him.

“Pffft. I ams not stays with you,” grumbled Not!King Joffgaar. “You ams annoyingsk.”

“WHAT?” screamed Sansoki, who turned and punched Joffgaar in the balls. He stood and flounced over to Lord Ned. “I ams goings back to MetalFell wit' my fadder,” he told him.

“Hey, waits, Sansoki, I ams just jokings!” protested Joffgaar, limpoing after Sansoki.

“And what about you, Sarya? You're my kid too, right?” asked Ned.

“Uh,” said Sarya, eyeing King Gandry.

Gandry came over and put an arm around Sarya. “Sarya shall stay here with me, where he will be … how old did you say you were again?” he asked, narrowing his quite lovely eyes.

“Uh, eighteen?” said Sarya hopefully.

“FOURTEEN,” grumbled Ned sternly.

“You can't remember I'm your kid, but you remember I'm underage?” pouted Sarya.

“You will be my ward, until you are of age. Until then, you may enjoy my many pin up posters and eight by ten glossies!” promised King Gandry, offering Sarya an autographed head shot.

“And as for you,” King Gandry told Ned, “Are you certain I can't convince you to remain here and be my Leather Glove of the King?”

“Nah, King dude,” said Ned. “Frankly, no offense, but Tyrant's Landing is kind of GAY.”

“Why don't you use THIS CHICK?” asked Ned ,indicating Raz. “She's got NICE TITS.”

“Oh, that would be cool! Let me call my hubby, the barbarian king, and see if we can get an apartment!”

Raz went off to make an anachronistic phone call, and Ned also started off, arm around Sansoki, with Joffgaar limping behind, and ImPickles had begun his investigation into new pharmaceutical drugs, and MurderJon and his black brotherhood rode off on their dragons.

“So, if this is the happy ending, what are we gonna do about the other nineteen volumes in this series?” Sarya asked King Gandry.

“I do not know. Perhaps we could spend the time inventing new and creative sexual positions?” whispered Gandry with an arched eyebrow.

“Buuuuuh,” said Sarya. “Wait,” he whispered, “that's not what you said in front of my dad!”

“Yes,” Gandry whispered back, “but Lord Ned is sort of a scary dude.”

Sarya grinned.

“Raziel, is this the kinda story you wanna tell in front of kids?” asked Charles.

“Shhhh!” said Raziel, pointing down. Three little ones were in a pile snoring away. “They've all been asleep for at least an hour,” she whispered.

“Wait! Why did you keep telling the story?” asked Charles.

“So you could hear the end.”

“I wasn't listening! I hate your stories!'

“Then why didn't you notice that your kid was asleep?” laughed Raziel.

“Time for bed?” asked Wotan, who started gathering kids.

“You got 'em?” asked Charles.

“No problem for a barbarian prince,” grinned Woan.

“Good night, my Sun and Stars,” laughed Raziel.

“Good night, Khaleesi,” said Wotan, hauling off kids.

“You don't?” Charles asked Raziel, as he picked up his own sleeping son.

“Hee. Try calling Ganesh Your Majesty tonight,” grinned Raziel giving him a quick kiss goodbye.

“Huh. Maybe if he takes off his shirt,” mused Charles, as he began the long Walk home.
Page generated Oct. 16th, 2017 11:39 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios