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Language:
English
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Published:
2014-02-17
Completed:
2014-08-25
Words:
31,043
Chapters:
12/12
Comments:
16
Kudos:
111
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Mad King Ryan

Summary:

One was fighting for family, one for the good of the realm, one for glory, and one for a place in the world. Only one was fighting for the love of the game. "Why," the last said, "I am going to kill the king." A Game of Thrones AU based on the Mad King Ryan let's plays.

Notes:

Okay, so as someone who's recently become obsessed with "A Song of Ice and Fire" and Achievement Hunter's "Minecraft" Let's Plays, I was absolutely delighted by the newest "Mad King Ryan". I've seen plenty of king AUs but no Game of Thrones ones yet, which is weird since, you know, "Mad King". Anyway, I'm here to close that gap in the fandom. Wish me luck, and enjoy!

Chapter 1: Prologue: "I am going to kill the king."

Chapter Text

The four men clustered around a table piled high with books and scrolls and loose papers. It was the middle of the night, the only time they could be sure to meet without attracting suspicion. In King’s Landing, where they’d been forced to gather by the pleasure of the king, spies were everywhere, and there was no telling what would happen to them if they were caught. It was treason to plot against the king, and treason was not lightly punished.

“King Geoff the Conqueror, first of his name, took back Westeros from the Targaryen tyrants and liberated her people,” the eldest of the group read aloud from an old, thick tome. He was a knight but was nearing forty and had certainly seen better days. In his youth, he was renowned for his quick-wittedness and agility, but now he was unshaven and usually drunk. “He reigned long and true, but was slain in his own bed at the hand of a Targaryen relative, avenging the death of his cousins. King Ryan the Usurper, first of his name, was mad, as Targaryens are said to be.”

“Well, people wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true,” said a young lordling from the Fingers with a shrug. He was the most impatient of the group, rash and quick to anger, and despised these late night rendezvous because he wanted more than anything to do something. He typically wore boiled leather and mail to these meetings, despite no intention of action, just in case. The low candlelight made his red-brown curls brighter and the flames flickered in his eyes. “Everyone knows the saying, that when a Targaryen is born the gods flip a coin to decide if he’ll be mad or great. Evidently that’s true of the Haywoods as well, and it’s been against our favor every time.”

“D’you think the more times you remind us that the king is mad, the more likely we are to be able to do a thing about it?” the heavy, bearded northman said. He rarely spoke, but when he did, the others listened; his deep voice was commanding, and the others secretly suspected that if they pushed him too far, he would snap. As the only one among them who kept the old gods, he cared not for this talk of coin flipping.

“King Ryan was deposed by a lord of the Reach. He fled Westeros with his wife and child for fear of death. King Ray the Kind, first of his name, reigned during the Long Summer. His wife gave him many strong sons, and the Kingdoms prospered under his guidance and wisdom.”

“In other words, boring,” the youngest of the five said with a flash of a smile. He was in name a Tyrell cousin, but it was common knowledge that his mother had become pregnant by an affair with a Dornishman. He had the look of a stony Dornishman, undeniably, with his brown skin, thick dark hair, and darting black eyes. He was the most relaxed of the group, found humor where others found none, and flaunted the typical rules of bastardry by using his father’s surname and taking the Tyrell rose as his sigil, although it was red and not gold.

“I’d rather be bored than terrified,” the eldest said, looking up from his book. “I won’t have my daughter grow up in a world like this, not when there’s something I can do about it.”

“Nor any children I might have with my wife,” the lordling agreed.

“After King Ray’s natural death, he was succeeded by his son, King Michael the Cruel, first of his name. Michael nears the tenth year of his reign and the whole of the Realm suffers for it.” The knight looked up again. “That’s where it ends, before the newest Mad King took over. Shame. The book has a lot of good information on the strengths and weaknesses of the kings. If we knew the Mad King’s greatest weakness, we might be able to do something about it.”

“Sometimes I wonder if there’s anything we can do about any of this,” the northman said.

“Yes, there is!” said the lordling, hands clenched into fists, ruby ring shining like a burst of flame. “There must be! We’re not giving up, are we? Remember what we’re fighting for!”

They made sounds of assent. The knight was fighting for his young daughter, the northman for the good of the realm, the lordling for glory, and the bastard for the hope of finding a place in this world. Only one of them was fighting for love of the game, and he had not spoken all night.

“We will keep trying, won’t we? Read the books we can, speak to servants and informers, gather as much information as we can. The Mad King has two children, if anything should happen to them, or if they should be removed from the line of succession, we can perhaps find a way for one of us to be installed in place of an heir. It won’t be easy, it might be bloody, but we need to secure our futures. One of us must be the next king.”

“If we can do this without harming the children, we should,” the knight said. “Perhaps if we can prove their illegitimacy… If they weren’t the king’s trueborn sons, if their mother sired bastards…”

A low laugh echoed from the corner of the room. The fifth member of the group, who hadn’t said a word all night, was leaning back in a wooden chair in a shadow-drenched corner of the room. The other four were surprised to hear him make a noise; he came along to every meeting because they couldn’t stop him, but he rarely had anything of value to say. They had almost forgotten he was there.

He was neither the eldest nor youngest of the group, neither the highest born nor the lowest, neither particularly handsome nor quick-witted nor skilled in battle. He was unfathomable as an enemy because he seemed not noteworthy enough to garner any. “You can play about with lines of succession and bastards if you please, but I have a better idea.”

“And what would that be?”

He tipped the chair forward so that it landed heavily on its front legs. The bloom of moonlight coming in through the slit of a window lit up his face, which was twisted into a frightening smile. He didn’t look unextraordinary then.

“Why,” he said in a casual voice that clashed so thoroughly with his expression, “I am going to kill the king.”