Heavy, Lies the Crown

Author's Note: Obligatory Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own any of this. All of it goes to the great mind of GRRM. The only thing that's partially mine is the shitty plot and writing.

Anyways! Hello all, this is an endeavor into a large-scale retelling of GoT/ASOIAF, and there are several huge AU storylines going to be developed. I hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 1-The Lion Roars

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"He walked out in the gray light and stood and he saw for a brief moment the absolute truth of the world. The cold relentless circling of the intestate earth. Darkness implacable. The blind dogs of the sun in their running. The crushing black vacuum of the universe. And somewhere two hunted animals trembling like ground-foxes in their cover. Borrowed time and borrowed world and borrowed eyes with which to sorrow it."

~Cormac McCarthy

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Jaime Lannister

The night was bitterly cold, and the Lion of Lannister sat in his Stark cage, leaning against a wooden pole that had served as his only companion for weeks. He had been in Robb Stark's captivity for some time now, and he had since lost track of just how much of his sentence had passed. His head weakly throbbed from where Mother Stark had thwacked him over the head with a stone, angered by his taunts, and other parts of his body similarly bore the bruises and cuts of a prisoner. He wondered about his family for a moment, his thoughts lingering on Cersei, before moving on to Tyrion, then Tywin, then those he had left behind at the Rock. Jaime smiled briefly, the tilt of his lips carrying neither mirth nor happiness, as he remembered his father's words: Lions have no need for sentiment. There was no doubt in his mind, however, that even Twyin would have found it difficult for his mind not to stray to family in such conditions.

Such conditions. Debasement was describing it lightly. Forced to sleep in his own filth and waste, never to leave the tiny kingdom between the bars of his cell. He had been spat on, called things fit for only the most depraved of men (though words bothered him little), beaten, belittled. The Lion at the mercy of the Wolves. The forests beasts had caught themselves a nice little cat, and he was sure they were enjoying making him understand who was on top in the animal realm. He supposed he deserved mistreatment, after all the sins he had committed in his time on earth, but to receive it from the Starks was rather insulting. The gods have a twisted sense of humor. They'd probably get along well with Tyrion, he thought with a smirk.

His reverie was brought to an abrupt halt as he heard the shuffling of quiet feet approaching his lion's box. He grimaced at the thought of more fun with the Starks.

"The Lion is licking his wounds," he called into the darkness with a mocking tone. "Can you come back after the war is over?"

"Not if you want us to come back to your dead body."

Jaime's eyes widened slightly as the owner of the voice unlocked his cage and stepped forward. Cleos Frey. A bannerman of his father's. But how? How could he possibly have gotten past the entire Stark encampment? The thought struck him that perhaps he was part of the Stark encampment. He growled at the man.

"Turned tail and joined the Starks when the going got tough, Frey? I thought Lannister bannerman had more guts than a twelve-and-ten boy."

The wiry man gazed at him, watery eyes appraising the one they called Kingslayer, before chuckling softly. "No, Ser Jaime, quite the opposite; I'm here to free you."

Jaime looked dumbfounded for a moment, a rare expression on his features. "You negotiated with the Starks?" He hoped whoever was calling the shots in King's Landing now had not done something stupid for his benefit.

"Absolutely not," the Frey man answered with a snort, bending down and unshackling him. "Now let's keep the talk to a minimum, Ser Jaime, lest you fancy this operation to be a ruin."

Jaime nodded hesitantly, still suspicious that there was some duplicity hidden beneath the Lannister bannerman's words. His wariness quickly subsided, however, as he was led out of the cage and directly to a horse. Several men, also pledged to Lannister, were gathered there, already horsed themselves. Cleos Frey handed him a sword and a dagger, as well as a hooded garment, and told him to garb himself and draw up the hood. Jaime acquiesced and mounted his horse as silently as a man could emulate a mouse. After a quick look around, Cleos gave the order.

"Ride, men, but stay quiet!"

And Jaime was off, a lion into the darkness.

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Tyrion Lannister

Tyrion sat in the Tower of the Hand, wine glass in his dimunitive lion's paw, eyes scouring over documents regarding the Tyrells. Lately, the thoughts that led to the expansion of the Lannister name and fame were flowing to him like the wine did in the Capitol: endlessly and in great quantity. He smiled to himself as he ruminated on the most recent egg that had hatched in his brain. If he could orchestrate a marriage between Joffrey and Margaery Tyrell, he'd be putting one of the oldest and most noble houses in the land under his thumb, and subsequently, all of their lands and forces. It would be a grand move; he knew his father would appreciate it. Though he understood his father disliked him for many things, his was aware his cunning was not one of them. And any way to exercise his worthy traits was a good way to keep his father from kicking him out of his position. He started to finalize the paperwork to establish the Tyrell-Lannister union when a knock sounded at the door.

"Come in," he drawled, not looking up from his work.

The visitor entered the room wordlessly, walking over to his desk and seating itself at one of the chairs positioned in front of him. It reached over, took the wine carafe, and began pouring itself a glass before Tyrion looked up and was met with the sight of his sister.

He slowly set down his quill. "To what do I owe the honor of a visit from my illustrious sister?"

She did not respond, instead swirling the wine in her glass and staring down into its violet depths. Tyrion let out an aggravated sigh.

"As much as I truly enjoy your company, I have a lot of work to do, and if you're not goi-,"

"Jaime is free," she stated, cutting him off. She glanced up from the wine and into her little brother's eyes. "And I suppose you had something to do with it."

He figured that was about all the recognition he would get from his dear sister. "Yes, Cersei, he was loosed under my command. You'll have our brother back, and the Kingsguard will have its Commander back. He should be arriving in a few weeks time."

She nodded, before taking a long sip from her glass. If she was excited about the news, she did not reveal it. Tyrion took a moment to look her over. She had developed dark circles under her eyes, no doubt a result of the stress of attempting to compete with him for the power behind the crown that lie atop Joffrey's vicious little head. She looked somewhat gaunt, and he supposed her diet as of late consisted of mostly wine and the foul praise of her supporters. She was still extremely beautiful, there was no doubt about it, but her beauty was taking orders from her actions and it was plain to see, like a mirror smudged by grubby hands. Cersei was not taking kindly to his little victories.

"I should probably thank you," she said, voice as sharp as the dagger that was her desire for power. "But I know this is just some part of one of your ruses. You've always been a little weasel, Tyrion, reaching up for things even ordinary men can't usually grab off the shelf. And now you've added Jaime to the mix. Pity, he was the only one who ever liked you."

Anger burbled up from his belly like rising magma, but he forced himself to remain calm. He would not engage her on this.

"Got anything of value to say, sweet sister? Because it's getting rather late…"

Her jade eyes narrowed, and she stuck a long, elegant finger in his face. "I will say this, and I will say this only once: don't you dare involve our brother in your stupid little plots. You will never get what you want, Tyrion, and Jaime certainly won't help you in your aims to do so."

He laughed, a mocking guffaw that echoed through the chamber like a metal pot falling down a well. "It seems I've already gotten a fair share of what I've wanted. You'll forgive me if I find what you say to be at least, quite droll, and at most, spectacularly untruthful."

Tyrion saw a hate clouding her eyes.

"Remember this conversation, Tyrion," she hissed, rising from her seat and turning to swiftly exit the room.

He watched after her retreating form for a moment, before pouring himself a large second cup of wine.

Oh, my sweet sister.