And ye, as the war for the Iron Throne of Westeros raged on, another battle gripped the Island of
Sigil of House Bookshelf
Shelftopia, a lush island a few miles off the coast of Casterly Rock.
Shelftopia was under the control of House Bookshelf, the leader of which was the devastatingly handsome and exceptionally charming Lord Bookshelf Q. Battler. (No, he did not write this himself).
“Bringeth me mine fool for mine entertainment!” commanded Lord BQB, who spent most of his days
playing X-Box and consuming mass quantities of Doritos and Dew of the Mountain, for chicks diggeth a man who can hold his Dew of the Mountain..
Maester Monty, a decrepit hunchback who served as Lord BQB’s personal lackey and manservant, popped on a jingly bell hat and danced a robust jig, albeit with little enthusiasm.
“Why so glum, Maester Monty?” Lord BQB inquired. “While Westeros burns, Shelftopia prospers! We have managed to stay out of the fray altogether, holed up here in my glorious palace, with nothing to do but play video games! The best part? When the dust settles, we shall be perfectly poised to declare our affections and loyalty to whoever happens to be the last man or woman standing!”
“Speaking of, my lord, you may wish to rescind your congratulatory letter to Robb Stark.”
“Why?” Lord BQB asked. “Did he quit the war to write fan fiction? Only losers write fan fiction. Beat me vigorously with my own entrails if you should ever find me writing fan fiction, Maester Monty!”
“Indeed, my lord,” Maester Monty replied. “And no. I’m afraid the Young Wolf and Lady Catelyn are very much…well…dead. Died at a wedding.”
“Come again?” a stunned Lord BQB asked. “A wedding you say?”
“Lulled into a false sense of friendship and security by Walder Frey, then hacked to pieces.”
“Get out!”
“I shall get in, sir.”
“Wow,” said Lord BQB. “Almost makes you wonder if we all just live inside the mind of an elderly sadist who lives to torture us in unexpected ways.”
“Indeed sir.”
“Very well then,” Lord BQB said as he sucked from his chalice of Dew of the Mountain. Take a letter, Maester:
Dearest Lord Tywin,
Greetings from Shelftopia and a thousand apologies for being unable to pledge myself and my bannermen to your righteous cause. We were very much looking forward to being hacked to pieces on the field of battle but alas we all came down with a horrendous case of the crabs and well, you can’t bloody well swing a sword when you’re as itchy as all get out, can you?
Many congratulations on your treachery vis a vis having the Starks gutted like pigs at the wedding feast. Talk about thinking outside the box! Save me a seat at the victory party because I was totally behind you the entire time.
Yours Truly, Lord BQB of House Bookshelf, Lord of Shelftopia, etcetera etcetera and so on…
“About that sir,” the Maester said. “Lord Tywin died as well.”
“Ah,” Lord BQB said as he munched on a fistful of Doritos. “Stabbed in the gut in battle I suppose?”
“The toilet.”
“Excuse me?”
“Shot with an arrow whilst on the commode by his son, Tyrion.”
“An arrow in the gut whilst relieving his bowels on the toilet?” Lord BQB asked, a stunned expression on his face. “Deaths at weddings!! Deaths on the can! Does anyone die in battle anymore???”
“Apparently not, my Lord,” Maester Monty said. “Speaking of, your bannermen accused you of being a reprehensible coward for not choosing a side in the war.”
“Me? A coward?” Lord BQB asked as he slapped his forehead in disgust. “I’m the only sensible one in the whole bloody realm!”
“How so?”
“Monty,” Lord BQB continued. “Here’s something you need to know about politics. One man says he’ll be a great King. Another man says he will be even better. Truth be told? They’re all morally bankrupt charlatans and all we can do is go with the one who will cause the least amount of turmoil.”
“Rather pessimistic approach to the problem, sir…”
“Like I told Ned Stark,” Lord BQB said as he paced up and down the floor of his chamber. “‘Ned, so what if that little shit Joffrey is the product of unspeakably horrid brother on sister action? What’s the alternative? Stannis swoops in and has anyone who looks at the Red Lady cross-eyed drawn and quartered? Just let the little twerp have the throne because it isn’t like there’s anyone who’s any better and at least this way you’ll keep your head.”
“Makes sense now that you put it that way,” Monty said.
“Seven Hells, if only more than 3.5 subjects would listen to my brilliance!”
Lord BQB popped open a bag of funions and offered some to the Maester, who delighted in taking a handful.
“Well I suppose with Tywin out of the picture and Joffrey dead from another wedding gone wrong, it’ll be Cersei running the show working her boy Tommen like a puppet. Take a letter!”
Dearest Queen-Regent Cersei:
Congratulations on finally finding yourself at the top of the game, now that your esteemed father hath croaked on the crapper at the hands of your treacherous imp brother, leaving you free to warp King Tommen’s mind to your will.
Please know that I was with you all along and I apologize profusely for being unable to join your forces on the field of battle but alas, I was required to stay in my palace in order to receive the painting repairman. A painting of my noble self has been broken for weeks and of course, those bloody wretches at the painting repair company give you an open window of 9-5 fortnights for their arrival, and then at the end they usually just send a raven to tell you that they’ll have to reschedule.
The nerve! The whole time I sat in my palace, completely enraged that I was missing out on the opportunity to be hacked to pieces in the name of the Queen.
Save me a seat at the victory party, for I was totally behind you the entire time.
Sincerely,
Lord BQB, Head Honcho of Bookshelf Manor and so on and so forth
P.S. – By the by, I never bought that malarkey that you and your brother were engaged in salacious activities. Joffrey totally looks like the late King Baratheon if you ask me. I mean, if he were the product of an illicit union between you and Ser Jamie, the kid would have like 5 eyes and 3 heads wouldn’t he? That’s just science.
“I would not assume that Cersei has this locked up, my lord,” Maester Monty said. “There is another player.”
“Who?”
“Daenerys Targaryen.”
“The Khaleesi?” Lord BQB asked.
“The same.”
“Get out!” Lord BQB said. “Very well. Hold the raven on that letter to Cersei. Take another letter.”
Dearest Khaleesi…
Oookie tookie ba dookie dookie…
“She speaks the common tongue, my lord,” Monty noted.
“Ah!” Lord BQB said. “Take it again from the top!”
Dearest Daenerys Stormborn, Rightful Queen of Westeros, Breaker of Chains, Mother of Dragons, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, yadda yadda yadda, holy shit this woman has a lot of titles, don’t write that Monty:
Greetings from the Lord of Shelftopia! Congratulations in your war against slavery and for having all the masters put on pikes and so on. My apologies for not joining you in battle but alas, I stubbed my toe in a training exercise, the point of which was to prepare to be hacked to pieces whilst fighting for your honor, my Khaleesi!
Please know that I was with you the entire time. If you hear rumors that I was behind Robb Stark, Tywin, or Cersei, well, that’s a load of crap. I have been Khaleesi or bust the whole time. Dragons, baby! Bring on the dragons!
Good luck on your journey across the narrow sea and smash a few usurpers for me! Save me a seat at your victory party!
Sincerely,
Lord BQB, titles titles and so on.
“Then it again it could be Jon Snow,” the Maester said.
“Oh for the love of,” Lord BQB said. “Fine! Send a letter to every jerk face in the 7 Kingdoms who thinks he or she has a claim to the Iron Throne and tell them I’m with them! There! Done!”
“Right away.”
“Thank goodness my snack stores are plentiful,” Lord BQB said. “It sounds like this war will be going on forever. Luckily I have enough Doritos, Funions, Ring Dings, Ho Hos, Slim Jims and other assorted high cholesterol crap to get me through the long winter.”
Suddenly, there was a loud crash from the opposite side of the palace.
Lord BQB made haste, running to his snack storage room to find a band of yetis absconding with his snacks!
“Who are you foul furry beasts?” Lord BQB asked. “Explain yourselves!”
“We are the bannermen of Lord Yeti of House Yeti!” said one of the yetis. “We plunder your snack reserves in the name of our noble lord!”
Join us next time, for another exciting installment of…Game of Yetis!
news, but there’s no need to act like a bunch of uncouth barbarians, is there?
Bookshelf Battle 