Daily OpusEverything I write is freely rebloggable. Just keep the source and tell people about my books :D [Until I decide otherwise, my pronouns are Ze/Hir/Hirself. As in "Ze went to the shops to get hir medication hirself". Thank you for the respect.]
now, guys, i like daenerys and all … i’m just saying that Lady Sybil Vimes is my real queen and mother of dragons.
like if she were in danny’s place, she’d not only abolish slavery for real, but the former slavemasters would definitely be more polite, they’d sit up straighter and they’d eat all their vegetables. and her dragons would be much tamer.
she’d do it in record time too
lady sybil vimes sitting on the iron throne. someone write this!!
“It’s a little…sharp, don’t you think, dear?” Vimes tried, voice echoing
around the deserted throne room.
He disliked King’s Landing out of principle, it was all right there in the
very name. Sybil was in her element however, although it was hard to think of a
time when Lady Sybil wasn’t in her element. The world morphed to her, fitting
snugly around her form until it settled around her as though she’d always
belonged. He’d watched many a time as she’d made rich lords and ladies feel
like strangers in their own grand homes and now—
“I mean who on earth builds a throne out of thousands of swords. I know
Vetinari is a bastard for symbols and metaphorical meaning, but this really
takes the pis—I mean tart.”
“Yes, the whole place could do with a bit of a spruce up, don’t you think?”
Oh yes dear, thought Vimes, the manic edge to his thoughts
threatening to well up and bubble over into hysterical laughter. I dare say
if you got some curtains measured up you could hide the view of half a burning
kingdom, no problem…
He didn’t belong here. Neither of them did. But who could have ever
predicted that that bloody dragon would return? I could, said a
little voice in the back of his head. It had been waiting for all of this to
end. Not necessarily the dragon of course, but for the careful world he and
Sybil had built to shatter in a shower of fire and smoke and then the ice would
pour back into his veins and Sam Vimes would cease to exist, because whatever
man had existed before had died somewhere in an Ankh-Morpork gutter a million
miles away…
What was it the old wizard had said? Something to do with stories and
narrative need? About fitting into the holes of the pantaloons of the
multiverse?
It didn’t matter now…all that mattered was that they were here now, summoned
by whatever need had pulled them here and—oh yes—he looked up at the open hole
where the palace roof ought to be. Three dragons looked down, as attentive as
kittens with a ball of string. He tried not to think about the sound of their
claws scraping over the stone or the way their eyes moved to follow him if he
strayed too far from Sybil.
Mother of Dragons…
They’d shouted it through the streets, even as they burned. Mother of Dragons…breaker of chains, first
of her name Her Grace, Lady Sybil
Deirdre Olgivanna Ramkin-Vimes, The Duchess of Ankh …and Queen of the
Iron Throne…
“I know what you’re thinking, Sam.”
“Do you, dear?” Same asked, letting his eyes drift from the dragons to her
reassuring form, her blue evening gown streaked with soot, wig only just
slightly askew.
“You’re thinking you want to go home…and I can’t say I blame you, but until
the wizard chaps figure this out, I say we make the most of this… there’s a
whole city out there Sam Vimes. You saw the mess of it when they opened the
gates, you saw what those awful people did to their people…”
Vimes was vaguely aware of an audience gathering at the giant doors that
hung on their hinges. Fine looking people, or at least people who thought they
were very fine, rich robes singed and ruined in only the way a dragon burning
your city can do. And all of them cautiously livid. There was something
reassuringly familiar about that.
“Yes, dear. They do what all ruling classes do.” He turned his attention to
the gathering crowd. “They piss down and call it plumbing.”
An old man wearing chains opened his mouth to protest, “I beg your pardon—“
“Yes you bloody should!” snapped Vimes, reaching for the cigar behind his
ear that wasn’t there and beginning to pat down his pockets. “Call yourselves a
tyranny? My gods what a shambles. Vetinari would have a fit at the state of
this place. An absolute fit.”
Another woman, slightly older than Sybil, and almost as regal, turned what
could only be defined as a look
toward him. “And you both are, sir?”
“Oh do forgive me,” he said, with manic faux politeness, his ducal façade slipping
into place like an anvil on thin ice, “hadn’t you heard? I would have thought
that mob was awfully clear. This is the Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains, First
of her name Her Grace, Lady Sybil
Deirdre Olgivanna Ramkin-Vimes, The Duchess of Ankh and Queen of the
Iron Throne. And I’m her husband—“ Commander
Vimes City Watch…the words died on his lips as new words funneled in
through the back of his head, poured down by the cosmos in rich vibrant hues as
the world finally knit together around him. He grinned and several people
backed away.
“They call me, the Kingslayer. And
I’m her Guard.”
Sybil smiled, that soft genteel smile that could light up rooms and made
people feel warm inside. Overhead the dragons spat white hot plumes of flame,
making everyone within a twenty foot radius feel very warm indeed.
“And you lot—” Vimes said, finally managing to pull a cigar from somewhere
in his dented armor, holding it up to the still sizzling air and letting the
tip self-combust into before taking a long heady drag—“have got some bloody
explaining to do.”
MORE
(I’d love to, but you see, I’m already working on the Star Wars Discworld crossover Au for @leahelizabeth89, and I have about 50 WIPS in my darft folder and…and…shit *down the bunny hole we go*)
This is the best thing I have ever seen. Oh god Lady Sybil would just spend her days making sure the dragons were comfy and would go on and on about what a hardy breed they were.
Can you imagine Vimes on the kings council?!Oh god what if the rest of the Watch got through as well.
WHAT IF VETINARI FOUND HIS WAY?!?!?!?!
I just MUST know what Vetinari would do in Westoros !
Oh god. I cannot breath I’m sitting here doing that scary laugh where there’s no sound because you can’t breath so you just flap your arms like a fucking seal. my face hurts from grinning. What have you done to me?
Probably the same thing @leahelizabeth89 did to me when she said “how do you think Star Wars would have turned out with Vetinari in it?” and I’m 3k down the plot tunnel, pickax in hand and flashlight strapped to my head.
As for more Westeros: Vetinari would walk in, picking his way through the crowd and great Sybil like the old friends that they are, and take his rightful place as the Queens Hand—after all he’s never wanted to be a King, so why should he start now? He’s invaluable of course, but it’s Sybil who guides the kingdom back to some semblance of sanity, through the kindness and patience wrought of years tending to creatures that tend to explode at random.
Little Finger would try to get the measure of Von Lipwig—newly instated to the Small Council as Vetinari’s spy—and come up short…of the hangman’s rope. As it turned out, he did not believe in angels. Neither did a lot of the small council, which was unfortunate, but not unforeseen. Spike takes over trade and the various different merchants guilds and foreign traders soon come to know the iron ring of her stiletto heels sparking over the exchange floor.
Arya Stark thought she wanted to join the Assassin Guild, until she sees the golden wolf following on the heels of the tall redheaded man who reminds her of someone she used to know…she makes captain within a year and walks the streets at night, taking light into dark places. The men and women she trains soon become known as Starkies—their motto Law Before Justice.
Hm.
Who else…Fred and Nobby never change. A city is a city and there’s still street theater to watch and and cigarettes to smoke. But they both agree after the first week they’d do almost anything for a pint of Winkles, the beer here is piss.
This is amazing, and I can’t help but wonder what if Granny Weatherwax and the rest of the Lancre coven were there. I’m unfamiliar with Game of Thrones, but if there were magic users, none of them would probably survive UU in the good (bad) ol’ days.
!!
“For the night is dark and full of terrors!”
Abruptly the flames from the pyre went out, plunging the assembly in to shadows.
In the deafening silence, Granny cracked her knuckles, shoulders rolling like a prize fighter about to step into the ring and smiled at the priestess.
“Yea. Me.”
“Hey pal, ye think it’s funny like teh pick on wee lassies?”
Ramsey Bolton looked down, and then down again. “Who the fu—”
“THE BIG WEE HAG SENDS HER REGARDS!”
All of this is brilliant but my favourite part is still how Vimes introduces himself as the trophy husband
A new combat instructor was assigned to my battalion. If I remember the instructor is that of the human race. They were formerly introduced to us and to be honest I was not impressed. The human was only two-thirds my size and look squishy as a havenworlder, hard to believe that they’re from a deathworld. I was given the chance to spar with the human, I couldn’t even touch them. – Anon Guest
Many hear a word like “Deathworlder” and instantly conjure the mental picture of an armour-plated being many times their own size. Nobody could have pictured the Human combat master who came to Velidus V. They were small, slight, and seemingly fragile. Their hair was cropped close to their scalp like many a Spacer did. Their clothing was simple and without embellishment.
“This is our fearsome Deathworld instructor?” I scoffed. “They look like a child in their pyjamas.” I laughed, and so did the rest of my battalion. We had little to fear from this small figure. We were in our combat-rated livesuits, though our helmets were open. We had nothing to fear from an un-armoured and squishy-looking balding ape.
The combat instructor smiled in a way that should have been a warning. They waited until the laughter died down and said, “There’s always one.” Then they singled me out. Of course they did. This was Drill Sergeant 101. Make an example of the first wise-ass to give some lip. “Well come on, mountain-tall. You think you can take me in a fair fight?”
[Be sure to visit internutter (dot) org for a link to the rest of this story, and details on how to support this artist. Or visit peakd (dot) com (slash at) internutter for the stories at their freshest]
This was the scene that inspired me to draw the comic. The idea has been
in my head since June, after the release of the Good Omens episodes. It
went lying in my folders for a while, but I’m glad to finally have it
finished! Thank you for reading :)
Why was Terry Pratchett thought of as a comedy author, when he was laying down such hard hitting truths?
Sir Terry Pratchett may have glanced atĀ āfucking aroundā at some point in his life, but Iām sure it was to maintain the furthest possible distance from it.
