Title: Ser Gregor and the Lannister Lovelies Once upon a saucy summer's eve in a Westeros wildly reimagined, the burly and bawdy Ser Gruffus Ironhide, a knight of bulky brawn and thunderous laughter, found himself lord of a peculiar harem. Their lush chamber was a cacophony of coos and chuckles, awash with the scent of honeyed wines and sweat-glistening skin. The manner in which this collection had come together was a yarn unto itself, following the skirmish known as The Frivolous Fray of the Westerlands. Ser Gruffus, with a company of misfit mercenaries, had cheerfully trounced a garrison of golden-haired Lannister guards, who were, in Ser Gruffus's unapologetically roguish words, "more bedazzling than battle-ready!" The aftermath saw Ser Gruffus fancy the idea of adopting his well-tressed captives rather than sending them to the dreary edge of a sword. Binding neither wrists nor ankles but hearts with bawdy jests and an exotic collection of plum wines, he had assembled his very own assemblage of now happily doting Lannister twinks. Upon a vast bed, large enough to accommodate a whole flock of frolicking shadows, the knight's harem lounged with the lazy grace of half-tamed lions. Each slim and supple as a willow's bow, their golden locks were as luminescent as the crown of any king--though none here wore so much as an inch of velvet or ring of gold. Their naked forms were draped in nothing at all, save for a shimmering sheen, the result of an over-indulgent application of perfumed oils by enthusiastic hands. The knight himself--a mountain in human form adorned with a beard the color of a raven's wing--was coupling with one comely young man with enough passion to raise the sails of a war galley. All the while, the others chattered about with light-hearted jeers and flirtatious giggles, popping sugared treats into their mouths as they lounged decadently upon satin pillows. "Ser Gruffus," quipped a particularly slender twink with a mischievous glint in his emerald eyes, "your sword techniques have improved dramatically, though I dare posit, we might make knights of us all with such vigorous training!" Laughter rumbled out like thunder as the room shook with Ser Gruffus's mirth. "Nay, my delicate devils, the art of the sword is a vast and fickle mistress--why, I've room in this fortress for but one blade!" Another, reclined across an ornate chest, dangled grapes above his lips with an imperious air. "And pray tell, noble Sir, should we ever face a true siege, can we count on you to defend our honor as boldly as you fan the flames of our... chivalry?" "Oh," Ser Gruffus boomed with the unwavering confidence of a man who'd never known defeat, save in jest, "I pledge on the honor of my pommel, my harem shall remain unconquered, save by mine own mighty... lance!" Their repartee continued well into the night, a quirk-laden dance as gluttonous for humor as the world beyond their doors hungered for power and gold. So it was in a bedchamber of Westeros unbound, Ser Gruffus Ironhide kneaded the tapestry of legend, his harem of lascivious lions at his side, carousing and cavorting 'til the break of daylight. Each morning thereafter would see Ser Gruffus and his Lannister Lovelies rise, to bask in their reflections--a testament to the curious alchemy of post-war alliances and the unexpected spoils they could so engender.