In the lavish quarters of Ser Gregorius the Burly, the scent of crushed summer roses wafted through the air, mixing oddly yet rather pleasantly with the savory aroma of freshly baked lemon cakes. The tableau before us was one of unexpected repose and decadence, as the burliest knight to ever serve under a Baratheon banner surveyed his most exotic spoils of war - a veritable bevy of Lannister twinks, each more golden-haired and pampered than the last. Picture, if you will, a scene of such scandalous leisure--five comely lads sprawled upon a bed the size of a small ship, a sea of crimson silk sheets carelessly cast aside, revealing the supple landscape of Lannister flesh. The young men were, to put it delicately, unencumbered by the constraints of clothing, their porcelain skin aglow in the warm candlelight. Ser Gregorius, whose muscles were said to cast shadows large enough to shelter a modest family, had these slender beauties lounging within arm's reach of his towering frame. Among them, the most audacious was Lancelot Lannister, an impudent scamp with eyes like melted gold and cheekbones that could cut glass. He artfully dodged his companions' playful swats as he made a show of feeding the knight a lemon cake, the knight's eyes closing with indulgence at the taste. "What shall we do today, my mountain of a man?" Lancelot inquired with a sly grin, drawing a rolling chuckle from within the cavernous depths of Gregorius' chest. "I thought a round of falconry might lift your spirits," Gregorius teased back, the twinks erupting in a chorus of delicate laughter, as if the very notion of dirtying their hands with anything less dainty than silk or sweetmeat was utterly preposterous. As the banter continued, the youngest of the group, Tommen--not to be confused with the king--reclined with a candied plum perched between his lips. He gazed up at the oversized tapestry depicting their triumphant lord. It showed the burly knight on horseback in armor so pristinely polished it made the sun seem dim, a fitting background for such a flamboyant tableau. In the midst of such frivolity, one of the lads, Jaime--not to be mistaken for the Kingslayer, though with an ego no less grand--spoke up, "Greggie, my colossal custodian, when shall we ride out and see your subjects? The people must be doting on their new prince of Lannister light-foots." "Ah, but you see Jaime, the people already whisper of the 'Twinkling Lannisters' kept by Ser Gregorius the Burly, whose beauty is so dazzling the sun must avert its eyes," the knight quipped, flexing an arm so large that it momentarily blocked out the light from the nearest sconce. The group erupted once more into feathery laughter, the sound as delicate as the perfumed air they breathed. Amid the jests and frivolity, Gregorius, ever the gallant, offered his arm to the most demure among the lads, sweet Tybalt, whose azure gaze had lingered longest upon the knight's visage. The boy rose with a blush painting his cheeks, the others tossing knowing glances at each other as they continued to pluck at their assortment of treats--their giggles sarcastic enough to make even the most stoic of septons crack a smile. As the bed's brocaded canopy fluttered with the mirth of the moment, Ser Gregorius the Burly attentively coupled with his chosen companion. The others observed with feigned indifference, humorously bickering over who would be next to receive the knight's affections. Together, they formed a court of their very own, a mirthful band of beauteous boys ensconced in the brawny embrace of their unlikely liege lord, their days spent in delight, their nights even more so. What they lacked in might, they made up for in merriment; what they forfeited in sternness, they flaunted in their flair. Together, they were the most jubilant facet of Gregorius's spoils, a victory both sweet and sumptuous, to be recounted in hushed tones and giggles long after the candle's final flicker.