Title: "The Burly Lord and the Lannister Lads" Once upon a time in the extravagant and controversy-laden lands of Westeros, there stood a castle unlike any other. It was not famed for its battles, nor was it whispered about for its political scheming. No, this stronghold, named Buffoon's Keep, was known far and wide for housing the most peculiar noble of them all: Lord Manfred the Mighty, the most burly and barrel-chested lord the Seven Kingdoms had ever seen. Lord Manfred, more affectionately referred to as 'Manny' by his intimate companions, had a unique penchant for the golden-haired beauty of Lannister men. Why he focused his attention on the lions of Casterly Rock was anyone's guess, but the rumor mill suggested that he simply couldn't resist the way the sun kissed their locks. In his opulent chambers, which had more in common with the pleasure houses of Lys than the war rooms of the North, his cherished troupe of Lannister twinks lounged. They were in the buff, their alabaster skin creating a stark contrast to the crimson draperies and gold-leafed bedposts that surrounded them. As befitting their noble status, they snacked on candied figs and honeyed wine, giggling at the secrets they shared. Jaime the Jestful, the most mischievous of the lot, bit into a particularly succulent grape and declared, "By the Old Gods and the New, if Manny could see us now, he'd stomp in here with that furrowed brow and forget all about his 'warring' business." Lionel the Lithe, with hair as bright as the sun and a waist Manny often claimed he could circle with his hands, rolled his eyes theatrically. "Please, Jaime, he's probably out there lifting a horse to impress some visiting northern lord. You know Manny loves a good show of strength." The noble himself was indeed coupling with one of the Lannisters at that moment--the fiery-haired Ellery the Enigmatic, famed across the Seven Kingdoms not only for his clever wit but for his ability to quote the entire lineage of House Lannister while balancing a goblet of wine on his head. Manny's grunts of exertion were heard through the walls, rhythmic and earthshaking, more akin to the sounds of a blacksmith's hammer than the tender escapades of the boudoir. Each thump was accompanied by blurts from Ellery spouting historical trivia, "Did you know, the Rains of Castamere were composed for--ugh--the Lord of--mmm--House Reyne of--" His soliloquy would be repeatedly cut short by the more pressing matters at hand--or rather, at Manny. In the corner of the chamber, perched atop plush cushions, Lancelot the Lean tuned his harp, preparing a melody to perhaps soothe the beastly grunts echoing through the chamber. His fingers were delicate and swift upon the strings, though one could argue they had plenty of practice with other types of string play as well. Back in the embrace of the opulent bed, Tyrek the Tender nibbled on a slice of spiced ham, sighing dreamily. "If only Lord Tywin could see us now, he'd probably choke on his gold." The others burst into laughter, their carefree cackles kindling camaraderie that was woven into the very tapestries of the room. And thus was the life within Buffoon's Keep, where politics and warfare were replaced with pleasure and jest, and where Manny the Mighty basked in the love--or at the very least, the highly entertaining company--of his dazzling harem of Lannister twinks. It was a saga that bards dared not sing, for fear that their songs would not be escorted with steel rather than silver. But it was well-known that in the game of thrones, you either win or you die--and Manny had decidedly chosen a third option: to live, laugh, and love with delightful abandon among his golden-haired lions.