Chapter 1: Welcome to Halflingtonfordshire
A gray-bearded wizard trudged up the hillside and Bumble watched him come. He wore a long grey bathrobe embroidered with sequins in hypnotizing, swirling letters that spelled mystic words in a dozen garbled languages and might or might not have been dirty. His sparkly pointed hat added about a yard to his height and boasted a fetching pom-pom on top, like an unsightly New Year’s creation. On his feet, he wore flip-flops of twine and cardboard. In short, he looked like a wizard, but one with sleeves full of doves and a hat full of Aces of Hearts. In fact, he was.
“Good morning,” said Bumble, who had no idea what he was in for.
The old wizard stared at him. “What do you mean? Do you mean to wish I’ll have a good morning or are you saying it’s a nice one? Or perhaps that you feel good on this exact morning. Or maybe you are peddling Good Morning Breakfast Bars, and this is how you ease into the topic.”
“Geez. Pedantic much?” asked Bumble, wishing he’d never opened that jar of worms, or as he called them, pre-appetizers.
“I am rarely pedantic, for I am a wizard of great renown. In fact, I am Gonedaft the Grey, formerly known as Gonedaft the Grizzled, Gonedaft the Gadabout and Gonedaft of the Rainbow Tie-die that He So Can’t Pull Off.” For emphasis, he waved his staff, which was the curliest pool hook in all the land. A few sad sparks shot out the end.
“Gonedaft! You’re famous for dragging halfling kids off to parts unknown. They always come back wide-eyed and trembling with wild stories. Incidentally, aren’t you wanted by the town sheriff?”
Gonedaft eyed him. “I thought you’d be fat, middle-aged, and jolly. Where’s the fruity laugh? I heard your mother was part fairy.”
Bumble looked bored. “That scandal blew through town years ago. It was in the papers and everything. And I thought you’d look like a wizard, not an encyclopedia salesman who sleeps under hedges and was out late celebrating.”
Gonedaft tried again. “Harken to me, Halfling, for I’ve come to take you on a great adventure.”
“Ah. I know this one. I’m actually the heir to a far-distant throne, with great magics at my command that I’ve never even tried to use. But in fact I have an amazing destiny. And you’ve come to bring me my ancestor’s magical sword or glass slipper or something of the sort and whisk me away for training in battling blindfolded and finding my inner tiger and so on.”
Gonedaft blinked. “Quite a movie-watcher I see.”
“Indeed.” The jaded halfling’s expression suggested that there was no surprising him.
“In fact, you aren’t special at all–you’re a run-of-the mill halfling less exciting than a leftover turnip who’s never done anything more interesting than floss between his hairy toes each morning. You are the least magically-inclined person I’ve ever encountered. I’m fresh out of magic swords, and I doubt you could even find the willpower to lift one if I didn’t dunk it in melted cheese. However, I am offering you an adventure nonetheless.”
“Next are you gonna offer me some candy if I get into your carriage?”
“You might win great treasures. Or fame and renown. You might even–” here Gonedaft paused very dramatically indeed. “–be the star of a movie.”
“I was already in three.”
Gonedaft waved a hand dismissively. “Bit parts. And you weren’t in the middle one. Not even in the DVD extras.”
“Nonetheless. I don’t want any adventures, thank you.”
“Maybe I’ll consult with the Brownies then,” Gonedaft said, in a voice that suggested he regretted using such a cruel weapon. “They live across the road, yes?”
“Say hi for me. And do stop by if you’re passing through in eighty years or so. I’ll likely be dead by then. But I suppose you’ll look the same. I doubt you could get much more wrinkled.”
Gonedaft eyed him. “A polite halfling would invite me to tea around now. Tomorrow perhaps.”
Bumble met his glance squarely. “Perhaps he might. Good morning.” This last word was said with such quelling finality that Gonedaft felt no need to get pedantic again.
“Good morning. But I must warn you, you have not seen the last of me.”
“Say that again…to my newly acquired low-hanging chandelier!”
Bumble popped inside, and lowered his chandelier to the worst possible height for visiting Biggers, as he called them. Though he hoped he’d seen the last of the wizard, there was no point in taking chances.
Gonedaft, in his famous craftiness, began to spray-paint words on the door in a moment of petty vandalism, but Bumble dialed the cops, who soon ran him off.
That evening, Bumble had just finished flossing his toes and was settling into his bubble bath when he heard the 1812 overture chiming tinnily on his doorbell. Muttering to himself, he donned a silken dressing gown and opened the door. There, to his surprise, was a ticking bomb.
“Waaaaaaaaaaahh!” Bumble managed, frozen in place.
“Sorry, just my little joke!” a dwarf popped out from behind the doorframe where he’d been waiting to see if Bumble would soil himself (the dwarfish sense of humor is similar to the halfling one). He was festooned in crochet from head to toe: scarves, vests, earmuffs, and even a few antimacassars. “Bobbin, at your table.”
“My table? Don’t you mean my service?” Bumble knew all about how dwarves spoke from watching midnight wrestling on Channel Six.
“Your table service maybe. He he.” Having inflicted the pun, Bobbin strode into Bumble’s house as if he owned it.
“Brother!” cried the loud voice of Noggin behind him. As a dwarf of superior intellect, it was his job to subtly drop bits of exposition on the quest. This dwarf apparently had no use for knitting, preferring instead to wear odd magnifying goggles with copper gears woven into his beard plaits. He was bald with odd mathematical symbols tattooed on his head (from when he’d run out of notepaper).
“Yes, you are!” Bobbin cried. “Thank you for supplying that fact to our readers!” The dwarves indulged in their classic head-butting to ensure that neither might have an advantage over the other in the brains department. Then they crowded into the halfling hole, trying not to trip over Bumble’s piles of autographed headshots, first editions, and movie replicas. Piles of dirt and dust were heaped on the quaint, old-fashioned furniture and memorabilia alike, slightly muting the intensity of the decor. Halflings enjoy bright colors, and Bumble’s combination of stripes and checks, mostly in green, purple, and gold like a Mardi Gras display, was no exception. His rainbow of a patchwork dressing gown only compounded the effect. “Where are we, Laddie?” Bobbin wondered. “Badger’s hole in The Wind in the Willows?”
Noggin shook his head. “Too muddy for that. But perhaps I could invent a sort of primitive vacuum cleaner…”
Next came another pair, Hottie and Spottie, with perfect matching ponytails. Hottie was dreamboat handsome, with large soulful eyes that seemed to take up the entire space between his ears. Spottie’s face was more taken up with, well, spots. Soon on their heels were the rest of the dwarfish company.
“Let’s see,” said Gonedaft, striding into the room and tripping over Spottie. The others helped him to his feet and he continued as if nothing untoward had happened. “We have Bobbin and Noggin. Rover and Clover. Sloppy, Ploppy, and Frappe. Hottie and Spottie, of course. And Quaff, Sloth, and Ezekiel.”
“Ezekiel?” Bumble managed, still stunned by the sudden house guests. His silent alarm hadn’t even gone off.
“It’s from the Bible!” the tallest dwarf said importantly. Ezekiel’s beard drifted nearly to his toes, like one of those ancient prophets unacquainted with scissors. “No one told my da we were doing rhyming names, all right? You should see my cousins–seven of them, all named for attributes like goofy and dopey.”
Bumble found himself staring as Rover scratched vigorously behind one ear.
Sloppy laughed uproariously as if it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen, not noticing how much blood was oozing
from the small axe in his head. “Rover’s half dog, Clover’s half leprechaun. Different mothers. In fact, we’re all siblings or cousins, or both at once you know.” Rover and Clover nodded. Clover had a bright green hood with yellow shamrocks, while Rover’s looked more like a pair of floppy ears. Beside them, Quaff and Sloth were bristling with weapons, spikes, studs, and other shiny metal bits.
Gonedaft tried to step further into the room, and this time wanged his head on the chandelier. He let out a faint groan while Hottie and Spottie cooed about what a wise and perceptive wizard he was. He stood, whacked his head harder, and went down once more.
Meanwhile, Ploppy, who had a face that was puffed like Popeye’s and dented like Popeye’s would have been after a dozen spinach-related brawls, whacked Sloppy on the head, sending the axe blade a bit deeper. Sloppy didn’t seem to notice. “Move it, bro. Or cousin. Or half-uncle-once-removed. Whichever. You’re, like, blocking the way to the grub.”
“Food? Oh. Yes. Well, I suppose I could order from the curry take-away…” Bumble began.
It was too late. The dwarves had already found the pantry.
Bumble’s larder spewed forth cottage loaves, stilton, Yorkshire pudding, muffins, and crumpets. From the pudding closet came plumcake, treacle tart, apple dumplings, and about thirty kinds of custard. They soon discovered his bomb shelter with its year’s supply of canned goods, and immediately reduced it to a day or two’s supply, if that person ate less than a halfling at least.
What followed was a maelstrom of mastication, food fights, and odd Germanic sing-alongs, all with beer steins thumping on the table. After the fourth round, there was more splashing than actual quaffing, dropping much of the beer into their beards to be thriftily saved for later. Traditional dwarf beer tasted of battery acid, and dwarf ale of chipmunk leavings. Halfling wine was a notable step up.
Bumble, crouched in the corner and sadly watching the vanishing of an entire day or two of his supplies, marveled much at the dwarves, from their habits to their language. Dwarves are known for their strength and they have fierce tempers, owing to the fact that everyone goes around mentioning how short they are, whereas they know that they are the perfect height and everyone else is too tall. Dwarves, it is said, wear the weight of history on their massively stalwart shoulders, whereas elves tend to coast over most of it, only tuning in every thousand years or so, and halflings don’t tend to look outside their boroughs or even read the newspaper. But for the dwarf, it’s like being at the pointy end of an upside-down pyramid, with the immense density of ancestral anger, duty, honor, and so forth pressing on their shoulders. This of course is why they are built more compactly than willowy elves or gangly humans.
When Sloppy came over to fill his mug, Bumble eyed the axe sticking out of his head. “Have you had a terrible accident?”
“Oh, yes, I just spilled porridge on my coat. And your couch. Kind of you to notice.”
Bumble dropped the matter, though he was nearly certain the blade hadn’t been in the appendices. “Why is it that you don’t speak dwarfish except when you’re cursing?”
Sloppy laughed and poured the entire contents of a mug down his gullet and burped heavily enough to shake his entire body. “Ah. We were once a proud and noble people. Only, like many of our youth, we couldn’t afford proper dwarf school, and learned it all on the streets.”
“How did you survive?”
Ploppy winked at Sloppy. “We totally became a circus act. Want to see our plate throwing?” They began a delicate and delightful hurling of dishes through the air, perfectly in rhythm with their uproarious singing.
Quaff and Sloth got out the trough
To fetch a pail of water
Quaff hates washing stuff
And said hey enough
And smashed all the cups right after
At that lyric, a few dishes dribbled to the ground.
Up got the dwarves, and sold replica swords
On Elfbay and shopping networks
Profits soared
And the fans adored,
And they replaced the dishes but didn’t learn rhyme or meter.
As they regaled Bumble, it was clear that they’d been charming singing performers, at once soulful and melodious. As it turned out, they were less than successful jugglers. It was clear, in fact, how Sloppy had acquired the axe. The satisfying wobble of stacked plates was soon eclipsed by the musical clink of smashed crockery.
“My commemorative movie glassware!” Bumble shrieked.
Gonedaft scowled. “When did commemorative movie glassware become so important to you?
“Are you kidding? They’re worth thousands!”
“Despite your fixation with the trivialities of life, I think you would do well to come with us. Destiny says–”
“Destiny is a word writers use to pave over plotholes. What’s the real reason?”
Gonedaft hesitated, and then leaned in and beckoned Bumble closer. “I saw your satellite dish from the road.”
“Yes?”
Gonedaft poked his belly (which was soft, though not reaching santaclausian proportions). “You seem like a sedentary fellow, lots of free time in your bachelor quarters. Watch a lot of television, do you?”
“Well, yes,” Bumble said, surprised. Most wizards questing for their chosen one never seemed to have used a channel clicker before.
“Collect comic books? Autographed headshots? Action figures?”
“Yes,” Bumble said meekly. Collectables were all the rage in Halflingtonfordshire.
“Avid gamer?”
“Sure.”
“Know how quest stories work?”
The other shoe dropped. (Halflings know of shoes; they’re just not terribly interested). “Ah. I see.” Gonedaft pointed up the stairs. Several dwarves had torn down strips of wallpaper to create a battle plan for fighting Erpolushun. It seemed to consist of a big mountain fortress and little figures running up the side of it towards the main entrance. One dwarf had sketched the dragon blowing a gust of flame down the entire mountainside, with beautifully artistic swirls of red ketchup and yellow mustard against the black and white page. “Ah.”
Gonedaft gazed into Bumble’s beady eyes. “You are to be the voice of common sense. When there is danger, you will run and hide. When there is a dark tunnel, you will announce you won’t be going down it. You will squeal and flee and beg and humiliate yourself on a daily basis, all in the name of pacifism.”
Bumble considered. “I can do that.” He paused. “Are you saying these dwarves have no common sense?” He glanced at the dwarves. Clover was juggling knives. Rover was hurling them at his brother with no regard for the broken windows he kept shattering by mistake. Then he was jumping through the glass to fetch them. Frappe was attempting to eat a cheese bigger than his own head. “Wow. Are you sure, though? I mean, I’m not one of those ruggedly handsome heroes, threadbare yet gleaming with nobility through his well-worn leathers, teeth glinting like diamonds, with a commanding gift of leadership that would make women swoon and men cross the earth to be his subjects. Probably just as well, though. We really covered that in the other trilogy.”
Suddenly, all voices went quiet. Outside, thunder thundered even though the day was cloudless. The birds stilled. All Bumble’s jam jars came to life momentarily and performed a stately elf dance. Then Torn Teepeeshield walked in.
He was ruggedly handsome, threadbare yet gleaming with nobility through his well-worn leathers, teeth glinting like diamonds, with a commanding gift of leadership that would make women swoon and men cross the earth to be his subjects. His eyes were sharp and clear, his beard was black and free of foodstains. He was King of the Dwarves, proving that a stately nobility and shining teeth will always beat an economic plan and resume full of experience. He gazed impassively at the dwarves, then Gonedaft, then finally Bumble.
“So this is the Halfling,” said Torn.
“You said it, you said the movie title,” squeaked Spottie. “This moment mu
st be significant!”
Torn eyed him from head to toe. “So it is. It was foretold: Once the original trilogy makes millions upon millions, once the Boy Wizard and the Sparkly Vampire have finished their franchises–then has come the time to return to Renfair Earth. And return we must: The white dragon stole my city and my Beegshinee’gem Stone and my rare collection of dwarfish etchings! We must reclaim our land!”
“Ared’dôr!”
“Ared’dôr!”
“Ared’dôr!”
“Eh? I thought we called it Lonely Mountain,” Bobbin said.
One of the others cuffed him. “Shaddup!”
Torn nodded. “Yes, Ared’dôr may not have had the art scene…or running water…but it was ours. It was built with the finest child labor–all the children Rumpelstiltskin and the other elves managed to cart off. Elf and reindeer labor too. I want my home back…even more than I want revenge. Or the treasure. But I want those too. I’m so torn!” A look of terrible angst clouded his face.
“We know, we know,” the other dwarves chorused.
“But we shall prevail! Even though there’s only fifteen of us. Even though most of us can’t even fight, even though Spottie’s–stop that! Really, it’s disgusting! As I was saying, we shall prevail. And Gonedaft is a wizard–he must’ve killed lots of dragons.”
“Ah, that. I was planning on more of a consulting role.”
Torn eyed Gonedaft. “That’s all?”
“Well, there’s this. Your father ‘gave’ it to me,” said Gonedaft, producing a large key on a long chain. Torn eyed it. “Pewter,” he said disparagingly, and hurled it into a corner.
The air around Gonedaft grew dark, as if he’d sprayed the air with a sooty mist, available at joke shops for a quite reasonable markup. “Do you know how long I’ve been hauling that thing around, trying to see if it opened anything valuable? Do not disdain the gift of a wizard, Torn Teepeeshield, for while I’m quick to anger, I’m not terribly subtle!”
Gonedaft sighed. His temper fizzled out as fast as it had come. Bumble sprayed some air freshener around, and the darkness dissipated. “And there’s this!” Gonedaft held up a map with a flourish. He didn’t get the response he’d expected.
“Th-the-the first word there is thee!”
“Gosh, it’s all pictures!”
“Look at the letters–they’re all different shapes.”
“I can’t read joined-up writing yet.”
“Where’s the X?”
“It’s not a proper treasure map without an X!”
Gonedaft sighed once more, and then a third time. All his quests seemed to involve recruiting from the shallow end of the gene pool. “And yet, if you look at the margin, there is a message here in dwarfish runes.
Whoever is reading this definitely has too much time on their hands, if theyre painstakingly translating this, or have learned Norse runes as a hobby. If you just have the ebook, fair enough.
Bumble squirmed close. He loved maps, and maintained an avid hobby of geocaching. Further, he knew three dialects of dwarf, two of elvish, and several more obscure tongues like Welsh. “It doesn’t mean anything–it’s gibberish.”
“I know,” said Torn. “My grandfather was illiterate.”
Bumble turned it over. “Oh look, there’s something more written on the back. It’s the list of movies you could’ve been in instead of this one!”
Gonedaft, who was mildly loathing the fact that he was having to quest across Renfair Earth all over again, and at his age, grimaced. “Nonetheless, we’re stuck here. Well, Bumble, will you join our quest? You’re in the title, after all.”
“Sorry, I haven’t read the whole script. Quest for what?”
“To reclaim our gold from the dragon known in the old tongue as Erpolushun, or in the common tongue, Smog.”
He blinked. “I already fight smog. My chimney is a hybrid.” Gonedaft pulled out a contract with a flourish. Bumble’s face didn’t change. “It was in your sleeve.” He unfolded it to reveal one of those Terms of Use forms that appears on every website.
Torn shrugged. “Don’t read it, no one ever does. Just type your credit card number on the dotted line and pray we don’t charge it.”
“Wait, this says that I get a share of the treasure up to one-fourteenth? Isn’t a farthing for instance, up to one-fourteenth?”
“Huh. Guess it is.”
“All right, I see I get my own trailer and makeup artist, though you seem to have forgotten the obligatory cheese tray.” He quickly penciled in that part. “Merchandising, my head on several varieties of action figure, all good.” The phrase “certain death” floated in front of his cowardly eyeballs, but was momentarily set aside for a burst of parsimony. “And what’s this part here about a cheap funeral? Forget it. I’ll miss too much television. Besides, I’m no warrior.”
“We don’t want one,” Gonedaft said. “We want a thief. And possibly a paladin if you have one around. Halflings have a magic invisibility power we’ve never seen used before.”
“Really?”
“Sure, why not.”
“And think how happy Smog will be with an appetizer,” Sloth added.
“Gonedaft, can I try on your hat?” Fumble asked.
Gonedaft cuffed him. “Shut up! You haven’t been born yet! We need Bumble for the comic relief, and more, to be the everyman on this quest.” He eyed the dwarves. “Our franchise is losing interest. People would rather dress as the Boy Wizard or Archery Girl for Halloween. And having seen our twelve-hour saga a few times, fans have tucked it on the shelf to gather dust and resemble the attractively bound classics no one ever reads. Only a few renaissance-fair-visiting, Norse-rune-reading fantasy purists still care. We need another adventure.” Firmly, Gonedaft grasped Bumble by his belled collar and dragged him down to the basement, or as the halfling called it, emergency cookie storage.
Once there, Gonedaft eyed the shrimpy halfling. This would require all of his craftiness and guile. Luckily he’d once sold vacuum cleaners door to door. “Bumble, the world isn’t on the science fiction channel! It’s out there.”
“Yes, but in here is a five-course dinner. And modern plumbing.” Bumble hesitated. “Can you promise that I’ll come back?”
“No. And if you do, you won’t be the same…”
“I won’t? Because I’ll be famous throughout Renfair Earth, with my face on birthday party paper plates and rubber Halloween masks and so forth, or because I will have discovered some artifact that saps slowly at my humanity?”
“One of the two, I suppose.
Bumble hesitated. This was the crossroads of his life. The moment of choice. The ultimate smorgasbord. Up above, he heard dwarfish singing. Louder than the rest was Torn, chanting gently:
Ring-a-ring-a-dragons,
A pocket full of flagons;
Ashes! Ashes!
It all fell down.
We dwarves do like to sing songs
That are quite copyright-free
And dwell on our past troubles
And forget about high tea.
Ring-a-ring-a-dragons,
A pocket full of flagons;
Ashes! Ashes!
It all fell down.
Oh we will quest and tumble,
But not perish till part two.
For if we go on cable
We’ll find fans we can accrue.
Ring-a-ring-a-dragons,
A pocket full of flagons;
Ashes! Ashes!
It all fell down.
We’ll sing the exposition
And whistle all the day,
But if you mix our names up,
With our axe blades we will play.
“And cut…off…your…face…” Ploppy added on in a high falsetto.
The dwarves chimed in on the next few choruses.
As they sang, Bumble felt the love of stealing other people’s possessions course through him. He imagined what it would be like to have his face on calendars and
tie-in editions, his outfits available in the tackiest of costume shops. And a longing came over him to see other areas of New Zealand and wear a sword, or at least an eating knife, instead of his usual lobster bib. Aloud, however, Bumble continued to express reluctance, though less so after every drink Gonedaft pressed on him. By the twelfth, he was beginning to think that an adventure might be quite a jolly idea, in fact.
Then he passed out.
When he woke in the morning, the dwarves were gone. So were all the small valuable items. Bumble sighed. Everything was back to normal, or would be after he hid a few more items and then filed a false insurance claim. He dressed himself carefully in his customary outfit of green velvet knee breeches, and green jacket over a red waistcoat and red and white striped stockings. Ignoring how much he resembled Santa’s favorite helper without the pointy cap, he nodded enthusiastically at the mirror, which promptly cracked. Bundling in his patchwork dressing gown for extra coziness (and giving himself bonus points for the clashing colors), he cooked himself a light and modest breakfast of sausages, bacon, fried eggs, mushrooms, baked beans, fried bread and fried potatoes (which are a New World food, but one cannot have Britain without them!), and ate it all, with much relief. Then he heard a knock at the door. “We’re here to repossess your house!” It seemed the bank’s scouring of the neighborhood had begun.
In an instant, Bumble was flying down the road, all his possessions in the world strapped to his back.
Down the path, a troupe of ponies decked out in colorful circus gear stopped to look at Bumble. He appeared to be dressed worse than they were. On their backs, thirteen dwarves watched with equal skepticism.
“Oh, wow, look, it’s whatshisname,” Ploppy said. “The Christmas gnome.”
“Everyone stay perfectly still. Maybe he won’t spot us,” Sloth muttered.
“I’ve decided to come with you,” Bumble said. “You guys convinced me last night. With your talk of stirring adventures.”
“Fine, get him a pony,” said Torn. He patted the neck of his own Rainbow Delight with fuzzy pink coat and sparkle wings.
“Actually, I’ve never ridden.”
“Then strap him underneath,” Torn said, clearly secure in the knowledge that the next day Bumble would offer to ride on top.
“Just give me a minute to put on a coat,” Bumble said. “I can’t run around having adventures in my dressing gown.
“Really? You look like you’ve done it before,” said Gonedaft.
“I haven’t even brought my camping toilet paper.”
Ploppy considered, and ripped a wad off his beard. “Here.”
They strapped Bumble to the underside of Flitterbuff the pony, bathrobe and all, and they were off. Riding uncomfortably, Bumble felt his heart leap. An adventure at last! Somewhere inside him, his narrow little soul, heretofore content with watching adventures on the big screen, was actually expanding. In short, he felt that one chapter of his life was ending and another beginning.
How Game of Thrones Will End: The Influences Driving the Show and All the Paths It May Take
As many know, Game of Thrones takes its story from many influences: the War of the Roses, Catherine de Medici, Norse and Celtic myth as well as medieval ballads. Modern readers find parallels with politics, the corporate world, and conflict in Iraq and Afghanistan. Will the story end like Lord of the Rings or completely invert it? How about King Arthur? Pop culture and parody author Valerie Estelle Frankel examines the sources and predicts a Game of Thrones ending for each one. What will the Ragnarok ending look like? Or the Narnia ending? Who will live, who will die, and how goofy can the war of ice and fire possibly get?
How It’ll End: Politics
The peasants finally have enough. Singing La Marseillaise and wearing ribbons of brown burlap, they storm the Red Keep and guillotine every single Lannister – their cousins, their in-laws, their favorite servants, their kittycats. Of course, since by this point the keep is stuffed with Lannisters, the guillotining takes an entire season (a Westerosi season at that). All goes well until they’re eaten by the ice zombies, whom no one bothered to stop. Jon Snow takes advantage of the chaos to proclaim himself supreme tyrant of the Wall and all the frozen wastelands…now encompassing all of Westeros. He rules wisely and fairly, though not over many subjects.
The Tyrells flee across the sea to Slaver’s Bay, where they fling themselves on Daenerys and beg her to kill the impudent rabble, wed Loras Tyrell, and take the throne. However, Daenerys decides the peasants have a valid point – how can she free the slaves of the east but insist the peasants obey her in the west? She institutes a constitutional republic in Meereen, but to her disappointment, is immediately voted out in favor of the Meerenese lord with the tallest hair and tightest tokar. Ser Loras marries him, and they live happily ever after, though they dispense with the elections in favor of leadership by the most fashionable. Daenerys drifts east, determined to return to the Dothraki and offer them the tools to a fair and open election. She is never heard from again.
How It’ll End: Gormanghast
Varys skulks around King’s Landing assassinating Lannisters, until Littlefinger returns and takes a more active role in the same. He convinces Cersei’s cousin Lancel that the Lannisters hate him, and Lancel, enraged, burns down the royal primping chamber where Cersei’s hairdresser manages those fantastic twists and puffs. Cersei, caught in the fire, is horribly scarred and her paranoia turns to madness. She finally flings herself off the roof of King’s Landing.
Tommen rules alone, though he’s captivated by a strange wild girl who lives in the forest. Every time he glimpses her, he considers chucking everything and fleeing the horrid Lannister regime. Meanwhile, Littlefinger kills and manipulates more and more Lannisters, until Tommen finally slays him in a duel. Tommen flees into the forest where he meets the wild girl and discovers she is Arya, reunited with Nymeria and murdering her enemies whenever they ride through the wood. However, her wolf bond has made her more animal than girl. She leads him, oddly enough, to modern New York, a land of taxis, lightbulbs, and helicopters, where no one will force Tommen to marry at ten or be poisoned at thirteen. Assisted by his beloved kittens, he becomes a stage magician whose top talent is making doves fly out of a pie in a harmless, nonfatal way for all involved (though he runs away in terror when offered management of a lion act). Arya and Nymeria, meanwhile are most often seen lurking around the Central Park Zoo. All three have never been happier. In time, Tommen changes his name to George R.R. Martin and writes an epic tale of violence and magic that sells millions of copies.
How It’ll End: Ballads and Fairytales
Tis in the merry season of winter and the wildling ladies are skipping through the meadows, gathering frozen corpses for the fuel. Brave, bold, and beautiful Daenerys flies North on her beloved dragons. With one glance, Jon falls instantly in love. Riding hell-bent for the North, Prince Aegon sees Daenerys and falls instantly in love as well. The two young heroes mount dragons and battle for three days and three nights until they’re so exhausted that they pledge their friendship and agree to share Daenerys as co-husbands. Then the Other arrives, blustering and roaring on a monstrous ice dragon. When the trio of heroes charge, with swords blazing, one of ice, one of fire, and one of black black steel, he will melt into a puddle of rather muddy slush, with a faint cry of “What a world, what a world…” Daenerys proudly mounts her dragon to fly south and take her throne, but Victarion Greyjoy, hired by Cersei, draws his sword to slay her dragon. However, as his stroke descends, he glances up at Daenerys and falls desperately in love. He misses and the stroke hits Jon, who dives into the blade’s path. Horrified by the loss of his new brother, Aegon slays Victarion. He and Daenerys share her throne, but for the rest of her days, Daenerys thinks of the brave and noble Jon.
How It’ll End: Jacobite Rebellion
A Sixth Blackfyre Rebellion begins, led by Aegon VI, though he identifies himself as the lost son of Rhaegar Targaryen, not as the Blackfyre he tr
uly is. Varys and Illyrio have been scheming for decades to end the Targaryen entitlement and create a compassionate ruler who understands how smallfolk live and will treat them with respect and honor. As Blackfyres themselves, they consider this their ultimate revenge on Westeros. Arianne Martell of Dorne allies with Aegon, and convinces Dorne to rise and defend the princes all their enemies have slain. Unfortunately for the pair, the lords have no interest in respect for commoners and only want Daenerys, dazzling, beautiful, legitimate, and available for marriage, with dragons to boot. The other six kingdoms dismiss Aegon’s claims, and he’s finally revealed as a fraud.
Daenerys conquers the Seven Kingdoms, and (in a spirit of compassion) banishes Aegon back to the Free Cities, though she keeps the Blackfyres’ golden heads for her trophy case. Arianne, for her treason, in banished alongside her husband, and the Blackfyre claim to the throne becomes a joint claim for the thrones of Westeros and Dorne, as the Golden Company continues to campaign and make demands. Queen Daenerys finally grants them a small stipend to stop annoying her and bids them to go rule Meereen, as that worked out so well for her. They follow her instructions and are just as hated there as she was. Daenerys considers beheading Varys and Illyrio for trying to have her killed by the harsh Dothraki lifestyle, but realizes she’s indebted to Illyrio for the gift of his dragon eggs long ago. She sends the scheming pair to go to Asshai and bring her more, but they have not yet returned.
How It’ll End: King Arthur
Jon is transformed by the Other into a figure of Ice determined to destroy Westeros and especially his family, to be king after the world is reduced to ice and snow. Having found the magical Targaryen sword Blackfyre, emblem of the Targaryen kings, Daenerys arrives to battle him, with her entourage of knights. She has left behind Daario Naharis, who cheated on her with a beautiful and valiant maiden, then entered an abbey. Reportedly, the septas there are all very happy.
Upon her arrival, Melisandre gives her many cryptic warnings. Daenerys battles Jon sword to sword, fire dragon to ice dragon, and realizes she could have loved him, her nephew. Nonetheless, she kills him. Battling the wights, Barristan, Jorah, and all of Daenerys’s inner circle are slain, save for humble Missandei. Daenerys hands her Blackfyre, the magical Targaryen sword, and asks her to throw it into the sea. She does, and the children of the forest bear Daenerys underground, to a place of healing beside Bran among the weirwoods. Bran sees that Jon’s body is burned, and forbids the Children of the Woods to eat him.
With all their heirs to the Iron Throne dead, the seven kingdoms break apart. There are no more dragons, no more magic. The weirwoods go silent. The Maesters throw a gala celebration and set about rewriting history so that they saved the day, while the Septon attempts to convert all of Westeros in the wake of the red priesthood’s collapse. The Ironborn start raiding so much that they’ve soon intermarried with most of Westeros and so become part of it. All of our heroes drift into legend.
How It’ll End: A Wizard of Earthsea
Jon studies with Melisandre, who teaches him to create shadow creatures. He gives it a try, despite the disturbing “mature audiences” scene that follows. However, this shadow seems disinclined to obey, and in fact decides it wants to kill Jon. Melisandre fears the Other at the end of the world has stolen it from them, and also fears that the shadow hates Jon because Jon still believes in the Old Gods, not the Lord of Light. In a rage at being replaced, Stannis strangles Melisandre, but she manages to kill him before he kills her. As Jon flees Castle Black to escape the shadow, Sam goes with him. On their quest, they shelter with a mysterious old couple who give them half of the magical Targaryen sword Dark Sister. This sort of thing always happens on quests. Finally, Jon meets the shadow under a weirwood and tells it the Old Gods and the Lord of Light are one – all battle the endless night. The shadow accepts this wisdom and joins with him. Another “mature audiences” scene ensues, as this is Martin.
Following this comes an incredibly protracted subplot in which Sam tracks the missing half of Dark Sister to Braavos. There, he meets a deadly assassin of the Faceless Men, who nearly murders him. When he sees her use her warg magic, he realizes who she is and calls her Arya Stark. She gives him the missing half of Dark Sister and agrees to return to Westeros and see Jon Snow.
Daenerys finally invades Westeros, only to discover a Targaryen pretender, calling himself Aegon VI and her nephew, is wreaking havoc in the Stormlands. She is tempted to go aid him as the Lannisters descend upon him, but Quaithe summons her north to battle the Endless Winter. There she meets Jon, who uses his warg powers to tame Viserion the white dragon, while Daenerys rides the black. After a dozen Night’s Watch soldiers are burned to death by Rhaegal, they learn their lesson, and the third dragon is left in peace.
At the edge of the world, Daenerys and Jon face a terrible sacrifice – the magic of their shared Targaryen blood can bring the spring if they give it up forever. This they do, as Daenerys lights a final bonfire and they walk into it together. Their dragons carry them from the blaze, injured yet alive, and fly them down to King’s Landing. There they discover Aegon VI has taken the throne, hero of the common people for slaughtering the Lannisters and winning the only battle they’ve ever cared about. He cannot even offer Daenerys the queenship, as he’s married Arianne Martell, heir to Dorne. He does however offer Jon a place as his advisor. With the Wall no longer necessary, Jon accepts. Jon and Aegon are acclaimed by all of Westeros as great heroes, and Daenerys, merely a woman and pacifist, finds herself largely ignored.
While Jon flies north and fights the king of the wights to a standstill, Daenerys marries Ser Jorah and settles down for a quiet life in the country. Jorah dies, and Daenerys continues alone. However, a child with half her face covered in scars appears at her door one day and Daenerys realizes Shireen has been orphaned and abandoned. After her father died, her mother went mad and tried to kill her. Daenerys adopts the child and they live in safety and contentment until Daenerys receives a strange message from Quaithe. Following instructions, she brings Shireen to a hilltop, only to find Melisandre waiting. It is revealed that Melisandre, not Quaithe, has called her. Melisandre has always planned to sacrifice Shireen for the power her magical blood will bring, and she is the one to have nearly killed the girl.
After Daenerys defends Shireen, Jon flies up on his dragon. He sarcastically announces that he would rather be a goatherd in the country than a king, so Daenerys narrows her eyes and invites him to stay. With a quick glance at her enormous dragon, he sputters and agrees. They go home together and soon fall in love. Meanwhile, Melisandre attacks once more, and Shireen, driven to desperation, mounts the third dragon and saves Jon and Daenerys. She flings a bucket of water onto Melisandre, who, being a fire priestess, promptly turns to wet ash and dies. Shireen reveals herself as the third dragonrider, and the trio of humans fly together for the rest of their lives. Someone or other rules in King’s Landing but it doesn’t matter much to them. Since no tax collector will go near a house with three dragons, they live solitary, pleasant lives as a family.
How It’ll End: Philippa Gregory
Thanks to the childhood curse upon her, Cersei’s children Joffrey then Tommen are mysteriously killed, thanks to Stannis and his leech burning. Immediately, Cersei summons her third child home to rule. However, Myrcella returns a young woman, prepared to rule rather than being managed by her mother. Advised heavily by the scheming Arianne Martell, Myrcella makes awkward political choices.
At last, Stannis suddenly proposes marriage to Myrcella. With his wife dead from her pickling jar fumes, he can marry her and take the throne as the one true king. Margaery is interested, but he trusts her about as much as a viper in a pet shop. Myrcella is actually flattered and interested, though Cersei hears rumors Stannis may have murdered her two boys. She refuses, and Myrcella sneaks from the castle to run off and marry Stannis. However, a jealous Melisandre sends a shadow baby to strangle her on their wedding night. Upon hearin
g this, Cersei is so filled with rage that she drops dead on the spot. Jaime tries to give her CPR, but unfortunately uses the golden hand, which crushes her windpipe. Daenerys comes from over the sea, takes the throne, and weds Jaime, last of the Lannisters.
How It’ll End: Robert Frost’s Fire and Ice
Bran and Jon learn that an Endless Winter is coming. Though Daenerys, Melisandre, and their friends fight bravely, the winter that lasts a generation begins. Westeros is destroyed, mirroring Old Valyria long ago. The Seven Kingdoms, after squandering all their food during the Civil War, slowly starve. Cannibalism becomes rampant, and Cersei is discovered to love her children so much that she’s had them quietly smothered and eaten them. Upon discovering this, a sobbing Jaime kills her, then himself. Fortunately, Tyrion has died in the Battle for the Dawn, or he would have made any number of pointed comments. However, Jon, Daenerys, Bran, and three wights escape to Essos, there to conquer the entire continent and become its new rulers in an empire of ice. Aegon the Conqueror has come full circle. As for Westeros, brave souls journey there once or twice generation, seeking the famous lost treasure…Joffrey’s fabled sword Lion’s Tooth, described in story and song as the slayer of a monstrous warg, wielded by the Golden Prince, noblest hero of his age.
How It’ll End: Sword and Sorcery
After the War for the Dawn, Arya will decide she’s done with civilized life, and she and the Hound will wander through Westeros, with him brawling with “true knights” for coin and her quietly murdering anyone who makes cracks about gender, or says nasty things about wolves and Starks. Nymeria joins them, and Arya uses her wolf magic whenever she’s caught in bad situations. Occasionally, the three-eyed crow contacts her in wolf dreams to give her an assignment for “the good of the realm,” but mostly she and the Hound seek lost treasure among the ancient ruins of the world, from the North to Old Valyria. She never wears a dress again.
Eventually, they run across the Hound’s nephew – a byblow of Gregor Clegane’s who is seven feet tall with “sullen,” “smoldering,” and “volcanic” blue eyes, bronzed skin, long black hair down to his waist, and a “pantherlike grace,” dressed only in a loincloth. Though she’s several feet shorter than this mass of muscle and far quicker, Arya finds herself falling for him after he kills an entire company of enemy sellswords and piles their heads into a rough sculpture of her. They live happily ever after, though always on the road.
A Preposterous Portfolio of Parodies: Free Selections from Spoofs of The Hobbit, Game of Thrones, Harry Potter, Star Trek and More Page 3