This is my latest LARP character fiction. It is transparently inspired by (read “stolen whole-cloth from”) the show Boston Legal.
As my character develops, I’m beginning to think that “fop” might not have been the best word to characterize him. Certainly he is a fop in dress and manner; but Anson isn’t the exactly the effete snob that the word “fop” normally conjures up. I’m beginning to think the term “rascal” is more appropriate.
Anyway, the fic is below the cut.
got over the feeling of being somehow cramped, even when riding
through it’s wider streets. But amongst the inconveniences there were
pleasures to be had as well. Like the company of old friends…
“Ah, once again the the honorable Master of Law has seen fit to invite
me into his august presence.”
“Shut up and have some wine, you old goat.”
“Arbor Gold, eh? Nothing but the best for his lordsh-”
“Suck on a toad, Deni. I’m still just a knight and you know it.”
“A knight who’s gotten big for his breeches. I’ll bet you piss wine
now, and fart roses.”
“It’s not like this was my idea.”
“I always said you’d come to no good. You were a lousy squire. I
only put you up for knighthood to get rid of you.”
“I seem to recall it having something to do with your inability to
stay on a horse, and my having to defend your fat ass while it sat in
Both men paused and sipped their wine, reminiscing. Ser Anson Tyrell,
Master of Law; and Ser Denison Crane, knight, erstwhile bannerman of
house Tyrell, now wearing the white of the Kingsguard. The harbor was
wine-gold in the rays of the setting sun, and the remains of the day’s
heat radiated from the tiles of the narrow balcony on which they sat.
Cries from merchants hawking carts laden with fruits, sweetmeats, and
sweet-smelling flowers drifted up from the streets below.
Anson mused at length: “I think I’m beginning to hate this place.”
Deni chuckled. “What’s crawled into your smallclothes, boy?”
“This, all of this.” Anson gestured vaguely. “This city, this job,
this tower. I hate it.”
“What are you talking about? You’re Master of Law, member of the
Small Council. Women want you, men want to be you! You’ve got the
world at your feet, man. What more could you want?”
Anson pondered. “I’m *bored*, Deni.”
Deni eyed Anson. “If you’re bored, take a woman. They never fail to
keep things interesting.”
“Women…” Anson let out a long sigh. “There’s just so many serving
wenches and barmaids a man can bed. You know, I never thought I’d say
this, but I think I’m getting bored with them too.”
“Call a Maester for me, will you? I think the heat has addled my
brain. It sounded like Anson Tyrell said he was tired of women.”
“Maybe not all women, but… Deni, why *did* you do it? How could you
take the white, knowing it meant forsaking the company of women for
Ser Crane stared out to sea, his eyes unfocused.
He spoke quietly. “I loved a woman, once. After… no one else
seemed to measure up.”
“What’s it like, being in love?”
“I would think you of all people would know.”
“I used to think I was in love almost every time I set eyes on a girl.
Your daughter, for instance–”
Crane growled and narrowed his eyes in Anson’s direction.
“–a girl of the utmost honor and respect for her father, whom I left
as pure and unblemished as I found.”
The old knight grunted, and relaxed.
“These days… I often feel like if I had to choose between a wench in
my bed and a good horse, I’d choose the horse.”
“I don’t want to hear about whatever perversions you practice in your
“You know what I mean. I wonder, sometimes… what’s it like, to love
someone so much you’d die for them? Or ” – here he glanced at Crane –
” remain faithful to them, even in death?”
“It’s everything. It’s the only point there is. It’s the best you’ll
ever feel… and the worst.”
The two lapsed into silence again for a time. The last glow of the
sun faded, and blue twilight crept over King’s Landing.
Anson was a darker shadow among shadows when he spoke up again.
“I feel lost in this place, Deni.”
“You want to know what I think, Anson? I think you’ve been shuffling
around like a lad in a grown man’s boots ever since you got this job.
You might not think it to see them, but none of the pasty-faced
puffed-up nobles in this castle knew any more about what they were
doing when they got started than you do. Most of them still don’t.
It’s time you stopped tiptoeing around and made this job your own.
Make some noise, boy! Then see if you come whining to me about being
Anson laughed, and lifted his goblet in the darkness. “To making noise!”
“To making noise.”