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Rating:
Mature
Archive Warning:
Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Category:
Gen
Fandoms:
Game of Thrones (TV)Warhammer Fantasy
Characters:
Sansa StarkArya StarkGregor CleganeRobb StarkBrienne of TarthJaime LannisterSkaven Characters (Warhammer Fantasy)Tyrion LannisterOther ASoIaF | GoT Character(s)Queek Headtakerthrot the uncleanSnikch (Warhammer Fantasy)Theon GreyjoyThanquol (Warhammer Age of Sigmar)Asha Greyjoy | Yara GreyjoyTretch Craventail
Additional Tags:
Skaven Species (Warhammer Fantasy)Game of Thrones-Typical ViolenceWar of the Five Kings (A Song of Ice and Fire)POV AlternatingGame of Thrones Season/Series 03Blood and ViolenceCanon-Typical BehaviorBrienne of Tarth is the BestSansa Stark Deserves BetterDirewolves (A Song of Ice and Fire)No Warhammer knowledge requiredTheon Greyjoy Doesn't Betray Robb StarkSkaven are both horrific and hilariousno beta we die like nedImplied/Referenced SuicideCorpse Desecration
Language:
English
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Published:2026-06-07Updated:2026-07-18Words:59,282Chapters:9/13Comments:142Kudos:114Bookmarks:18Hits:4,532
The Glorious Skaven Invasion during the War of the Five Kings
SkilledWarriorKiwi
Summary:
'They have taken the seventh shaft and the third mine. The air stinks of blood. We have barred the gates of the hall but cannot hold them for long. Red eyes in the dark. We cannot get out. Shadows move, claws scrabbling across the stones. Each night more and more of us disappear. They are eating us. We cannot get out. Send help. Send help.'
-by hand of Lord Lefford of Golden Tooth, in his last known message sent to King's Landing.
Chapter 1: A race of giant ratmen? Preposterous!
Notes:
Ramblings
Chapter Text
The new small council chambers was filled with Tyrion's most favourite people of King's Landing; Lord Petyr Baelish, Grand Maester Pycelle, Varys the Spider and of course his father Tywin Lannister and most cherished sister Cersei. He was more amused by Cersei deliberately moving her chair to be seated to Tywin's right, with the three men upon the left. Tyrion just pulled his chair around until he was facing his father from the opposite side of the long table.
"Intimate," Tyrion couldn't help but quip as he settled in place. "Lovely table. Better chairs than the old small council chamber. Conveniently close to your own quarters, I like it."
Tywin glared at him, before directing his attention towards the three at his left and demanding, "What news of Jaime?"
Needless to say the Hand of the King did not appreciate the lack of answers and Tywin was quick to berate the trio at revealing nothing new. Tyrion watched, a part of him wishing he had a cup of wine. The long gash across his face was still raw and painful, the forever remnant of the Battle of the Blackwater that sent Stannis fleeing King's Landing.
Now Varys was informing the table at large of the movements that Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, was taking. Apparently his grandfather Lord Hoster Tully was dead and his whole army was wasting time in Riverrun to attend the funeral. Roose Bolton remained in control of Harrenhal, even if the castle was such a rundown ruin it was hardly a defense or easily maintained so Tywin dismissed that particular news just as easily.
Instead he chose to order Petyr Baelish to the Vale, to court the widowed Lady Lysa Arryn to bring her to their side.
"A successful courtship would make Lord Baelish acting Lord of the Vale," Grand Maester Pycelle rumbled.
"Titles do seem to breed titles," Baelish tittered, seemingly ignorant to Varys's sideways look.
"You'll leave for the Eyrie as soon as possible and bring Lysa Arryn into the fold," Tywin ordered, voice cold and calm. "Then the Young Wolf can add his own aunt to the list of people who have taken up arms against him."
Tyrion really couldn't care less, especially with rumours of Lysa's manic mind and dimwitted son so Baelish was more than welcome to her, but sending away the Master of Coin amidst a civil war seemed folly and it urged Tyrion to say such a thing aloud.
"I do believe we're overlooking two very important topics," Tyrion said, drawing everyone's gaze. "First is that Lord Baelish's absence to peruse his true love would present certain problems. The royal wedding may end up being the most expensive event in living memory. Summer has ended and a war is being fought on all fronts, hard days lie ahead. Not a good time to leave the crown's finances unattended."
"Fully agreed," his father replied with naught even a pause. Tyrion barely had time to feel a flare of satisfaction before Tywin continued with, "Which is why I'm naming you new Master of Coin."
Tyrion blinked, entirely caught off guard, "Me? I'm quite good at spending money but a lifetime of outrageous wealth hasn't taught me much about managing it."
Cersei's pretty smile was pure poison, "I have no doubt you shall rise to occasion."
Tyrion gave her an unimpressed look but knew better than start a true argument. His previous talks with his father made that clear and Tyrion had no desire to get a tongue-lashing from the Lord Hand in front of everyone.
So he swallowed his anger at being shoved into the job of a glorified guild clerk, features contorting briefly and making his wound tug, before he said, "I shall endeavor to bring pride to such a lofty position. But that is not my only concern. There's also those numerous ravens we've gotten westward. As Lord Hand, I trust you've read the letters I received here already when I was in the position-"
"Those ridiculous claims about giant man-eating rats?" Tywin interrupted incredulously, as if he was offended Tyrion was even entertaining them to the point of uttering it aloud.
"And you also once lent credence to Jeor Mormont's mad claim of a dead man attacking him," Lord Baelish added, that smirk affixed to his weaselly face.
"It is not unheard of for starving vermin to attack people as their hunger rises," Grand Maester Pycelle spoke then in his wheezing voice. "With summer over and the weeks growing colder, many men were called away for this war it would make sense rats and their like are growing bolder. In some of winter's darker nights they have been known to eat babes alive in the cot. No doubt these are one such times."
"Or it is simple superstitions or rumours seeking to make us doubt, such as those claim Robb Stark can turn into a direwolf," Cersei added.
"I would think you would be concerned, considering they are coming from our gold mines," Tyrion argued.
"Lord Lefford is a weak man," Cersei snapped back. "More fitting as a trader than a solider. Little wonder he ran home after getting a cut during the battle of the Green Fork, and now he is making mad claims of twisted demon rats living within the mines. He should have been there when Jaime was captured, instead he ran off home. If anything we should order him flogged, along with his wife, for spreading such idiocy in war time after his cowardice."
Tyrion had no idea what Lord Lefford's wife had even done to gain Cersei's ire but guessed simply being married to Leo was blame enough.
"The Westerlands would benefit from protection as the Young Wolf continues his march south even if you believe these particular claims are nonsense," Tyrion said in placating tones, undeterred by Cersei's glare. "It would make sense for him to attack the Westerlands, if only for an insult to us or to claim the gold mines."
"The Ironborn are still a potential threat," Varys said. "Even if Lord Baelor has done nothing beyond declaring himself king and committing raids after imprisoning his son, Lannisport may need support especially with Robb Stark now within Riverrun."
"Kevan can handle anything those washed up bandits try against Lannisport, just as he is handling the squabbles within the Westerlands," Tywin snapped then in such a tone that meant the conversation was over. "I won't have this small council beset by baseless rumours and hysterical claims while we are in the middle of a war."
Cersei made a noise of agreement, before saying, "Yet if you choose to worry over letters about vermin of unusual size then you may want to pen a response about the cost of cats for the keeps assailed."
Tyrion remained silent even though he was seething on the inside. Not just from his new ridiculous position as Master of Coin but also the immediate dismissal of the news from the west. Some deep instinct was warning Tyrion it wasn't just hysteria, much like that grim letter from the Night Watch Commander Jeor Mormont regarding the living dead man. And then there had been Varys's news of Princess Daenerys and her dragons across the narrow sea. It seemed everything was getting more and more otherworldly and Tyrion found himself deeply disliking it.
He spent the rest of the small council almost wishing they were just wild words, grumkins and snarks and scary stories to scare children and so dismissed just as easily. But life was never kind like that. Tyrion knew far better.
After the council was dismissed Tyrion followed Baelish to where he kept the royal ledgers within the floorboards of his brothel so he could begin his new job. While there he did decide to reward Podrick for saving his life during the Battle of the Blackwater against Stannis, buying some of the most lavish whores in the establishment to see to his squire. He and Bronn had spoken previously of such a thing, and knew which girl would serve Podrick well as the boy always seemed nervous and unsure. Tyrion was many things but ungrateful to those who saved his life he was not.
Leaving Podrick in the tender care of the seasoned whores, Tyrion returned to his chambers within the Red Keep with Bronn following.
But despite the warm air and sunlight steaming down, Tyrion felt himself grow more and more irritated as he went through the slovenly task of reading the ledgers. He knew Robert Baratheon had been a hedonistic man, but he hadn't realized just how badly the drunk fat king had been bleeding money during his time on the throne.
"Was he stealing it?" Bronn asked, when Tyrion spoke of Littlefinger's so called magic trick in conjuring coins from nothing to satiate Robert's demands.
"Worse, he's borrowing it," Tyrion said grimly. "And we can't afford to pay it back. The crown owes millions to my father, and tens of millions to the Iron Bank of Braavos."
"I've never borrowed money before. I'm not clear on the rules," Bronn said, fairly nonchalant about the horrible state the crown coffers were in.
"The basic principle is I lend you money and after an agreed upon period of time you return it with interest."
"What if I don't?"
Tyrion gave the sellsword a droll look, "You have to."
He shrugged in turn, asking simply, "And what if I don't?"
"That's why I don't lend you money," Tyrion said, before he squinting down at the ledger on the desk before him. "But in this scenario if we don't pay them back then the Iron Bank will fund our enemies. And since we're in the middle of a civil war that makes it a perilous threat indeed. One way or another, they will get their gold back."
Bronn settled down opposite him, looking lax and lazy in the sun streaming through the archway, "Pity the Blackwater just holds corpses. Stannis doesn't seem to carry much in his coffers or in his pockets. Might be worth sniffing about Storm's End, see if there's any gold there."
"That's provided Robert didn't bleed Storm's End dry as well," Tyrion said. "And considering how much gold he wasted I wouldn't be surprised in the slightest. And now with a royal wedding upon the horizon the debt will grow ever more."
He glared at the pages, flipping through and scowling even more heavily as he saw all those numbers. The interest, the debt, the borrowing, even more borrowing. The war, the wedding. None of it was bearing good news.
But despite that, and the ridiculousness of his new position, Tyrion felt his eyes straying yet again to the pile of letters next to the ledgers. Nearly two dozen, wrote all in different hands, but parchment worried at as if unrolled and smoothed numerous times.
"You've been eyeing those letters off and on for the last week, even without your fancy new job," Bronn's voice cut through Tyrion's brooding, making him jolt.
"It's...I am no longer Hand, it is not my concern," Tyrion made himself say. He shut the ledger, suddenly sick of all the numbers.
Bronn shrugged, "Maybe, but they still seem to be keeping your stare. Left a favourite whore behind in the Vale? Or that brother of yours actually run off to Volantis and nobody has the balls to tell your father?"
Tyrion laughed mirthlessly, "If only. It is..."
The sellsword just stared at him expectantly and Tyrion, after a brief debate with himself, picked up the letters.
"You're a well traveled man," Tyrion found himself saying, shuffling through the small pile. "Seen the highs and lows of society. Rubbed elbows with the cutthroats and bowed to queens. And everything in between."
Bronn arched an eyebrow and Tyrion felt almost embarrassed over rambling. But he knew when it came to wild tales, majority rules.
Jeor Mormont had been alone in sending the letter of the dead man and thus easily dismissed. Then came stories of Daenerys Targaryen with her three dragons, and that one had been confirmed by various sources and thus true.
Just as these letters were, numerous accounts all stating the same thing.
And so Tyrion raised one, "This is a letter from from Lord Lefford of Golden Tooth, the first we received with this...warning. The penmanship was quick and sloppy, written by someone who thought they could be killed in that same instant."
"So he was killed by angry Northerners, men get poetic in their final moments I've heard."
"He was within one of the gold mines in the Golden Tooth, one of the lesser vassals who oversee the mines for our House. He left the Lannister forces after being wounded, and Robb Stark hasn't yet sent men west even if it's only a matter of time," Tyrion said. "This message was sent, along with seven others, from a moon ago to now. Here is another letter with claims of such creatures, the most recent we have received, from Darlessa Marbrand. She and her husband, my late uncle Tygett, were always kind to me. And she was never a liar."
"So what's she sent that's so awful her good-brother thinks she's one?" Bronn asked.
"Giant rats the size of men attacked Ashemark. Ratmen killing and eating people, livestock. People vanishing in the night, entire small towns gone. That's what all these letters say. The same thing, different places. But all seemed to originate from the mines in the Golden Tooth, as if this nest of...creatures were discovered when they were expanding the tunnels, and the claims are spreading from there. Lord Lefford managed to send one of the ravens through an air shaft and from there we've received more ravens saying the same in an increasing area across the Westerlands. Giant rats are attacking and eating people."
"Rats? A bit different from dragons and direwolves."
"Well it's a consistent word," Tyrion said. "Even if the council is saying it's Northern words to try and sow panic. North men are many things but psychological warfare is not exactly their expertise, like these mad tales of ratmen."
"So they're giant rats or ratmen?" Bronn asked, stoking his jaw. "Rather big difference, I'd say."
"So you've never heard of such a thing? Either or?" Tyrion asked. He hadn't either, even after checking through the library after three more ravens came to King's Landing bearing the same news. Giant rats.
"Can't say I have," Bronn said. "But in all honesty, I would rather be in battle against a dragon than a thousand rats."
Tyrion rolled up the letter, scoffing faintly as he said, "I'm sure you would."
"Not joking," Bronn had an oddly thoughtful expression on his face. "Dragons are bright, loud, right above your head and impossible to miss. Not to mention they'd been driven extinct once before, reason for all those skulls beneath the Red Keep. Those Dornish just ran off and hid until the dragonlords got bored of burning down empty keeps. You can run and hide from a dragon. Rats, not so much. They're everywhere, even if you never see one out and about. And if you do spot one out in the day then it means they got pushed out of their den by the thousands more in your floorboards and walls. Never going to be able to kill off every rat."
Tyrion's laugh was mirthless, "And here I thought it was the skies to be wary of these days, now it seems even the ground beneath our feet has monsters beneath it."
Then Podrick returned and his grim thoughts were banished. For a while, at least.
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