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—At the Dragonpit—
Missandei sat in a proper cell as benefiting a condemned prisoner. It's been several weeks since the Battle of King's Landing ended in a decisive victory for House Baratheon – the death of Daenerys Targaryen, the Unsullied and Dothraki utterly routed, Drogon getting crushed by tons of debris and Rhaegal's vanishing… the Naathi handmaiden's hair was undone, tangled in knots and her dress was filthy, covered in dirty and grime. She sat on the ground in a half-lit cell and reflected on the loss of her mistress, her friends, her lover… All of them were gone.
For as long as she knew Daenerys, the dream to make a world a better place was gone.
The silence was soon broken with the sound of a bolt on her cell door opening. She looks up to see four City Watchmen approach her.
"Come on, you. The high lords are waiting," one of them said roughly.
They pick her up by the arm, but Missandei doesn't resist. She doesn't ask where they're taking her. She doesn't even look at them. They walked a long way until they reached the entrance of the Dragonpit where lines of hundreds if not thousands of gold cloaks standing at attention; guards from different houses stood at attention near the entrances with archers atop the battlements and tumble-downed steps. A show of force that leaves no doubt as to who controls King's Landing. In front of them stood large awning tents in the middle of the coliseum with the banners of the Great Houses. Sitting down awaiting them were the most powerful lords and ladies of Westeros, all of them had gathered arrayed in a semi-circle. The setting was nearly similar circumstances to the summit months ago.
From left to right were the various banners representing each of the powerful noble houses: a grey direwolf on a white field, sigil of House Stark; a white falcon and crescent moon on a blue field, sigil of House Arryn; a golden kraken on a black field, sigil of House Greyjoy; a crowned black stag salient on a gold field, sigil of House Baratheon of Storm's End; a golden lion on a crimson field, sigil of House Lannister; a crowned gold stag salient on a black field, sigil of House Baratheon of King's Landing; a crowned black stag enclosed in a fiery red heart, sigil of House Baratheon of Dragonstone; a silver trout leaping on a red and blue background, sigil of House Tully; a golden rose on a green field, sigil of House Tyrell; and a red sun pierced by a gold spear on an orange field, sigil of House Martell.
Within the interim period, during a time of reconstruction, the time to initiate the first phase had begun. Queen Sansa and Lord Hand Tyrion utilized their political influence to call upon the formation of the Great Council of 305 AC among the lords and ladies of the Seven Kingdoms to resolve a few contentious issues, the fourth to be successfully convened. It was the first time in nearly 72 years a council of this magnitude was called. In Westerosi history, there had been at least two Great Councils to decide the succession to the Iron Throne in 101 and 233 AC whereas the third decided the regents of an underaged monarch in 136 AC. Any other attempts to convene a Great Council had failed. After the death of Daenerys Targaryen, there would be much to discuss.
Seated in groups lining the sides the tents are Samwell Tarly; Edmure Tully with his wife Roslin; Robb Stark with his wife Talisa, his brothers Bran and Rickon, his sisters Sansa and Arya and their mother Catelyn; Tyrion Lannister with his brother Jaime; Maester Luwin; Brienne of Tarth; Davos Seaworth; the Baratheons Shireen, Gendry, Tommen, Myrcella and Mya; Robin Arryn with Yohn and Myranda Royce; Theon Greyjoy with Jeyne Poole and Maester Wolkan; Doran Martell with his son Trystane; and Margaery Tyrell with her grandmother Olenna. When the gold cloaks lead Missandei up onto the platform, the heads of the Great Houses and their vassals were all looking at her, judging her, some even glaring at her, looking down at her – silently condemning her for her loyalties to a would-be conqueror.
Where is Jon? Where is Daveth? Sansa looked around, but couldn't spot either of them.
For a moment, there is silence. Tyrion shifts in his seat before standing. The other lords and ladies follow suit.
"Well, this is a first in a long time when all the heads of the most powerful noble houses in Westeros have convened in one spot. Quite a surprise, really," Tyrion finally spoke up. He looked at the court scribes and loudly cleared his throat. "This day marks the convening of the fourth Great Council to decide the fate of two key trials in the coming days: judging the remaining followers of Queen Daenerys Targaryen; and shaping the future of Westeros. The trials itself will be recorded in the history books so let's begin with introductions, shall we? My name is Tyrion Lannister—Lord of Casterly Rock, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, Warden of the West and Hand of the King."
One by one, the lords and ladies rose from their seat.
"My name is Robb Stark—Lord of Winterfell, Lord Paramount of the North and Warden of the North."
"My name is Sansa Stark—Queen Consort of the Seven Kingdoms."
"Prince Tommen Baratheon, brother of King Daveth Baratheon."
"Princess Myrcella Baratheon, sister of King Daveth Baratheon."
"Edmure Tully—Lord of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Trident."
"Oh, um. I, uh, I'm Samwell Tarly—I was a sworn brother of the Night's Watch and am currently a maester-in-training."
"I am Shireen Baratheon—cousin of King Daveth Baratheon, Lady of Storm's End and Lady Paramount of the Stormlands."
"Ser Brienne of Tarth."
"I'm Ser Davos Seaworth. Not sure why I've been asked to take part, but here I am."
"It's Gendry Baratheon, legitimized half-brother of King Daveth Baratheon."
"Mine's Mya Baratheon, legitimized half-sister of King Daveth Baratheon."
"I am Robin Arryn—Lord of the Eyrie, Lord Paramount of the Vale and Warden of the East."
"Theon Greyjoy—Lord of the Iron Islands, King of Salt and Rock, Son of the Seawind and Lord Reaper of Pyke."
"My name is Doran Martell—Prince of Dorne and Lord of Sunspear."
"And I am Margaery Tyrell—Lady of Highgarden, Lady Paramount of the Reach, Wardeness of the South and Princess Consort to Tommen Baratheon."
All sat back down.
"Now that we've got that out of the way, let us begin." Tyrion cleared his throat. "We see from the reports that your name is Missandei of the Isle of Naath, correct?"
Missandei looked at the dwarf.
"Answer the question," Theon hollered.
"Yes," she answered.
"How many languages do you speak?"
"Nineteen; including both High and Low Valyrian, Dothraki, some Ghiscari and the Common Tongue."
Tyrion nodded, accepting the answer. "Quite the cunning linguist, you must have been. Anyways, you were taken from your home at a very young age and brought to the Bay of Dragons—formerly known as Slaver's Bay—in Essos by one of the Good Masters of Astapor where you were lived your whole life as a slave until five years ago. Is this correct?"
"Yes."
"If I may," Davos inquired, "how did a slave girl come to advise Daenerys Targaryen? I imagine the trade wasn't a particularly… pleasant one."
"She bought me from my master and set me free."
Some murmured questions; and some dissent.
"That was good of her. Of course, you then chose to serve her, didn't you?"
Missandei looked at him. "I served my Queen because I wanted to. I chose to follow her because I believed in her," she answered.
"Did she tell you what her ambitions?"
"She said she wanted to make the world a better place. All of us who owe Daenerys Stormborn our lives and freedom wanted justice for her in turn."
"Yet you were rather quick to ignore the fact your Queen brought fire and blood to our shores, didn't you?" Theon said in accusatory tone. "You established an armed presence in Westerosi territory. You outright seized Dragonstone before launching a full-scale invasion."
"Our Queen intended to take back what was stolen from her, but to initiate a series of reforms so the mistakes of her father would not be repeated."
"Ah yes, with fire and blood," Robb said. "But did she forget to tell you of the horrors her father the Mad King Aerys Targaryen inflicted on us all before we decided enough was enough? Burning lords he didn't like or people he believed were plotting against him, all without giving them a fair trial? Your Queen's father burned my grandfather, Lord Rickard Stark alive with wildfire. My uncle, Brandon, strangled himself to death trying to save him."
"I wasn't informed of that," Missandei shook her head. "But she was not her father. The stress of losing so much has been—"
"If there's anything that history has taught us, is that if the lessons of the past are ignored then we are often condemned to repeat them. And I assure you, my lady, where I come from, we do not forget. Maegor I, Aegon II, Aegon IV, Aerys II… After three hundred years of Targaryen rule, one cruelty after another, enough was enough," Sansa said.
"Our Queen helped the North against the Night King at the cost of her own. She even lost one of her dragons in the process."
Doran chimed in. "Your help was appreciated, and we will not forget those who have died to stop the Night King. But that doesn't serve as an excuse as to what came after."
"Which was violating the armistice agreement," Edmure chimed in. "Now peace has been restored and we've longed to heal old wounds, yet again your Queen deliberately reopened them. Did you not foresee that you chose to follow a tyrant? Invading under the pretext of 'wanting to make the world a better place' is a funny way to show it. We freed ourselves from the grasp of a tyrant and since Robert's Rebellion we refused to submit to another!"
"Madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin," Margaery spoke. "It's how it's always been whenever a Targaryen was born. We all simply held our breath to see which side the coin landed on. Your Queen's coin just… happened to fall on the wrong side at such a pivotal moment."
"Of course the Reach tolerates this kind of behavior. Highgarden seems to be full of opportunists, always siding with whoever seems to win only after their initial alliance doesn't seem to work out. Siding with the Targaryens at first and then again during the Stag Sedition," Gendry pointed out.
Margaery frowned. "Let me be the first to reassure you, ahem, Lord Gendry, that the Reach has since not stood idle."
"Friends. Please," Davos interjected. "We've been cutting each other's throats long enough. We've had enough war. Thousands of them, thousands of us… you know how it ends. We need to find a better way."
"I agree," Robb nodded.
"The trial we've set today is about Missandei and the remaining captives. Anything else we can discuss it at the next Great Council session, my lords and ladies. Ser Brienne, how many Unsullied and Dothraki remain?" Sansa asked.
"With the arrival of reinforcements, Your Grace, our troops estimate about 200 Unsullied and less than 1,000 Dothraki remain in captivity," Brienne answered. "The city is still undergoing a series of major repairs and we have nowhere else to put them. Our cells are either at max capacity or still buried under piles of rubble."
"She had the audacity to demand justice? Well, what about us? Where's our justice? I say cut their heads off and put each one of them on display as a warning to the next person who decides to try to attack us again. That'll make 'em think twice," Theon suggested.
"Theon!" Sansa said appalled.
"I'm afraid that it's not for you to decide nor is for us to decide, either. The Lord of the Iron Islands will refrain from making further derogatory comments until the session is over," Tyrion interjected.
"So, who's decision is it to make?" asks a somewhat impatient Robin.
"My brother. That's who," Tommen responds.
"Then where is he?"
"His Grace is currently indisposed at the moment as advised by his Hand," Brienne mentioned.
"He should be here to pass judgment on her," Yohn advised. "Might I ask as to the nature for his absence?"
"Daveth has been recuperating from both physical and mental exhaustion since he killed Daenerys. How long can a man take before the fight is gradually kicked out of him?" Myrcella answered. "There are limits as to how much stress he can take. I can't claim to speak on behalf of my brother, but to drag him here when he's clearly not ready would only make matters worse. Once he's ready, he'll be here."
"But until then, it's up to us to lift some of that burden off him for a time," Robb said.
It's all speeches and posturing for the first few days, anyway. I know my husband. Daveth will need time to rest, yes, but I'll go check on him to see if he's alright just in case, the Wolf Queen theorized.
"Back to the trial," Tyrion cleared his throat to get their attention. "Now, Missandei of the Isle of Naath… You are aware of the charges laid against you, yes? Association with a war criminal accused of fifteen violations such as using methods of warfare that inflicting superfluous injury or unnecessary suffering via dragon fire, passing an execution sentence without previous judgment, torture, cruel or inhuman treatment, making civilian objects the object of attack and declaring no quarter?"
Missandei glares at him. "So you say, my lord. And I can already determine that you have decided my fate already. Just go ahead and do it already. You killed my lover, you killed my friends, you killed my Queen. Kill me and get it over with."
"Don't tempt us if you know what's good for you," Mya warned.
Tyrion's gaze passes over the assembled lords and ladies. "Perhaps it would be best if we took a recess," he sighed. "Guards, take Missandei back to her cells. We will reconvene tomorrow morning. If we're lucky, the rightful ruler of Westeros will join us."
As the City Watchmen escort Missandei away, the trial will have to be wait another day. More bickering and arguing will most likely continue all day and into the night. Everyone looks at everyone else; one by one, each of the lords and ladies stood from their respective seats and prepare to leave the Dragonpit. Certain areas of King's Landing are still undergoing repairs, but only a few inns which remained furthest away from where the fighting took place stood. They will retire to their quarters there.
Sansa groaned as she rose from her seat, her hand on her now-four-month pregnant belly. She was again in the second trimester of her third pregnancy; any discomfort she had during the first trimester have been more manageable and steadily faded away. The Wolf Queen still noticed the absence of her husband, Daveth, and decided it would be best to find him. Even with portions of the Red Keep were demolished, other areas remained standing. She suspected she knew where to find him. Besides, it was starting to get a little cold outside.
"Robb, Arya, Bran, Rickon, mother," she told her family. "I'll have some people reserve rooms for you at the Broken Anvil."
"You're not coming with us?" Catelyn asked.
"I will soon. But I need to go find Daveth and check up on him to make sure he's all right. You go on ahead without me. Try not to worry; I'll be with you momentarily."
"Don't be gone too long and try not to strain yourself or on the baby, you hear? And don't forget Lyonel, Cassana and Torrhen will be wanting you to read them another bedtime story."
"Yes, mother. I understand. Don't worry. I won't be gone long."
—At the Red Keep—
Sansa's hunches were right. Although the majority of the castle was largely intact, portions were gone and in the middle of being repaired: the throne room, library, the upper four floors of Maegor's Holdfast and the Small Council chambers. The royal apartments remained and were hidden from the cold outside. Searching from hall to hall, Sansa looked for her husband before she pulled aside a castle builder.
"Pardon me, ser, but where can I find the King?" she asked politely.
He points in one direction. "In the bathing chamber, Your Grace. Down the hall on the left, then twelve doors on right," he answers.
So, he's taking a bath? "I see. Be sure you don't overdo it here. We don't want any workers getting hurt rebuilding the Red Keep."
"Will do, Your Grace. Thank you for your leniency."
With the information she'd been seeking obtain, Sansa walked down the hallway and turned the corner before passing by multiple doors until she reached her destination. The bathing chamber was one of many rooms in Maegor's Holdfast to still be intact along with the royal apartments and the King and Queen's personal bedroom. Sansa felt the warmth emanating from behind the door and heard a faint humming; pushing it open to enter the ornate bathing chamber, she found Daveth seated in a large steaming bath pool with great marble tubs. His clothes were neatly folded and set aside nearby. He looked tired, yet Sansa heard her husband's vocals were less tense and relaxed, not tight or forced anywhere in the throat, jaw or tongue.
"Beware, beware the Bringer of Storms."
"Beware," she heard them cry.
Her words carried throughout the darkened skies,
as the Gods struck them down.
With his war hammer raised high up above,
the earth beneath shook with each crashing blow.
Sansa was quite surprised; throughout their entire marriage, she had no idea Daveth could sing. Since when did he sing so well at such a pitch – but more importantly, why didn't he tell her? Was his voice always that good? Was it meant as a surprise? Young maidens and older ladies would swoon over him if they ever heard him sing. The Wolf Queen couldn't resist but to listen intently.
From far and wide, hope and fear began to spread.
But beware, the wrath of his storms.
Why this? Why this, oh, Bringer of Storms?
Why this? What have we done to draw your ire?
Always tread with caution in our nation's lands,
But when will his anger cease?
Sansa continued listening to such a song, not realizing her fingertips sliding off the doorknob until the structure made a creaking noise behind her. Daveth's ears perked up and he immediately stopped singing. Turning his head around to see who was in the same room as him, he wasn't exactly surprised to see who his visitor was.
"Ah, Sansa," Daveth looked at her. "Be sure to lock the door behind you if you intend to stay a while."
Sansa blushed. "O-oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to eavesdrop—"
"No, it's fine. I wasn't aware I had an audience."
"You never told me you could sing."
"I don't, but it's… the only one I know," Daveth admitted. "Our troops came up with the title of the song. Drunken minstrel wrote the lyrics."
"Is it now? You'll have to tell me more about it someday," Sansa steadily approached. Brushing her fingers across the bathwater, the water was rather warm yet plain – indicating Daveth had been here for a while. "Try not to scrub your arms so hard like that. Don't forget to wash your hair and apply supplemental oils as well. It'll keep your skin from chafing."
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
"On the contrary, my dear husband. A King must be clean, comely and must always look presentable. You, on the other hand, have been throwing yourself into battle so many times in these last few months you're practically covered in dirt, dust and grime from head to toe. Here, let me," Sansa rolled up her sleeves and took a bristle brush to scrub Daveth.
The Young Stag relaxed his shoulders – allowing himself to permit his wife to tend to him. Feeling the brush removing any unwanted substances was nice, but when he felt Sansa apply some Dornish bath oils and soaps from Highgarden on his shoulders – Daveth felt like he was getting a massage.
"Does it feel nice?" Sansa asked.
"Mmmm!" he answers with a groan.
"Heh. I suppose I'll take that as a yes, then."
Daveth turns to look up at her. "Care to join me?"
Sansa's eyes widened and her face blushed. "Wh-what?" she blurted with surprise. "D-Daveth, have your senses left you all of a sudden? W-why would you, I-I mean…"
"When was the last time you took a bath? Look at this. So much space; I'd hate to have all this water get too cold. Besides, I prefer your company very much. We've been apart for far too long. Now that the war is over, I'd like to spend as much time with you… if you'll have me that is."
The Wolf Queen felt her hands tremble, her eyes glancing across the room. Normally it was improper for two people of the opposite gender to share a bath together unless one was cleaning their young offspring. Despite being married, Sansa and Daveth hadn't shared any baths together at all. Her eyes gazed away at the brush in her hand; back at the Young Stag's eyes glued to her. True, they've longed for each other after being away from one another for a long period of time – but this request was rather… sudden. Unexpected.
"Nnghh…! I-I swear by the Old Gods and the New, you are impossible sometimes! F-fine, but only just this one time!" Sansa replied. "Avert your eyes. D-don't look at me until I say so!"
Daveth turned his head and looks away in modesty, opting to choose to respect his wife's request for privacy as she starts getting undressed. He glanced down at the water, washing his arms clean of the soapy foam when he heard Sansa unlace her dress—starting with her sleeves, her corset and finally her dark fabric dress before setting them in a pile. Sansa shuddered as she felt goosebumps form on her arms and legs before slowly climbing in, taking her time. Immersing herself up to her collarbone in the warm bathwater, Sansa covered her breasts with one arm and the other swept underneath her pregnant stomach to keep it stable. Soon enough, she breathed a relaxing sigh and allowed herself to unwind.
"I'm in," Sansa calls out.
Daveth turns and takes in Sansa's figure. He couldn't stop eyeing her up and down, to which the Wolf Queen notices.
"Don't stare at me like that. L-let's just get clean and get out of the bath, okay?"
"Relax now, Sansa. It's nothing new we haven't seen of each other already," he stated as Daveth turned to scrub her back. Grabbing a nearby pitcher, Sansa washed her hair. Her auburn hair was wet and brushed it backwards with both hands, removing each strand of dirty oily substances and massaged her scalp, scraping the dirt from her pores. He was right. Sansa was in need of a bath too. Lowering one arm down, Daveth places his chin on her shoulder. "I missed this; you know. You, our sons and our daughter, our family…"
"I know, sweetheart. We've missed you too," Sansa replied. "Cassana spent most of her days looking out the same window waiting for you, wondering when you were coming home." She smiles a bit. "She is such a daddy's girl. Lyonel, on the other hand, has been quite a handful – loud, rambunctious, always wanting to play, never wanting to sit still for too long unless there was something important. And Torrhen, our little boy, with his tiny hands and feet… Hah, he was so cute. Did you know he's learning how to walk?"
"Is he now?" Daveth raised an eyebrow. "That must have been quite the spectacle."
"Not as much as you might think, my husband. Not everyone gets it right the first time. Torrhen fell a few times, but he's already proving to be quite a resilient one. Lyonel and Cassana did their best to help their brother up whenever he lost his balance, they even held each of his hands until he got it right."
"How many times did he fall until he was able to stand on his own?"
"A few. He's possibly a late bloomer. It'll take time and with some more practice, but I'm confident he'll get it eventually."
"I don't deny it. You've done well raising them, Sansa, despite me putting you all through so much. No child could have asked for a good, loving and attentive mother."
Sansa looked over her shoulder, turns around and wraps both her arms around Daveth's neck. "Don't sell yourself short, love. You yourself played a role in helping me raise them ever since they were born. In spite of everything that's happened to us, everything we went through, you are a good man, Daveth; the best husband a woman could ask for and a wonderful father to our children. Don't ever forget that."
"You think so?"
"I know so," she nods. Sansa moves in and kisses him, slow and passionate. She missed this; how close she was to Daveth before the war escalated in earnest. Throughout their entire marriage, she wanted this. The feeling of his strong arms wrapped protectively around her made Sansa feel safe, loved and accepted; the sound of his voice, each word whispering into her ear – telling her how much he loves her made her fall head over heels for him more than the last. After a minute, the two pulled away to catch their breath.
"Sansa," Daveth buried his face in his wife's neck, laying kisses on her neck, giving her pleasant shivers, and running one hand along her thighs while raising the other to fondle a breast, brushing his thumb along her nipple tenderly. "I want you… so badly."
D-damn these hormones! And d-damn you, Daveth, for doing th-this to me, Sansa thought. She lifts her head up to give her husband more access to her neck. She shivers at his touch. "I… mmm, I know…" she says breathlessly.
"Permission to kiss you some more, my Queen."
"Hah… Of course you can, my King."
Daveth again claimed Sansa's lips on his own. She kissed him again. A light kiss, the merest brush of her lips on his. Every act of affection she gave him was sweet and tender. Before long, he slid his tongue into her mouth – deepening the kiss, eliciting a moan from her. She pulled away and brushed her fingers through his hair.
"Not here…" she panted. Before Daveth could say anything, she leaned close to his ear. "Take me to the bedroom. We can make love if you want, but afterwards we need to go to the Broken Anvil and tend to our children otherwise my family will notice our extended absence. Okay?" she whispered.
Giving one last peck, Sansa stood to get out of the tub and grabbed a cloth to dry herself off before picking up her clothes as Daveth followed suit. Once they were cleaned and tidy, they shared a brief hug before leaving the bathing chamber and into their private bedroom – which surprisingly remained largely intact, with the exception of the windows being closed to prevent the winter cold from entering the room.
Upon entry, it didn't take long before they peeled each other's clothes off.
Daveth sat on the edge of the bed looking down at Sansa, who by now was on her knees sat in between his legs stroking his erect manhood with one hand before bowing her head to take him into her mouth. She bobbed her head up and down slowly, sucking intently while listening to Daveth breathing heavily – letting her know how much he was enjoying it. The Young Stag could feel his balls tightening as Sansa took him deeper into her mouth. He bucked his hips upwards, unable to control himself until he hit the back of his wife's throat. She gagged at first, but exercised her throat to adjust to the size of his girth. With one hand working the shaft and the other massaging his balls, Sansa brushed her tongue around the tip and continued to suck off her husband's stiff throbbing member. Feeling it twitch in her mouth, she could tell Daveth was getting closer to his release. Instinctively, Sansa sucked hard trying to bring him the most pleasure she could before withdrawing away from him with a wet slurp, leaving a trail of saliva and looked up at him.
"How was it?" she asked wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
"Still… that mouth of yours still drives me crazy," Daveth answered.
"I suppose that means you liked it then. Good." Sansa kissed the tip, chuckling as she felt it twitch in her hand again. Moving to stand up, she laid beside her husband on the bed. "What now?"
Daveth didn't say anything but instead crawled on top of Sansa, assaulting her neck before trickling down to her breasts, her swollen belly and spread her legs apart. Her womanhood was already secreting fluids. He nipped at her legs, tracing his tongue along her inner thighs before moving them along the lines of her folds and began assaulting the sensitive nub with his teeth.
"Ooh. Oooh Gods.~" Sansa cried out in ecstasy, breathing heavily. Maybe it was due to her pregnancy her sensitivity was heightened even further. She cried out when Daveth touched her there, lapping at her clitoris – her hips bucked against his face which made him intensify the oral pleasure he was giving her. His hands rested on her thighs and buried two fingers into her folds, twirling them upwards and massaging her G-spot that made Sansa squirm in pleasure. "More. Ooooh. So good.~ Oh Gods, please more.~" she trembled and panted.
Daveth hungered for her. He ached for her, risked everything for her. Knowing she was four months along into her pregnancy, both had to be precisely careful so as to not harm the unborn child growing in her womb. Even if they had finished, they were certain nothing could happen as Sansa was already pregnant. It'll be time after conceiving their fourth child before they can have more children if they so desired. Sansa squirmed and cried out his name in orgasmic bliss, bucking her hips upwards before collapsing onto her side.
He wiped his mouth and crawled up behind her to her face and kissed her. Sansa swore she tasted her own fluids on her husband's tongue, but didn't resist as she felt him pressing his stiff member against her warm opening. Looking into each other's eyes, Sansa nodded her head in approval and felt him sliding deep into her wet warm heat with ease; no doubt thanks to making her wet in anticipation for penetration, a familiar sensation that caused her to groan. Their bodies were joined at the hip once more. Sliding in and out at first, slow and deliberate, his thrusts steadily increased in speed.
"Uh! Ngh! Uh! Hah! Harder," Sansa moans, one arm sweeping underneath her swaying pregnant belly to keep it stable.
Daveth relentlessly pounded into Sansa's cunt more freely, his eyes focusing on both her face and swaying breasts, watching her write beneath him as the sound of wet squelching reached his ears. She was dripping wet with arousal. She was his and he was hers. Raising one of her legs in the air, Daveth shifted sideways to move his manhood in and out of her dripping sex; making love was one thing, but having pregnant sex was definitely a first time for either of them; the spooning sex position they were in provides more comfort and less pressure on the belly in the second trimester but even more so as Daveth reached his arm around Sansa's thighs and massaged her clit as he fucked her harder from behind.
"Ooh! Hah! Mmm! Your cock feels so good.~"
Sansa climaxed again and again, and Daveth strained as his balls tensed up and drove himself deeper into his wife, past the point of no return before both gave into their respective orgasms; the Wolf Queen quivered and shook with her release, the Young Stag hilting himself deep inside his mate – releasing wave after wave of hot, sticky white seed into her womanhood as she shuddered. They collapsed on the bed, spent yet Sansa was more worn out than Daveth was. Knowing she was already at her limit, the Young Stag withdrew from her and allowed Sansa to catch her breath.
Sure enough, once recovered, Sansa rose to shaky legs and took a nearby rag to clean between her legs. Her thighs were sticky, but only briefly. Sharing a kiss with Daveth, she placed her hands on his shoulders for support while they picked up their clothes and got dressed. He never left her side and always kept her on her feet.
"Hah, hah… That-that was good, sweetheart," Sansa spoke up, "but I… hah, I suggest we should be getting to the Broken Anvil before my family starts asking questions. Remember: our children are waiting for us as well. Until the Red Keep is fully repaired, we'll be staying a few nights there. Best not keep them waiting, handsome."
"I understand," Daveth said and extended his arm.
Sansa wrapped her arm in his and they slowly exited the room; again, the Young Stag ensured his wife stood on her own two feet—shaky legs—and made their way down the hall, ignoring the cold chill flowing into the castle from the ruined areas. More builders worked around the clock repairing the damage. It would take time, but the couple knew it was only temporary. Until then, they moved to address more pressing concerns before the sun went down tonight.
—At the Broken Anvil—
The inn was nearly stuffed to max capacity with the number of guests staying; with numerous homes still under repairs, more residents were looking for places to stay until they were able to return. But more importantly, the Broken Anvil was housing the high lords and ladies of Westeros who convened in the capital for the Great Council and by now had already retired to their assigned rooms. Robb, Arya, Bran, Rickon, Talisa and Catelyn were keeping Lyonel, Cassana and Torrhen occupied with stories and any sort of entertainment from the inn's staff until their parents arrived.
"Grammie," Lyonel looked up at Catelyn, "when's mama and papa comin'?"
"Soon, little one. Your father and mother will be here soon," she reassured her grandson. Catelyn adored every moment she spent with her grandchildren.
"Auntie Arya?" Cassana piped up.
Arya did her best to be a good aunt to her nieces and nephews; this was relatively the first time she was meeting them in-person and vice versa. Given the experiences they endured the last few days, the She-Wolf did her best to be a good aunt. Even if she tried to get a word in, some recuperating soldiers and militiamen were singing rather loudly.
"Beware, beware the Bringer of Storms."
"Beware," she heard them cry.
Her words carried throughout the darkened skies,
as the Gods struck them down.
With his war hammer raised high up above,
the earth beneath shook with each crashing blow.
From far and wide, hope and fear began to spread.
But beware, the wrath of his storms.
Why this? Why this, oh, Bringer of Storms?
Why this? What have we done to draw your ire?
Always tread with caution in our nation's lands,
But when will his anger cease?
When his wrath was unleashed upon the world,
the Queen of Winter soothed his hate.
Who else but she could save him from himself,
and bring salvation once more?
But when the enemy threatens all he holds dear,
hooves turn to claws, teeth filed into fangs,
And horns turn razor sharp.
But when he faced the dragon and her horde,
he put his life on the line.
To save the ones he love.
And when death comes to take him to the unknown land,
the Queen of Winter said "no."
To his nation, with renewed breath, cried,
"Beware the Bringer of Storms."
Torrhen was upset at the loud songs; they were hurting his ears. Talia helped cover her nephew's ears so as it would not further upset the dissatisfied Prince. Robb, Bran and Rickon listened closely as the song began to slowly dwindle down.
I heard, I heard, across a vast open sea,
the old voice warning me,
"Beware, beware the Bringer of Storms",
"Beware, beware—"
"…of me," a voice finished the lyrics.
"Ah! Your Graces! Welcome to the Broken Anvil," greeted the innkeeper.
Lyonel and Cassana whipped around to see Daveth and Sansa entering through the entrance and ran over to greet them.
"Hi, mama! Hi, papa!" they said.
Sansa smiled warmly and scooped them into her arms. "My darling babies," she cooed. "Have you been good to your grandmother, aunts and uncles for me?"
"Yup!"
"Oh, that's nice."
Daveth watched as his son and daughter spent more time with their mother, allowing himself a moment of solace knowing his whole family was intact. Safe, yet having had to witness such chaos firsthand… it was something he hoped to avoid. He didn't want them to know the hardship of conflict up close at such a young age. Despite insisting he could have done more to protect them, the Young Stag knew the inevitable could only be delayed – but not ignored. Nothing ever could for long.
Perhaps once they're old enough, they should see more of the world.
"May we get you a room?" asked one of the servants.
Daveth shook his head. "Not yet, no. What about the others? Is there any available space for the rest of my family?" he asked.
"We have plenty left at the Queen's request."
"She made reservations?"
"She did, Your Grace; said the Great Council is set to last a few days."
"Then see to it that no squatters linger too long. Our efforts at reconstruction are still underway."
She nodded and left to tend to other patrons; more admirers approached.
"So, you're the Oathkeeper," a young girl recognized. "Wow! You're much taller in person than the stories say. And quite handsome too."
"Alysa! That's no way to speak to the King!" her middle-aged mother protested.
Daveth said nothing.
"I thought you'd have fangs or horns or something," the girl continued.
Finally, the Young Stag looked down at her. "I had them filed down," he replied dryly.
The girl chortled and walked away. Sansa noticed the commotion and walked over. "Daveth, what was that about?" she raised an eyebrow.
"No need to worry about them. It's not every day they get to meet the person they owe their very lives to, especially when word does spread that another Targaryen invasion was thwarted," Tyrion interjected. "Ah, beloved nephew. We were wondering when you were going to show up."
"Uncle," Daveth acknowledged him.
"I trust you've heard them singing your praises the moment you two walked through the front door. They talk about you a lot lately, you know."
It's not healthy. The groveling, the worship… I hate it all. He rolled his eyes. "And it's giving me a headache. A big one."
"Still brooding. Huh. Shouldn't be surprised at that."
"I do not brood."
"Yes, you do. You're still doing it and you don't even realize it."
"Does it bring you joy to make fun of me?"
Tyrion faked being hurt. "Why nephew, you wound me. I would never do such a thing," he joked. He soon became serious. "There's been whisperings floating around lately. About the Great Council and what lies next for the people of Westeros."
"We've noticed," Sansa observed. "This morning was… pretty hectic, to say the least. Theon and Robb have been having their differences over how to deal with the remaining Unsullied and Dothraki prisoners. Gendry and Margaery have been going at it back-and-forth, but Myrcella and Tommen have been mediating them."
"True, but our primary concern for the next day of the trial might come as a shock to you, Sansa."
"Why's that?"
"Well… after the King renders his judgment on Missandei, the Unsullied and Dothraki… the topic of your, well, your cousin is up next for a debate. Your biggest concern by then will be the Martells of Dorne."
"What?" Sansa exclaimed with surprise, keeping her voice leveled so as to not attract any unwanted, unnecessary attention. "Jon's already given more to prove himself that he is not what the rumors say he is! He's as much a Stark to me than the rest of us. Why would Dorne want to bring up his parentage anyway?"
"Their sister Princess Elia was Rhaegar's wife. She gave him two children, though each one nearly cost her her life," Tyrion explained. "When Jon Connington made your cousin's true parentage known, to say House Martell was absolutely livid would be a monumental understatement. Having their sister's marriage annulled and leaving her and their children to be butchered by my father's men, Dorne perceived it as the worst insult in every way. That, and there's been a dramatic increase of anti-Targaryen sentiment among the populace. If I hadn't had him hidden away—"
"You hid him? Where?"
"Somewhere where they'll never find him. But Sansa, listen to me. If we let Jon out in the public, he'll only be met with an angry mob who'd not hesitate to tear him apart limb from limb simply because his family name is Targaryen. Had the truth not been made public, he would've been much safer – but now that everyone knows that Jon Snow is actually Aegon Targaryen, the situation is more volatile to say the least."
Sansa looked at Daveth, who said nothing but shrugged his shoulders – indicating he himself had no idea nor did he have any part in hiding Jon. The Wolf Queen was rather annoyed and a bit frustrated; she believed and trusted her husband, but his uncle and Hand… not so much.
"Where. Did you. Hide him?" she repeated, a hint of fire in her voice.
Tyrion shuddered. "At a manse near Visenya's Hill under the pseudonym 'Rodrik Ashwood.'"
—Elsewhere—
A day had passed.
Jon paced around the room; he didn't mind his quarters – so far at least. They were accommodating, a comfortable bed, warm food and hot bathing water. The White Wolf washed his face and looked at the mirror. His dark beard had grown and curlier; he still retained a slight limp in his knee, but had recovered quite well. Yet he hated being confined to his quarters under a different name; he already had gone through that his entire life growing up.
"How many names are they going to keep giving me?" he sighed with a quizzical look on his face. Jon Snow, Aegon Targaryen, Rodrik Ashwood… He was tired of the lies.
"You're not guilty of your father's crimes," Tyrion once told him. "But that doesn't mean people will treat you any differently for one act. Everyone knows who you are now. Keep your chin up. You still have some friends on the Great Council."
"Was that meant to be reassuring?" Jon said again.
*KNOCK, KNOCK!*
"It's open," he called out.
The door was pushed open, revealing four gold cloaks accompanied by Commander Duran.
"They're ready for you now… Aegon Targaryen," he said.
Jon sighed. "All right. Let's go."
Chapter End
Author's Note: Three days of writing and editing, but we're moving on to a large trial scene with the Great Council being assembled. Normally they'd address the issue regarding the line of succession, but I figured I'd change things up a bit and have the lords and ladies act as judges in cases as well as a temporary legislative body until the next scene will take place. Missandei, the Unsullied and Dothraki are bout to receive their sentences whereas Jon is targeted by the Martells of Dorne. Anyone care to guess why? Expect people talking over each other and arguing. Once both cases are settled, the issue of where to guide Westeros will begin. Yes, I've been looking at the comments you guys leave and I'm taking each option into consideration. Stay tuned for more updates!
Also, one more thing… historical figures often leave a name on the world. As we draw closer and closer, I figured it'd be best to impose the question: how would the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros remember Daveth Baratheon in its history books? What do you guys think he should be named? There have been historical figures such as Aegon (I) the Conqueror, Maegor (I) the Cruel, Jaehaerys (I) the Conciliator, Aegon (II) the Elder, Aegon (III) the Unlucky, Daeron (I) the Young Dragon, Baelor (I) the Blessed, Aegon (IV) the Unworthy, Daeron (II) the Good, Aegon (V) the Unlikely, Aerys (II) the Mad, Robert (I) the Usurper, etc.
What name should be fitting towards Daveth? Use specific examples from each chapter you've read and explain your reasons why. It's a lot to consider.
King Crow: "Oi, Witcher!"
aleyuma98: Amazing chapter, as for Daveth i think he should be called "the Great" because he was already called the Oathkeeper before becoming King, so in the history books he should be "Daveth the Great" also know as the Oathkeeper.
jeremiahkelley93: great chapter.
Chris the Metis: Fate of the aftermath hangs in the balance as terrible carnage is over for good and as well the age of the dragon is forever in the annul of history. Trail is easily is similar as the Nuremberg Trail.
James: Sorry jon snow but that is a unfortunate turn of fate for you. As for Daveth many suggest Oathkeeper, or the great. Perhaps from the song the title could be "Bringer of storms, or Stormbringer." Great work of a chapter!
Lord Mortensen: Cool! please update it soon!
johnnylee619: Netflix's The Witcher easter egg spotted!
daniel. santiago. 4545: Amazing chapter.
I think daveth should be known as the oathkeeper, its only natural.
And jon should be made a member of the kingsguard, in there he will be safe and it will ensure the end of the targaryen line.
RubyDragon123: I'm really hoping that the song is a parody of Daughter of the Sea, because it seems amazing. I also think it would be fitting if he was to keep his name or Oathkeeper
—It's influenced by it, yes.
Bvc: Great chapter on trials and tribulations of the oathkeeper, so can you please put up the next chapter to the story now please
RHatch89: Awesome update :)
C.E.W: My suggestion for Daveth nickname is either Daveth the Great because he won every war he fought, earned the respect of every kingdom and united them. Or Daveth the Oathkeeper because he kept his promises, and Oathkeeper is part of the title of this story after all.
As for Missandei, the Unsullied and the Dothraki. Well, the Dothraki should be executed because they're nomads who raid, rape and murder mainly for spot. The Unsullied, sent back to Slaver's Bay or execute to protect the Seven Kingdoms. Missandei, for her sake, best case scenario is she gets spared and sent back to Narth, her home. Worse case scenario she gets executed.
As for Jon Snow well, I did not see the Martells ratting him out coming. Hope Trystane was not in on it, he knows Jon Snow is a friend of Daveth's whose his brother-in-law. Jon Snow fought for Daveth to defend King's Landing against Daenerys Targaryen, the High Lords will take that into account. Daveth for one, back in King Robert's day Jon would be put to death, Daveth however does not want to see Jon dead due to their friendship, family and Jon's services to the realm. But in light of the revelation of Jon's parentage, he can't allow him to remain south of the Neck. Daveth could just send Jon back North, Robb would not hesitate to allow Jon to stay into his household. Although Jon may not accept it due not wanting Robb to ruin the North's relationship with the other kingdoms. So he may choose to go with the Wildlings to live his remaining day beyond the Wall. If so then it will be Daveth's greatest wish that Jon finds a new life to embrace among the Wildlings.
TehStorm: Great chapter,for now on the only thing i hope is that daveth doesn't lose his mind somehow,the conflict is over now so if you make him mad or something among those lines now that everything is over and the threats are over then it will be almost like watching season 8 over again,a big disapointment.
Chosen-One-92: Is that a parody of the Daughter of the Sea or is that tune of yours just a remarkable coincidence?
—It's influenced by it, yes.
AZW330: It may be cliche, but Daveth swore to put down Renly, The Greyjoys, and Daenerys, and swore to unify the Seven Kingdoms, and he did it by any means. So I can't think of a better name than Daveth The Oathkeeper.
Bio RL: Thanks for the chapter
RedRat8: I am of the opinion that since he became King, he's been dealing with many issues both domestic and foreign he should go with a title like say Daveth the Restorer, Daveth the Reformist, or better yet simply Daveth the Oathkeeper.