abn-audiotest

by Hankton

abadname audiotest dontread

16. lioninwinter2

Threadmarks: Robb VI

View in Thread

Sbiper

Sbiper

Not too sore, are you?

Joined:Feb 6, 2018

Messages:476

Likes Received:49,767

Robb VI

His mind wandered, he tuned out what his bride was saying to him and instead concentrated on looking around, but without seeming to do so, or at least not being obvious about it. Lord Edmure was sharing some joke with his wife, who giggled appropriately and batted her eyelashes at him, seemingly demurely but he suspected that the blonde was playing his fool of an uncle. Lord Tyrion was slumped drunkenly beside his wife, who looked to be on the verge of tears again, her face pale and pinched looking, despite the fact that Lady Roslin was a rather attractive girl. Mayhaps he should have married a Frey after all, if Lady Roslin had been his bride he would have been happy, certainly happier than with the icy Lannister chit he had just married.

His sister sat serenely beside the Old Lion, whose paw barely left its position covering his sister's left hand, the Hand of the King not being shy about showing his claim on his newest possession. They made an odd couple he mused, both appeared to be above showing emotion, or any shred of affection for each other, though they did not show any hostility either, the pair of them appeared to be the very soul of southern nobility and reserve.

He reached for his cup, filled with dark Westerlands ale, and he took a deep draught, savouring its rich, malty taste, noticing that his mother still had a scowl fixed on her face, and he could not help but let a little bit of resentment creep into his mind. His mother...she had ill served him with advice he had come to realise, and seemed to be unable to reconcile herself to the terms of the peace they had concluded with the Lannister's. True, it imposed strict terms on the North with respect to alliances and marriages, but other than that there were many advantages overall for the North, and for House Stark. But that assumed the he, unlike his mother, could overlook the negatives of the alliance, the swearing of fealty to a King he knew was a bastard and to agreeing to his and Sansa's marriages. His Lord father would never have agreed to any of this, of that he was sure, but his father was dead, and he was Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North now, and it was up to him to lead the North.

The coin and aid in expelling the Greyjoy's was a bonus of course, as was everyone knowing that his good brother was Lord Tywin Lannister...which though advantageous, still stung a little. The fate of the Bolton's for example, massacred by the Mountain and his men on the orders of Lord Tywin after they had maimed Ser Jamie, that, that rankled still. Even though the Bolton's had betrayed him and were plotting with Lord Tywin, he was the Bolton's Liege Lord and it was down to him to see justice done, not Lord Tywin.

He and the Old Lion had exchanged heated words on this very subject when the Hand of the King had revealed to him exactly what had happened to the Bolton's, along with a shocking revelation about the actions of Lord Roose's bastard, Ramsey Snow. He had decided to deal with this immediately on returning North, and he was already wondering how to parcel up the Bolton lands among existing Lords, and maybe even creating a few new noble houses. He wished his brother Jon had not joined the Nights Watch, for he would have gifted Jon the Stark name and given him lands to rule in the former territories of the Bolton's.

"You seem pensive my Lord husband" his wife said in a level voice beside him, he turned his head to look more fully at the girl he had married a few shot hours ago. She was older than him, twenty and one and had all the looks of a Lannister about her, though he had to admit that she was not unattractive, indeed the very opposite. Bedding her would be far from a chore, at least in the physical sense, though he did wonder how she would react to the act itself, would she lie there all passive and accepting? Would she be unable to keep her disdain for him from her face as he mounted her? Or would she be a lioness, like her House's sigil, fierce, proud, mayhaps even biting and scratching? At the thoughts of this he felt himself begin to stiffen rapidly despite his swift attempts to clear his mind's eye of increasingly heated visions.

"I have a lot on my mind, I am sorry" he replied, not really meaning it, though he did make sure he made eye contact with her, and kept his gaze fixed on hers, her emerald eye's seemed warmer than he had ever seen them before, softer, welcoming.

"It is your wedding feast, you should enjoy yourself, mingle with your new family, your banner men, not brood up here like you are regretting this already?"

"My Lady, that is unkind" he replied, forcing the anger from his voice at the presumptuous of this girl.

"But is it true my Lord? I doubt the bedding to come will be your first time, so that cannot be the reason you are so sullen and withdrawn?" she asked, a grin tugging at her mouth and mirth flashing in the depths of her green eyes.

Robb mulled over his response to this, he could be curt and annoyed with her, like he wanted to be, to lash out in temper, but this girl was his wife, and she had about as much of a say in all of this as he had, which was to say none.

"I, I tend to worry too much, I was just thinking about the wars to come against the Iron Born and rooting them out of the North, and taking vengeance for Bran and Rikon..." he hissed, he had not meant to say this but somehow it had spilled out of him, hot and sour and full of hatred.

The girl's hand reached for his and her tiny, delicate, soft hand lay across the back of his hand, a delicious thrill coursing up his arm at the contact "This is I am sure no consolation, but our first two sons should be named Bran and Rikon, to honour the memories of your slain brothers." Cerenna's green eyes looked huge in the candlelight, and he could detect only sincerity and kindness in them, something he had assumed he would never see.

He started a bit, almost pulling his hand away from where she rested hers atop it "thank you" he whispered, and he meant it.

"But for there to be Stark son's there must be bedding's, and probably lots of them" she grinned mischievously at him. "I grow tired of all of this my Lord husband, take me to our rooms, it is time we became truly man and wife."

View in Thread

Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!

What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...

Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter

Sbiper, Sep 8, 2019Report#1978Like+ QuoteReply

Pilatypus, HogarthThree, adairedevil and 274 others like this.

Threadmarks: Tywin VI

View in Thread

Sbiper

Sbiper

Not too sore, are you?

Joined:Feb 6, 2018

Messages:476

Likes Received:49,767

Tywin VI

"See Lady Sansa is prepared for bed" I commanded the two ladies in waiting, striding into my bedroom and standing by one of the large windows, there was only a solitary candle lit in the room and outside the sky was clear. The view was out over Blackwater Bay, the sky was strewn with millions of stars, something which a modern person in the 1st world will rarely appreciate, light pollution being what it is.

The night sky is not the black so many are familiar with; instead it is a deep purple colour and the handful of stars that are typically visible the sky is instead full to overflowing with pinpoints of light. And soaring from left to right in a great arc, what looked like the plane of the galaxy, of whatever galaxy Westeros was part of. It could have been the Milky Way for all I knew, but still, its beauty was awe inspiring, Tywin had been rather contemptuous of me the first time I had gazed at the heavens above Westeros in awe, he had rapidly shut up and changed his tune as I shared my somewhat considerable knowledge of astrophysics with the Old Lion. The distances, energy output and sheer awesomeness of stars, along with the revelation that all elements came from the fires of stars blazing deaths humbled Tywin Lannister. Yes, I was a complete geek, and had never been ashamed of it ever, working with techies most of my life meant that being able to 'out geek' them was a positive. What had really blown my mind, and Tywin's was the graphic I saw that showed how big the area of visible stars was against the size of the Milky Way galaxy, and almost insignificant yellow dot against the vastness of the spiral arms of the Galaxy.

Letting my mind wander I pondered the perennial topic and favourite when one finds oneself 'self inserted' as it where, the so called 'uplifting' of Westeros. It was certainly something I wanted to do, and Tywin saw the advantages of some of what I proposed, and we even had some concrete plans in that regard. But the bulk of any major changes, with a few exceptions, were going to have to wait until after the upcoming 'War for the Dawn II'. Though there was quite a bit that would have to be done prior to this, already plans were in motion on this front, proto industrialisation had already started in the Westerlands, along with the first experiments with the Four Field rotation system and some animal powered 'mechanisation' – seed drills and the like.

But it had been politics and securing stability first, not that I expected everything to go to plan, this was Westeros after all, but so far I did not think I'd, sorry, I mean we, as Tywin scoffed in my head, had not done too badly.

Of course getting married to a teenage red head babe had not been part of the plan, and initially neither of us had exactly been enthusiastic about the offer and its ramifications and butterflies. But both of us had come to see its benefits, initially the plan had been to make a grab for Margaery after the Purple Wedding and have Sansa marry Tommen. That pair of twits would have been perfect for each other, but then Sansa had displayed an unusual level of competency at the Game of Thrones such that it had piqued our interest.

Sansa shipping that inbreed cunt Joffrey to the Tyrell's without a seeming ounce of remorse was what sealed it, well for Tywin at least, with that action Sansa became a worthwhile candidate for his next wife. Making the whole deal conditional on Robb Stark actually acting rational had been a more difficult sell on my part to Tywin. The Old Lion had been determined to carry out the atrocity that was the Red Wedding, even with the fact that Sansa would be his wife; I had to labour the point with him repeatedly that the fear instilled by the Rains of Castamere were different from the hatred that would ensue after the Red Wedding. Ultimately it came down to persuading him that his legacy was best served by my proposed course of action as opposed to his.

Of course Tywin being Tywin he insisted upon roping in Robb and Edmure into the deal, Tyrion was something I added in; why not let the Imp have the sweetest, and prettiest of the Frey's? And as to the elimination of the Bolton's and the Frey's? Well who the fuck would care about either of them anyway, and many would see their elimination as a positive thing.

But enough of that, behind me I heard movement, I turned around and beheld my new wife, Sansa. She was dressed in a nightgown of sheerest silk and lace, embroidered with flowers that hid the curves and sweeps of her body.

"My Lady" I intoned, though a throat suddenly dry and tight with desire, Sansa's stunning beauty almost rendering me speechless. Huge blue eyes in a high cheek boned face, generous, ever so kissable lips, thick, lustrous auburn hair, free now to fall in waves around her shoulders, tall and gracefully slim, yet with enough curves to entice and excite.

"My Lord" she whispered, letting her eyes fall from my face, she did not know what to do with her arms and hands, they moved from her side to her front to clasp, before she moved them back to hang at her sides.

"Now that we are married, when in private or in public where propriety allows it, you may call me Tywin" I said, taking several steps towards the girl, who flinched slightly at my approach.

"Yes, my...I mean Tywin" Sansa almost whispered as I took another step towards her.

"Sansa" I said, feeling how the name felt on my tongue, liking it, liking the way the girls breathing was becoming shallower, noticing the two points of her nipples through the fabric of her nightgown. Maybe it was just the cool night air bringing them to hardness but I reached up a hand and gently cupped her left breast through her nightgown, my thumb rubbing lightly over the erect nipple.

"Ahhhhhhh", the tiniest of moans escaped the girl's mouth; I felt the shiver travel through her at my touch, noticing Goosebumps erupt along her uncovered arms.

Removing my hand from her breast I unclasped the fastenings on my doublet, shrugging it off and then unlacing the cotton shirt beneath, pulling it over my head, noticing that Sansa's eyes were roving over my torso, darting between each scar and old wound. Tywin's torso was fairly battered, sporting a fine array of battle wounds; the most prominent was a long scar on the right flank that dragged up over the ribs.

Sansa reached out, almost stopping her hand, but continuing until her fingertips brushed the puckered skin, the contact made me suck in a breath, and twist slightly away from her, not in pain, but because that brush of her fingers had been so intense, so powerful.

"I'm, I'm sorry" Sansa stumbled over the words, whipping her hand back, "I did not mean to hurt you!"

"You did not hurt me" I growled, noticing that my tone of voice scared the girl, lowering and softening my voice I continued, "your touch was too pleasurable Sansa."

The redhead's eyes widened at that, a look of wonder passing through them, a shy smile tugging at her lips. "Really? The Old Lion afraid of the touch of the wolf maid?"

I smiled at this and took a few steps back, feeling the bed against the back of my upper thighs, I sat down and tugged off my boots and socks, watching Sansa take a few hesitant steps forwards towards me.

Standing up I unbuckled my belt and pulled down my trousers and smallclothes, to stand naked and well, rampant before Sansa. Tywin had not been hiding behind the door when the gods had been handing out cocks, he was massive, long and thick at with balls to match, and still capable of attaining an excellently hard erection.

The girl gasped at this unsheathing, Tywin chuckled darkly in my head, and I knew I would have to take things very easy, least I terrify the girl further.

Sansa for her part tore her gaze away from my member and undid the laces at the throat of her night gown, pulling the garment over her head until she stood as naked as I.

She was simply perfect; sweeps of pale, taut skin, softened by female curves, pert breasts high upon her chest, a small and sparse tangle of curls the same shade as the hair on her head above the slit of her sex.

"I, umm, your sister, the Lady Genna, she insisted I get a Lyseni waxing" she stammered, noticing my gaze linger between her legs "do, do you not like it?"

"No, I love it" I husked in response, taking a step forwards to tower over the girl, hands reaching into her thick hair to pull her head back so that her face looked up at me.

View in Thread

Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!

What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...

Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter

Sbiper, Sep 10, 2019Report#2006Like+ QuoteReply

HogarthThree, adairedevil, Nepcotevalley and 252 others like this.

Threadmarks: Robb VII

View in Thread

Sbiper

Sbiper

Not too sore, are you?

Joined:Feb 6, 2018

Messages:476

Likes Received:49,767

Robb VII

He awoke with a start, not knowing what had caused him to awake so suddenly, his heart hammering in his chest, the unfamiliar surroundings giving him a start, until his mind settled and he realised where he was.

The Red Keep, he was in the Red Keep, in Maegor's Holdfast, and in the bed chamber he was sharing with his wife of several hours...who was sprawled across his chest and upper stomach, fast asleep from the cadence of her breathing.

The bedding had not been unpleasant, far from it in fact, Cerenna had not been in the slightest bit shy, nor had she been reluctant. Instead his wife had matched him in her desires, unafraid, wanton even, urging him on inside her, wrapping arms and legs around him, meeting his thrusts with abandon.

A grin flickered across his face, he had taken the Greatjon's advice and had a 'tactical wank' on the morning of the wedding, so that as the Greatjon had remarked 'you don't blow your load getting out of your breeches instead of deep in your wife's cunny!'

His wife had triggered something in him, something wild, abandoned, and possessive, their union had contained little of restraint, nor of love as he understood it, just an overwhelming need to join physically.

Not that any of what had transpired had been un-enjoyable, and Cerenna had seemed to be equally aroused during and satisfied afterwards, but their sex had seemed to him frantic, overwhelming, and almost desperate in its intensity.

If this was to continue he would find himself pleased with this aspect of his marriage at least, though he doubted it would make up for the not inconsiderable disadvantages of having wed a Lannister brought. For despite the sweet release afforded by pumping his seed into the moaning, thrashing blonde he could not help but remember that he was a defeated former King, and that he had knelt to the killers of his father.

It was still a harsh and bitter knot in the back of his throat, something which he did not know if he could ever overcome, ever be able to leave in the past.

Cerenna's golden hair was splayed across his upper chest, tickling him slightly; he reached up and took a handful of it into his fist, bringing it up to his face gently to inhale its scent, before letting it fall through his fingers. Gold, gold to imprison him, golden coin from her family and golden hair upon his wife's head...and between her legs as before his mind's eye flashed the images of their lovemaking, their bodies meeting, the dark hair at the root of his pillar meeting the golden hair at the juncture of Cerenna's legs, her maiden's blood slick on her thighs and splashed across his groin.

He felt himself stiffen at these wanton thoughts, shifting gently so that his member was not poking against Cerenna's side. He, he had not actually been decided upon what to do about his Lannister bride, even after their wedding and at the feast he had felt his familiar companion, that sour, bitter resentment of all things Lannister fill his thoughts.

But it had been Cerenna's offer to name their sons after his slain brothers that had shocked him out of his brooding, her offer was made fairly and openly, he could detect nothing of falseness or design in her words. And her proposing that they leave the feast to consummate the marriage had further served to push his gloomy thoughts into the recesses of his mind.

By the time they had reached their bedchambers he could feel the thrilling tension between them almost sparking in the air, and once alone they had needed no words, tearing at their clothes in a frantic scramble to reveal their bodies to each other.

Naked Cerenna was glorious, narrow of waist, wide of hip and heavy of breast, with pale skin that seemed to glow in the low candle light. Her golden hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her back in thick, glossy waves once she had released it from the pinned up style she had worn it in, a thatch of equally golden hair nestled between her legs.

As his gaze roved over her body he noticed that her eyes were making an equally frank appraisal of his naked form, and she took two swift steps forwards to stand with her body lightly pressing up against his. The contact of her heated flesh against his sent shivers coursing through him, her fingers danced across the muscles of his arms and chest, leaving tingling Goosebumps in their wake.

Despite a raging, unquenchable desire to take Cerenna he took his time before splitting her maidenhead with his cock, exploring her body with fingers and lips and tongue, feasting on her sopping sex, the scent of its musk intoxicating as he lapped and kissed at its folds. Cerenna arched her back and pressed herself into his face, grabbing his hair and hoarsely moaning and calling out his name, driving him on to lash his tongue faster and faster over her opening.

Cerenna cried out and her body thrashed under his ministrations, achieving her peak noisily, satisfied he moved away and positioned himself at her opening, her eye's regarded him heavy lidded and unfocused, but she hissed "yes", and he pushed his way inside her, meeting the resistance of her maidenhead but not stopping, breaking her and pushing forwards into her grasping, slick tight depths.

A sharp intake of breath accompanied this, Cerenna's face twisting from slack bliss to taut pain, but he did not stop, he could not, his desire was inflamed, unstoppable, he had to possess this girl, he had to take her. He drove in and out of her, slowly at first, but as she started to make little moans of pleasure he increased his tempo, until she was thrusting back at him with abandon, gripping at his sweat slicked body and thrashing beneath him.

Cerenna even bit his shoulder, drawing blood but he did not care, slamming himself into her until he could hold himself no longer and unleashed a long and judderingly pleasurable stream of his seed into the heated and sated core of his wife.

Maybe marriage to a Lannister was not such a bad thing after all?

View in Thread

Last edited: Sep 14, 2019

Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!

What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...

Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter

Sbiper, Sep 14, 2019Report#2030Like+ QuoteReply

RedKing96, Pilatypus, HogarthThree and 227 others like this.

Threadmarks: Tyrion XV

View in Thread

Sbiper

Sbiper

Not too sore, are you?

Joined:Feb 6, 2018

Messages:476

Likes Received:49,767

Tyrion XV

"My Lord!"

"Yes?" replied Tyrion, noticing that the Maester was slightly out of breath.

"An urgent Raven for the Hand of the King, it bears the stamp for absolute priority!"

"Give it here" he commanded, his hand outstretched as the Maester hesitated " The Lord Hand is indisposed this early, he will no doubt break his fast soon, but in the meantime, as Master of Coin I will take the message."

The Maester seemed to hesitate for a few seconds before handing over the small, tightly rolled up piece of paper, it was sealed with the sigil of the Office of the Hand of the King, but also bore the double lightning bolt symbol that denoted absolute priority.

He was out in the cool of the morning, the sun having just risen, dew still sparkled on the grass and the air was crisp and seemed not to yet have the stench of Kings Landing hanging from it. He was taking his morning walk in the gardens of the Red Keep, but he was making for the Tower of the Hand with a bunch of scrolls for his Lord Fathers attention.

He wondered if he should open the scroll, then decided against it, instead resuming his stroll, though this time he cut short his normal walk and instead made straight for the Tower of the Hand. These last few days since his marriage he had found himself rising early and being at his desk before his Lord father, who now seemed to prefer lying abed with his new wife to getting up at the crack of dawn as had been his wont.

Not that he could blame him, Sansa Stark was a beautiful young girl and his father had sported the look of a particularly satisfied cat these last few days. No doubt if he wanted to he could have gotten more details by paying for the servant's gossip but he refrained from doing so, he did not want to be reminded of his own, rather unhappy marital situation.

He had drunk himself insensible at that sham of a multiple wedding, unable to face the revulsion and despair in the Frey girl's eyes. His Lord father had admonished him for his drunkenness stating "you seem rather drunk", to which he had replied "rather less than I had planned to be, is it not a man's duty to be drunk at his own wedding?"

To which his father had given him a version of the usual lecture about family and duty, though this time spiced with concerns about his ability to perform his duty as a husband and thus the speed by which he would put a child in fair Roslin's belly.

The fact that the girl in question had been seated beside him did not seem to deter the Old Lion one bit, his father's looming presence seeming to terrify the girl even further.

On retiring to their chambers the girl had been shaking with fear and he had declined to perform his duties as a husband, instead passing out dead drunk on a low couch. He had avoided Roslin for most of the next day, instead burying himself in his work when he had been awoken by the servants with food to break their fast.

The Master of Coin had quite lavishly appointed quarters in the complex of buildings that made up the royal treasury, his offices were but a short walk away, yet the fair, and exquisitely petite Roslin managed to avoid him for most of the day and for most days subsequently. Her behaviour had become tiring, not to mention the girls refusal to entertain his husbandly rights, petite and all that Roslin was he was not about to hold down his own wife and force her.

He did not even have Shae to fall back on, having finally decided that he had tweaked the Old Lion's tail more than enough with her presence, Shae had been dispatched back to Lys with enough coin to live the rest of her life in comfort and some little style.

Passing through the gate house in the wall surrounding the Tower of the hand he quickly made his way up the stairs to the offices of his Lord Father, the guards admitted him to the Hand's Solar, where to his surprise he found his father already seated at his desk.

"Tyrion" his father said by way of greeting, his eyes flicking downwards again to the document he was reading.

"Father, an urgent raven for you, and those spending figures that you wanted" he replied, approaching the desk.

"Leave them on my desk...you are up early..." he remarked as he took the raven's message and broke the seals, reading what was written there.

"Lots of work to be done father, Baelish did leave quite the mess after all."

"More important than putting a Lannister child in your wife's belly?" his father growled, raising his gaze to meet his.

He did not reply to this barb, instead just holding his father's gaze, anger seeming to shimmer in the air between them.

"You still have quite a bit of work on that score, like actually taking her maidenhead?"

"I will not rape her!" he spat out, incensed at his father's suggestion.

"Your marriage is not consecrated in the eyes of Gods nor men if you don't put your cock in her Tyrion, need I remind you of that fact?"

He ignored his father, anger simmering and boiling in him, a sour taste at the back of his throat.

"Here" his father tossed him the raven's scroll "that might change your mind regarding fucking your Frey wife!"

He plucked the scroll deftly out of the air and read it, incredulity spreading across his face.

"Walder Frey and his bunch of squabbling weasels are dead, killed in a wildfire explosion at the Twins, the Lady Genna's husband and children might be the only Frey's left alive, your wife is very lucky to have been in Kings Landing and getting married to you, I'd remind her of that fact if she proves reluctant to open her legs..."

Tyrion pondered his next words for a second or two, then decide he had nothing to lose "and how will you play this father, who will you pin the blame for your actions on this time?"

His father's eyes glinted like the steel of a blade being unsheathed "why the Frey's themselves, there are documents showing them purchasing consignments of wildfire from the Pyromancers Guild recently. Apparently House Frey was mightily impressed with your use of the substance in defeating the fleet of Stannis Baratheon, but alas the Frey's were too cheap to pay for a Wisdom to oversee the proper storage and care of the stuff, and thus a tragic accident ensued."

"Why?" he asked. Oh he knew why, his father had hated Walder Frey since his sister Genna had been married to a Frey, and he was sure that his father had been up to something with both Lord Roose Bolton and possibly also with the Frey's. Both were the most likely House's to betray King Robb and in the case of House Frey they had the issue of a betrothal that the Young Wolf had seemed disinclined to honour. But he wanted to see what twisted reasoning his father came up with for slaughtering virtually an entire House, even if they were a pack of snivelling weasels.

"Do you know what nemesis means Tyrion? A righteous infliction of retribution manifested by an appropriate agent, personified in this case by a horrible cunt, me."

View in Thread

Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!

What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...

Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter

Sbiper, Sep 20, 2019Report#2065Like+ QuoteReply

HogarthThree, adairedevil, Nepcotevalley and 305 others like this.

Threadmarks: Sansa XVII

View in Thread

Sbiper

Sbiper

Not too sore, are you?

Joined:Feb 6, 2018

Messages:476

Likes Received:49,767

Sansa XVII

Sansa rolled over in the bed, languidly stretching out her arm, expecting to find the warm bulk of Tywin beside her, instead only finding empty space, she opened her eyes, the Hand's bedchamber was still in semi darkness but she could see the grey light of dawn seeing from behind the drawn curtains.

She rolled over into the space where Tywin would normally be, the cotton bed sheets were cool, no trace of his warmth remained, but his scent lingered on the cotton, faint but distinctive.

Marriage to the Old Lion had not exactly been what she had expected, and it had started on the night of their wedding, with a bedding that had been quite the surprise. The actual act itself had held less terror for her thanks to the Lyseni pillow book Lady Genna had given her, she had known what was to take place, but knowing and actually experiencing, well they were two very different things entirely. For example, a naked Tywin had not been altogether unattractive, quite the opposite if truth be told, neither did the many scars on his flesh detract from his looks one bit, in fact to her mind they seemed to enhance it. She knew what men looked like naked, her and Jeyne Poole had spied on a few servants and stable boys bathing in the hot pools in Winterfell, though Lord Tywin's manhood was definitely much bigger than anything her and Jeyne had glimpsed.

A smile came to her mouth as she remembered in her mind's eye that night, how Tywin had taken her to bed and brought her to heights of pleasure she had not known existed. Her husband was obviously skilled at pleasuring a woman, the way his hands, mouth and tongue had drawn ecstasy from her flesh.

And when his tongue and hands had drifted lower and lower until he had touched and kissed her in her secret place, the pleasure had been so unexpected, so overwhelming, that she had been unable to stop such wanton moans from escaping from her mouth. Her moans had only spurred Tywin on to greater effort and she had peaked uncontrollably and unexpectedly, shrieking with surprise as much as pleasure.

As the visions flashing across the eye of her mind became increasingly heated Sansa let out an involuntary moan, her hands moving across her flesh, leaving trails of tingling pleasure in their wake.

For the last few mornings Tywin had stayed late abed with her, not leaving his chambers until the sun was well risen, but not this morning, and she let her lips pout slightly, she had liked waking up beside Tywin, his presence comforting and warm. She liked lying in the Old Lions arms, who could be surprisingly tender and gentle, though at other times he was, not gentle...and she blushed deeply knowing that she liked that. She especially liked it when Tywin took her from behind, pulling at her hips and her hair, frantic to burry as much of his considerable length inside her, hurting her as he hilted himself within the sheath of her wet, pliant flesh.

But she liked being hurt like this, liked the thought of Tywin using her roughly, it aroused her, overwhelmed her with a frantic desire to be taken like this, to know that she made Tywin lose his control so completely. In a similar way she enjoyed pleasuring Tywin with her mouth, the act had fascinated her when she had read about it, and Tywin's moans and shudders when she wrapped her lips around him sent little shivers through her with delight.

Her pleasant daydreams were interrupted by the ladies maids entering Tywin's bedchamber and proceeding to chivvy her out of bed and into a bath, before dressing her for the day, now that she was the Lady of the Hand and Lady of Casterly rock her wardrobe had expanded quite dramatically, Tywin placed certain demands upon her with regards to style, cut and colour, favouring her in more figure hugging dresses than she would have thought. Golden and crimson was more in evidence in her new clothing, but Stark grey and Tully blue was also much in evidence, with lace and silks replacing wools and linens.

Making her way to the Solar of the Hand she found her husband at work, but with a table laid out for them to break their fast. Tywin rose and gestured to the table for her to sit and join him; a scroll still in one hand, as she sat Tywin bent down and planted a light kiss just behind her ear, a spot that she had found to be exquisitely sensitive.

Letting out a tiny moan she tilted her head backwards slightly, Tywin's lips nuzzling her neck before he gave her a final kiss on her now heated flesh and he took his seat opposite her. The meal was sparse, as she had discovered, her husband did not like to eat a heavy meal to break his fast, freshly baked rolls, butter, jam, and fresh fruit was the fare laid before them.

Her hair was done up in one of the complicated styles that were favoured at court, leaving her neck bare, something Tywin had expressed a like for, and she studied the man she was married to as he ate methodically and read the scroll.

He was as tall and broad shouldered as any man she had met; age did not seem to have had much effect upon him, for he carried himself with the taut, lean carriage of a man much younger than his years would indicate.

Picking at her repast she wondered idly if his seed had quickened inside her yet, he had certainly spilled himself inside her enough times that this was a distinct possibility, but her musings were broken by Tywin's Maester arriving with a small bottle of a clear liquid.

Tywin thanked the man and dismissed him, turning his gaze to her and saying "this is moon tea my lady, would you be so good as to drink it."

She was shocked by this sudden turn of events and blurted out "why, my Lord, I mean..."

"You are no use to me dead girl, you are young, mayhaps too young to bear my children. For now it is better to be safe than be sorry. You will drink the moon tea for the next several months at least, maybe even a year" he announced, golden flecked green eye's boring into hers.

"But my Lord, I mean, your, your heirs..."

"Can wait my lady, I lost one wife to the birthing bed, I will not lose another."

With that she realised the debate was over, she took the bottle and poured out its contents into a glass and drank the liquid, it felt oily on her tongue and had an acrid, bitter taste. Finishing the drink she took a drink of freshly squeezed orange juice to wash the taste from her mouth.

"Good, once you have finished breaking your fast there is a lady waiting to attend upon you, she will assist you in becoming the Lady of the Rock" with that Tywin got up, gave her a quick bow and retreated to his desk and the mountain of documents that were piled there.

Once she was sure Tywin was not watching her she let a pout rest on her face, she was being treated like a child by her husband! But in the end, what could she do, refuse to lie with him? And cut herself off from such pleasure? And anger the Old Lion, the man about whom the Rains of Castamere were penned?

She was a wife, it was her duty to bear her husband children, and if she did not fall pregnant with child soon no doubt tongues would wag.

She could brood and sulk or she could get up and be about her business, she opted for the later, knowing that Tywin would not appreciate the former.

Making her way to where this lady was waiting for her she beheld an older lady, green of eye and looking like she was of Lannister blood, but whose hair was snow white.

The Lady gave her a curtsy and said "Hello Lady Lannister, I am Meera, I knew Lord Tywin's first wife in my youth, now I have the pleasure to know his second wife."

Meera's smile was warm and pleasant; she was a slim woman who was wearing a simple dress and off white and had her hair pulled up into a severe bun.

"Men have the battlefield to face and they train assiduously for its rigours, we women on the other hand have to face the birthing bed, and we too must prepare for its trials. I am here to train and strengthen your body so that you do not fail at the task of birthing Lord Tywin's children."

View in Thread

Last edited: Sep 26, 2019

Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!

What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...

Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter

Sbiper, Sep 24, 2019Report#2085Like+ QuoteReply

HogarthThree, adairedevil, PompadourWampus and 247 others like this.

Threadmarks: Jamie II

View in Thread

Sbiper

Sbiper

Not too sore, are you?

Joined:Feb 6, 2018

Messages:476

Likes Received:49,767

Jamie II

"Be careful with that, I should not have to tell you by now you know," Jamie hissed at the workmen, the scum of fleabottom and a levelling of the dregs of the cities prisons, as they ever so gently removed yet another jar of wildfire from the basement of a warehouse near the Mud Gate. The former were attracted to this most dangerous of work by the high wages being offered, the later by the prospect of reduced sentences.

He, and the teams of workmen placed under his command, had been toiling for several months now, with the somewhat reluctant cooperation of the Alchemists Guild to remove the hidden caches of Wildfire that Aerys had stashed all over Kings Landing.

They first had scoured the Red Keep and its immediate environs, unearthing a huge cache of what Tyrion was wont to refer to as pigshit, though he failed to see the joke, he still remembered Lord Rikard Stark's screams as the wildfire had consumed him...

Once the Red Keep had been emptied of its hidden Wildfire stores it had been on to the Great Sept of Baelor, and underneath that great edifice another equally large haul of wildfire had been unearthed.

After that the stashes had been of steadily decreasing size, and not every place where the wisdoms swore Wildfire was secreted had turned up to actually have the stuff hidden away, which seemed to Jamie's mind to indicate that some of it had been stolen, but by whom he did not know.

Anyway, he did not care much either way, he had been put in personal charge of this 'clean up' and it helped him to forget about Cersei...

Cersei... his other half, the only person he had really ever loved... bile rose in his throat at her memory. Why? Why had she been so godsdammed stupid? To think that she could play the Game of Thrones against their father of all people, and what was worse, to strike directly at their father's legacy, or in this case his new wife Lady Sansa. Despite himself he shook his head at his twin's utter stupidity.

Cersei had hired some cut throat and had sent him to kill Sansa, the fool had been caught before he had a chance to even get close to Lady Sansa and had sung like Bealish had been rumoured to when put to the question, the tortures having been administered personally by his father.

The look of sheer, utter hatred and anger on his father's face when he had called Cersei and him to the Tower of the Hand several days after the attempt on Lady Sansa's life had chilled him to the very bone. Unlike Cersei he had realised immediately what was afoot and he had steeled himself for what was about to happen, that he was probably about to add kinslayer to his nickname of kingslayer.

Ushered into his father's Solar he had been surprised by the presence of a number of Red Cloaks and that Sellsword turned Knight, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater.

Almost before he could react steel was aired and his father growled "remove your sword and dagger Jamie, if you know what is good for you."

Cersei, shock registering on her face blurted out "make no move, any of you!" addressing the Red Cloaks "your Queen demands it!" her voice rising shrilly.

"Your word carries no weight here Cersei" his father replied coolly, his eyes never leaving Jamie's.

"Jamie, surrender your weapons."

"I'd rather not, if you don't mind father" he replied smirking and making sure he looked not the least bit concerned about the amount of steel pointing at him and Cersei.

"What is the meaning of all this!" Cersei blustered, trying to regain some semblance of power and control over a situation that even he knew was far beyond that, for the Old Lion having his men bare their steel against you was never going to be a sign of good things.

His father turned his head slowly to glare at his sister, he could see the muscles in his father's neck and jaw tense and spasm as his gaze came to rest on Cersei. To him it seemed as if his father could not even speak, so great was the fire of rage burning in his blazing, gold flecked emerald eyes.

"The meaning of this...Cersei?" he asked his voice choking, before he regained control of himself, barely. "The cut throat you hired to kill my WIFE! THAT'S WHAT THIS IS ABOUT YOU STUPID GIRL!"

He took an involuntary step backwards at this; beside him Cersei cringed, seeming to shrink into herself, to make herself smaller to avoid their father's wrath.

"Lies!" she screeched, "lies father, all lies! The Imp hired him! I swear it father! It was not me!"

At this Tywin strode forwards, slowly, deliberately, like a lion stalking its prey. He tried to place himself between Cersei and his father but he felt the sellswords blade at his throat "Ah ah blondie, keep still now" Ser Bronn announced in a matter of fact voice.

Tywin grabbed Cersei's hair and twisted it viciously, causing Cersei to scream in pain, his father ignoring Cersei's cries and hissing "disarm Ser Jamie, everyone leave us except Ser Bronn!"

After his weapons were removed and the Red Cloaks trotted out Tywin said through clenched teeth "I know Cersei, I know everything, about your children, about what happened to Robert, everything..."

"No, I, lies father, lies..." Cersei screeched in response, struggling to tear herself free of Tywin's grip on her hair.

"You must think me the greatest fool in Westeros Cersei, but I know you hired that cut throat to kill Sansa, just like I know everything else you stupid girl..."

"Father..." Jamie finally found his voice, terrified of what his father might do next.

"Don't worry boy, I won't become a kinslayer, no, Cersei's punishment will be banishment from Kings Landing back to the Westerlands, she's out..."

"Noooooo!" Cersei sobbed at this, collapsing as Tywin released his grip on her hair.

"You will remain here in Kings Landing as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, and you will dutifully fulfil you vows of that office" Tywin turned to address him, ignoring Cersei sobbing at his feet.

Before he could reply his father added "Don't make this any more difficult than it has to be Jamie, your sister tried to destroy us, our family, our name. I have given her mercy this time, because she shares my blood and my name, she will not get a second chance..."

He jerked his mind back to the present, the last of the jars of wildfire were safely, if such a adjective could be used about wildfire, in the hands of the representative of the Alchemists Guild, and a heavy escort of Gold and Red Cloaks saw the various Wisdoms and their substance away and out of Kings Landing, to gods only knew where. His father knew no doubt; Tywin was probably planning on using the stuff at some future stage, probably against the Targaryen girl if she ever decided to reclaim her throne.

'If she ever tried to reclaim her throne' he chuckled in the privacy of his mind, of course she would, and he wondered what his father would do then? Probably beat her he mused sourly, an assassin's blade in the dark and then no more would the Targaryen name trouble the Seven Kingdoms, and much more importantly to Tywin's blood, sitting as it did on the Iron Throne.

Though he was Lord Commander of the Kings Guard that institution was currently in a rather sad state, he needed to recruit knights to bring it up to strength, currently Tommen was being guarded by Red Cloaks, men who answered to his father and his father only. It was not that he feared for his son's life, but he wanted to regain some modicum of his old life and responsibilities back, and to exert himself against his father, in however little he might.

He decided that he would start attending Small Council meetings, and that would stick in his father's eye straight away, he would be bored out of his skull no doubt but nevertheless, it was something he felt he had to do.

Equally he had taken up his duties to squire Tommen, his gentle and more than a little overweight son was showing some genuine promise with a blade, something he noted with no little pride. No doubt his father would dismiss it as just 'the blood showing true' but he clung to it with a fierce pride he never knew he was capable of.

With Cersei banished, the last he had heard of her was that she had not even made it back to Casterly Rock, falling seriously ill on the journey and she was currently being cared for in a Septry in the Westerlands. According to reports his sister's already slender grasp on reality had slipped away completely and she had degenerated into a ranting, hateful wraith, unable to distinguish the terrors of her mind from the outside world.

He was sure Tywin was delighted with this turn of affairs, in fact he knew he was as when the Tyrell's had heard of this Olenna had immediately went to his father and announced that any possible match between Cersei and Willas could not be contemplated due to Cersei's 'fragile mental state'. That his father had barely condescended to even pretend to be annoyed by the Tyrell's actions told Jamie everything he needed to know.

View in Thread

Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!

What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...

Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter

Sbiper, Oct 5, 2019Report#2121Like+ QuoteReply

HogarthThree, adairedevil, PompadourWampus and 278 others like this.

Threadmarks: Tyrion XVI

View in Thread

Sbiper

Sbiper

Not too sore, are you?

Joined:Feb 6, 2018

Messages:476

Likes Received:49,767

Tyrion XVI

Life, he mused, was just not fair, something he had long ago come to realise, but also something that had been bent on proving to him every day.

Here he was, Master of Coin, reconciled somewhat with his father, sporting the valiant wounds he suffered in defence of Kings Landing, and married to a beautiful young lady, and yet still he knew life was not fair.

And the chief source of his annoyance with his life was sitting right opposite him, meekly eating her dinner and trying her best to avoid eye contact with him. His wife Roslin Lannister, nee Frey was now the chief source of his displeasure with the entire world.

Chiefly the fact that he had been forced to demand his rights as a husband from the girl, and continued to have to demand them ever since he had taken her maidenhead. His wife seemed determined to extract as little pleasure from their couplings as was physically possible, barely deigning to even look at him as he mounted her, turning her face away and only ever seeming to grimace or wince as he ploughed her tight, but still admirably wet, for a chit who seemed to not enjoy the act of sex, cunny.

As it was obvious that his wife despised him, and especially seemed to despise his physical form he was equally as determined as her to give her as little of pleasure and comfort as was possible. She was a cunt to be fucked, a womb to be filled with his seed, a vessel for his children, no more, no less. If she persisted in hating him he would hate her right back, but with the added spice of getting to fuck her, to use her cunny as a sleeve for his pleasure, and his alone.

He had come to take what little delight he could in his marriage from taking the girl as roughly and forcefully as possible, his not inconsiderable length and girth was obviously uncomfortable for as he thrust swiftly and brutally into sweet Roslin her gasps and cries of pain were music to his ears, as her body reacted despite his unwelcome intrusion.

A part of him had come to realise that Roslin secretly liked being used like this, being degraded, and he did not know how this made him feel, for he did not want his wife to know anything of pleasure at his hands or cock. As she cared naught for him or his desires so he wanted to ensure that she felt naught, but in the end all this did was spur him on to take Roslin rougher, to degrade her more, to treat her worse than a two copper whore from flea bottom. And to use her as often as possible, only giving her cunny a break when her moon blood came, though even then he used her mouth instead, forcing her to swallow his seed despite her tears, her protests and her retching.

Though it had to be said that fair Roslin had quite impressive breath control and a seemingly bottomless throat, something that had surprised him and which had led him to suspect that for all her supposed innocence and the evidence of her maidens blood coating his cock the first time he fucked her, that sucking cock had not been unknown to his pretty little wife.

He had asked her about this very fact a few nights later, her moon blood having passed and he was mounting her from behind as was his wont, slamming himself into her with abandon, and she had surprised him by admitting that many of the innumerable Frey daughters preserved their maidenhood from their brothers, cousins, uncles and even sometime their fathers by offering up their mouths instead of their cunts. To hear such tales of depravity issue from the mouth of his oh so sweet, oh so innocent looking wife had sent him over the edge and he had spilled himself uncontrollably into her slick cunt. Whipping his cock out he had then forced Roslin to clean his softening pillar with her mouth, something she had been reluctant to do, but a few slaps and a firm grasp of her hair had induced her to comply with his demands.

And his demand every night from then on, she would clean him with her mouth once he had spent himself, despite her increasingly feeble protests.

He dragged his mind away from remembering their loveless couplings –he had wanted love, he had wanted respect, he had only ever wanted for a women to look upon him without disgust and revulsion, and not to have to pay for them to look at him with lust in their eyes.

But no, Roslin was not that woman, of that he was abundantly sure, he had know it from the second he had laid eyes on her in the Great Sept of Baelor, her eyes had beheld him and she could not hide the revulsion that welled in her mind, he saw it clearly, and how it wounded him. Sansa Stark had gazed upon his father with love, of that he was sure. Robb Stark's bride had looked upon him with a frank appraisement and an obvious like for what she saw. Her bubbly blonde sister had smiled shyly at Edmure Tully, but the look he had gotten from his bride to be had been one of horror and fear.

And so he had went through the motions of the ceremony, his mind elsewhere, until at the wedding feast he had been able to drown his pain with his old friend wine, dulling the oh so familiar pain. That night he had been so drunk he had passed out on the floor of the room assigned to him and his bride, the next morning the girl had looked like a cornered mouse when he tried to make conversation with her.

The next few days had been little better, Roslin shrank away from him when he tried to converse with her like he was some hideous monster, some slavering beast. Until after a few weeks of this he had finally had enough, and he had forced his duty upon her.

He had initially hoped to be gentle with her, coaxing her and talking to her before during the nightly meal he had insisted that the two of them take every evening. It had been one of his attempts to break the ice with Roslin, that and showering her with gifts and presents, a new wardrobe for one, and gold jewellery to denote her status as a Lannister.

But Roslin had barely thanked him, had even rarely worn the new gowns and dresses bought at great expense for her, instead preferring to wear the dresses that she had brought with her from The Twins, drab, shapeless things, which made her look like a drudge, and which were certainly not fitting for a Lannister woman to wear.

Something which his father did not stint on mentioning of course, being the cunt that he was, and of course Lady Sansa was more than happy to wear a wardrobe that reflected her status and new family, though the northern girl did still wear her Stark colours on occasion, but made of fabrics and materials that reflected the gold of Casterly rock.

And so finally it had become all too much for him, and he had torn Roslin's night gown from her body in a rage at the chits utter unwillingness to accept her station and to accept that he was trying his level best to be as accommodating and kind as possible to her.

That said night dress was made of heavy cotton and covered Roslin from throat to ankles only further fuelled his anger, he ripped it from her in a rage, uncaring of her screams or tears.

Revealed in all her naked glory his sick lust pooled heavily in his loins, Roslin was stunning, petite yet perfectly formed, her teats large on her tiny frame, a slim waist and nicely flared hips, a tangle of dark curls hiding the secret entrance to heaven itself.

She tried to cover her body with her hands; he slapped them away, and not gently either, eventually having to slap the chits face a few times to make her see sense. Pulling her legs apart he debated teasing at her slit and that little nubbin of flesh hidden among the folds of flesh of her sex, but as he gazed up at Roslin's face only to find it turned away from him, buried in a pillow and a fan of her hair splayed across her cheek, he growled in anger.

Positioning himself he gripped the girl's legs and lifted them up, she did not resist and he pushed the tip of his cock against her opening, the girl was barely damp, no matter, her maiden's blood would have to suffice. And with a swift thrust he shoved a not inconsiderable amount of his length into Roslin, breaking her maidenhead without pause, sliding roughly into her dry, tight depths.

The sharp, scream of agony, followed by howling and sobbing only further enraged Tyrion, rather than pulling back he pushed himself even deeper, until he was fully sheathed in Roslins unwelcoming cunny, feeling the tip of his cock probe at her very depths. Urging himself deeper, he felt his heavy balls slap against her arse, hoarse cries of pain emanating from her hidden mouth, along with pleading sobs for him to stop.

But her did not stop, instead sliding back, removing almost his entire length, before he slammed forwards again, banging the tip of his cock against the depth of her cunt, causing Roslin to yelp and buck, she squirmed, trying to lever herself up off his cock that was impaling her.

Instead of letting her he grabbed at her hips and began to thrust brutally into Roslin, uncaring of her cries and protests, feeling the beginnings of moisture dampen her cunt, her body betraying her mind. With savage glee he pounded in and out of Roslin, concentrating totally on his pleasure until he could take it no more and with an agonising grunt he expelled his seed into his wife, enjoying a copious release that left him feeling pleasantly drained.

As he began to soften he pulled out of Roslin, looking down to see his cock slide out of his wife's cunt, slick with blood, her juices and his seed, more of which oozed out of her as he fully removed his pillar.

Without a word he got up off the bed and went to the bathroom and poured some water from a jug into a bowl, and he used it to clean off his member, before he returned to their bedroom.

Roslin was curled up on the far side of the bed from him, sobbing, he ignored her and instead went to a side board and poured a glass of wine, which he drank greedily, before her climbed into bed and despite the whimpers and tears of his wife, he rapidly fell asleep.

And so this was how it had been from then on, he took his wife when it pleased him, and it came to please him every night, neither her protests nor her pleading stayed him, if the chit would not show him any love or respect he would likewise show her none.

"My Lord husband" Roslin's meek voice interrupted his musings.

"Yes my Lady, what is it?" he asked, despite everything the social norms were still observed between them, he only abused her like a slut when he was fucking her.

"I, I am with child, the Maester confirmed it today."

"Well that's good news, it will stop my father annoying me for a start" he replied, delighting in seeing a flash of pain flicker in the depths of Roslin's brown eyes.

"The, the Maester, he, well, he said that we should refrain from...from being as man and wife for a few moons turn, for, for the...good of the child."

"Did he now, well that's convenient for you is it not? But you still have your mouth and your ass with which to do your duty by your husband, I don't think the Maester was talking about those holes now was he?"

"My, my Lord, please, I have never, I mean, my ass...you are too big..."

"There is always a first time for everything my dear Roslin, luckily for you I am aware of the necessary preparations and cleansing that is required, and there is no time like the present my dear!"

Outwardly he thrilled at the horror on his wife's face, letting his face twist into a leering grin, he would enjoy the sure to be exquisitely tight ass of his little wife, while inside a tiny part of him quailed at the monster he had become.

View in Thread

Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!

What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...

Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter

Sbiper, Oct 16, 2019Report#2135Like+ QuoteReply

Pilatypus, HogarthThree, Killroy225 and 210 others like this.

Threadmarks: Tywin VII

View in Thread

Sbiper

Sbiper

Not too sore, are you?

Joined:Feb 6, 2018

Messages:476

Likes Received:49,767

Tywin VII

I raised my glass in salute to Tyrion and Roslin, congratulating the happy couple on the announcement of their impending parenthood, about time Tyrion pupped that delectable little chit of a Frey, who looked none to delighted by the entire affair I could not fail to notice.

Said former Frey chit was the image of Alexandra Dowling, and it had been a tossup between her and 'fair Walda', the later was rather higher on the Frey totem pole but the cute one had been my favourite. Interestingly Tywin had not expressed much interest either way, while he appreciated the dynastic advantages of fair Walda he seemed rather disinterested overall. Probably because he had been planning to wipe out the bulk of the weasels anyway, and the matter of Tyrion's wife was not of huge concern either way. All he cared was that Tyrion put children in her belly, and that they were not 'stunted' as Tyrion was.

As it was Eamon Frey was the presumptive Lord of the Twins now, though he did not have technically the best claim. However he had arrived at The Twins with several hundred Red Cloaks (under the effective command of Genna of course) along with a letter from Edmure Tully according him the title of the Lord of the Twins. Of course this had not had the slightest bit of impact on the chaos that had reigned in the aftermath of the unfortunate accident. Open warfare had broken out between the handful of surviving male Frey's and the too numerous to count minor Houses that had blood ties to the Frey's. Eamon (well Genna really) had imposed a swift end to the fighting, hanging as many of the claimants to the title of Lord of the Crossing as was needed until everyone got the message.

Appeals to Edmure Tully to intervene fell on deaf ears, he was far too busy fucking his new bride, being completely enamoured by her golden cunt and the gold of her dowry no doubt.

He put the fate of the Frey's from his mind, Roslin was a Lannister now, and we both agreed that this was an honour barely deserved by the girl, she was the pick of the sorry bunch of drudges that had the misfortune to be fathered by the late Walder Frey and so should be bloody grateful for what had been bestowed upon her. Not forgetting that she owed her very life to the fact that I chose her as Tyrions bride, and still she seemed to be unable to be anything but a shy and timid mouse. Not forgetting that her marriage meant that Roslin and Tyrion were the heirs to Rosby, a not insubstantial Crownlands seat. Well technically the child in her belly was the heir, but how and ever, House Lannister of Rosby had a nice ring to it, either way, feeling Sansa's arm on mine I put sweet Roslin from my mind.

"I am so happy for Lord Tyrion and Lady Roslin" whispered Sansa in my ear, though I sensed a 'but'.

"But" I whispered in response, pitching my voice so that Sansa could hear me over the hubbub of the meal.

"They do not look happy Tywin, Lady Roslin is trying to look happy at the thoughts of being with child, but she is failing."

"In that you are right my Lady, but the happiness or otherwise of my son is not my concern, only that his wife produces suitable heirs" Ah Tywin, you are always a cunt aren't you?

"And me?" Sansa asked, leaning closer to me, her lips brushing my ear, the tip of her tongue darting out to land a feather light lick on it "is my only role to produce suitable heirs?"

Tywin would no doubt have replied in the positive, but instead I replied "among other things my Lady yes, though you do so enjoy the acts required to make heirs don't you?"

And she did, Sansa had blossomed into a voracious and inventive bed partner, and I was a happy man with the physical aspect of my marriage. Thankfully my, or was it our? Stamina was up to matching that of my teenage wife, for who would have guessed that the red headed wolf girl was a total screamer in bed, and who was not in the slightest bit shy about what she wanted when it came to being intimate.

I, and Tywin were equally happy with Sansa's blossoming in her role as someone we could hand over tasks to and know that they would be completed to our satisfaction, and our wife was an excellent source of Court Gossip, something that might seem trivial but which was interesting enough sometimes to warrant attention and even action on foot of it.

I glanced over at Myrcella, recently returned from Dorne and much more grown up, though somewhat sullen, probably still pining for that Martell drip she thought she was going to marry. She was blossoming into a beautiful young woman, equal if not surpassing her mother at that age, and thankfully lacking any signs of the cuntish stupidity that marred Cersei. I had half a mind to take her under my wing and train her, or at least have Tywin sharpen her mind, in part to make up for the neglect of Cersei at that age.

Though this might completely ruin a sweet natured and kind young girl, Tywin's brand of realpolitik was rather harsh, and certainly not to the taste of most of Westeros. Maybe it would be best leave Myrcella well enough alone, the girl might be better off without the trauma of Tywin schooling her in what he required of her.

But Tywin had plans for her of course, he had intended to use her to wed Harry the Heir and use this to assist in ousting Lyssa Arryn from the Eyrie, but my plan had come to fruition quicker, namely presenting (forged) evidence to the Lords of the Vale regarding Lyssa Arryn and her poisoning of Jon Arryn, along with Littlefingers confession that he fathered Robin Arryn. Thankfully Lyssa had already been so batshit crazy that she had alienated the Lords of the Vale to such an extent that they had deposed her and her whelp of a son, though tragically Lyssa Arryn had fallen through the Moon Door, dragging her son with her in the ensuing commotion.

Such a tragedy, and now Harry the Heir was the Lord of the Vale and the ungrateful prick had rebuffed the offer of Myrcella's hand in marriage, well Tywin was never one to forget or forgive a slight but I managed to convince him that this was only a modest setback and that we had more important issues to deal with. Though Harry the Heir would be dealt with in eventually.

The Vale had been the most pressing threat after the signing of the treaty to end the War of the Five Kings, in fact Tywin had fully suspected Lysa Arryn to unleash the Knights of the Vale the moment she heard of it. Thankfully my missives had been enough to disrupt and distract the Lords of the Vale sufficiently, plus thanks to Tyrion's assiduous digging and Littlefinger's squealing I knew which Houses of the Vale were up to their necks in debt. Raven's and letters to them reminding them of their precarious financial position and the fact that I effectively now held their loans had a remarkably cooling effect on the willingness of the Knights of the Vale to attack what was now a united and at peace realm.

I turned my mind away from the Vale, it was a minor irritant for now and instead pondered the conundrum of Stannis Baratheon, who amazingly had taken off for the North a few scant weeks ago, surely that made no sense? Did it? The North was united now, Robb Stark having made short shrift of the Iron Born, Theon Greyjoy had been given a death according to the 'Old Ways', which involved being tied naked to a weirwood and sliced to pieces slowly, Robb Stark making the first cut himself, and then anyone else who fancied a piece of the squid being allowed to cut him, the only condition being that you did not inflict a mortal wound.

Ramsey Snow had also been dealt with, and on this I had Bryer's assurances that his men had dealt with Ramsey, his men and his hounds, something for which I was very grateful for, you never let mad dogs live, you always put them down. A sentiment that Tywin was in full agreement with me on and when I had shown him the full extent of Ramsey's derangement, oh how Tywin had not liked that scene where Ramsey raped Sansa, oh no, not at all...

"Well father, I believe that I have carried out my duties, now what about yours?" Tyrion burped, interrupted my musings, he was drunk as a skunk, having dived head first into the bottle again, what was wrong with him? I had provided a decent wife for him, cute as a button and curvy enough to distract, along with the Lordship of Rosby, "Tyrion" I growled at him, giving him fair warning to shut up while he was ahead.

Which he ignored, deciding that he should continue to harangue me over my inability to father an heir, Tywin bristled at this, and I was not overly impressed either, so I leaned closer to the drunken little shit and whispered, "another word out of your drunken mouth and I'll have you sent to Dorne in the morning, minus your position as Master of Coin."

Thankfully he got the hint and he slinked off without further comment, though I could see the unsaid question in Sansa's eyes, she wanted to know when I would give her a child. Soon enough, but not yet, she was too young as of yet and I could do without the distraction of children, though noble parents seemed to have little day to day involvement in the rearing of their children. Plus I had no want to ruin her super hot body with a pup just yet, I far was too enamoured of her lithe limbs and taut flesh.

Anyway back to musing and plotting, Stannis would find a united North as opposed to the fractured and devastated kingdom he found in the books, so what was he up to? I had to assume that it was the influence of that Red Witch of his, and I would need to plan accordingly, though what exactly was going to happen was anybody's guess.

The Greyjoys had been delivered a series of defeats at sea but nothing decisive so their temper tantrum was grinding on with little sign of it being resolved one way or the other. All I could hope for was that Euron Greyjoy did not turn up, but I knew that was wishful thinking, a character like that (in the books) was going to have a major, and probably catastrophic part to play. My bad for never properly reading the books or paying attention to what the fan sites had to say about Euron Greyjoy.

"Tywin..." whined Sansa in my ear.

"My Lady?" I asked, Tywin was annoyed at the interruption, but I did not mind.

"You are ignoring me, lost in your thoughts, stop being Hand of the King for a moment, please?"

"Very well" I replied, turning to face my teenage wife, who as ever looked stunning, dressed in one of what had become her signature sheath dresses, her hair done up to expose her long, swan like neck. The dress was pale grey with hints of gold and crimson in the embroidery scattered across its surface.

Sansa gave a little pout before beaming a genuine smile at me, the girl was adorable and sweet natured, but with a sharp enough mind and her experiences had made her nobody's fool. We engaged in small chat and pleasantries, the kind of frivolities that Tywin had utterly no time for, but which I indulged Sansa in on occasion, knowing that she was still only a young girl, for all her being the wife of the Hand and Lady of Casterly rock.

A raven had arrived from Winterfell a few days ago, Robb's wife was with child and Sansa had been delighted with the news, this plus Tyrion's announcement had probably gotten her ovaries in a spasm. He would have to make sure she took her Moon Tea this month, for it was still far too dangerous for her to get pregnant to his mind.

To our great surprise Sansa seemed to have a head for figures and for the rather arcane science of economics, or what passed for economics in Westeros, and she had become fascinated with the experiments in agriculture I had introduced in the Westerlands. So she was busy implementing them on the Kings own demesne outside Kings Landing, though to almightily indifference from the varied Lords, Lordlings and Landed Knights of the Crownlands. Sansa had passed from idle chit chat to enthusing about her latest work on this, apparently the Kings own fields could expect to provide enough food for the entire Royal House Hold with plenty spare to be sold for profit, a notable first in the history of the Royal demesne, which normally was a money pit.

View in Thread

Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!

What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...

Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter

Sbiper, Oct 31, 2019Report#2177Like+ QuoteReply

Pilatypus, HogarthThree, adairedevil and 270 others like this.

Threadmarks: Varys III

View in Thread

Sbiper

Sbiper

Not too sore, are you?

Joined:Feb 6, 2018

Messages:476

Likes Received:49,767

Varys III

"It seems I owe you my life Lord Varys" intoned the silver haired girl sitting regally upon the stone bench atop the flight of broad stairs in the room she had taken as her throne room in Mereen.

He gave Danaerys a bow of his head in response, he was still far too busy assessing the girl who would be queen to respond as of yet.

"Master Illyrio speaks highly of you in his letters; indeed he has explained how you assisted him in sheltering my brother and I from the knives of the usurper."

Again he kept his own council and merely bowed in response, his mind poised and calm.

"And yet you served the usurper for all of his reign, likewise you served his bastard first born son, and the current usurper, this bastard child Tommen?"

"I did your Grace, I served until I could serve no more, until my position was untenable and I was forced to flee Westeros and reaffirm my loyalty to the true ruler of Westeros, Queen Daenerys Targaryen, first of her name."

Left unsaid was the ignoble fact that he had fled Westeros at the sufferance of Tywin Lannister, he had been in the act of fleeing Kings Landing, and in good time, not in desperate haste to keep his head. And as he traversed the tunnels beneath the Red Keep he had run full tilt into that Sellsword turned knight called Bronn, who with a coterie of Red Cloaks had 'escorted' him to a meeting with the Hand of the King.

The meeting had taken place in the tunnels, in a space barely wider than the normal tunnels, he had been tied to a chair and Lord Tywin had stood off to one side of him, barely in his line of vision, even if he turned his head as far as it would go. A single candle illuminated the space, the Lord Hand stood shrouded in darkness against the wall, and as his men left them to their privacy Lord Tywin said nothing, the silence stretching out, begging to be broken.

He knew what the game was here, so he resolved to say nothing, but it seemed Lord Tywin was equally determined to play this game of silence. And so the minutes dragged on until eventually with a sigh he decided to end this game, "My Lord Hand."

"Lord Varys" replied the Old Lion, his tone dry and seemingly disinterested.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your company" Vary replied, deciding that one of his trademark titters was probably out of place given the seriousness of the conversation they were about to have.

"I was quite insulted that before you leave the service of the iron Throne for the service of the Breaker of Chains you did not at least drop by to have a pleasant conversation with me."

'Pleasant conversation' was it, more likely him trying not to scream as his flesh was carved up by the torturers of the Black Cells. "I felt that mayhaps such a conversation might be too trying for the both of us, but I see you are determined to force the issue my Lord Hand."

"Indeed I am, now tell me Lord Varys, what will come of your plans when the lad who thinks he is Aegon Targaryen meets her Grace Danerys Targaryen hrmmm? And what when the lad fails to be able to bond with one of her dragons? What then Lord Varys?"

He kept his mouth shut and his face as calm and unruffled as ever; he would never leave this place alive so there was little point in humouring the old Lion.

"Pity about fake Aegon Varys, the lad will in all likelihood be eaten by one of Danery's dragons, that will rather put a dent in your plans now won't it? She is unlikely to marry him, even if he is not turned into a snack by that trio of fire breathing lizards. For as we both know he's not a Targaryen, a Blackfyre maybe, but not a Targaryen. And you cannot guarantee that he has enough of the blood of old Valyria to enable him to control dragons. Magic Lord Varys, magic was the random variable that you did not account for."

"I will admit I have never had a fondness for magic my Lord Hand" he replied icily, hating the fact that his plans were unravelling. He had hoped to flee to Essos and see what could be rescued of his plans, Danerys birthing dragons had upset everything. And damm the oh so smug, oh so superior old Lion, for being right...

"No, ever since a sorcerer cut off you manhood and fed it to the flames you have had a well cultured dislike for magic. Unfortunately for all of us, and you in particular magic is making a comeback, and we will all have to learn to deal with it."

"Alas, I fear others will have to deal with the consequences of magic my Lord, I doubt I will have the time left to me to have to confront magic in all its devious ways."

"Maybe, maybe not Lord Varys. Your plans were to have Danerys return as the Queen to your fake Aegon, who has been coached and trained oh so carefully by Lord Jon Connington. The pair of you, and that fat cheesemonger from Pentos planned to put the 'perfect Prince' on the Iron Throne, and that is what you have been working towards for many the year. But that plan is in tatters, you cannot risk fake Aegon being exposed now can you? So you were planning on running off to Essos to see Daenerys for yourself, to get a measure of the girl, and of course to offer your services as her Master of Whispers. And to see if she could be controlled and guided, and if not eliminated so that plan A with your fake Aegon could be put back into motion. Am I speaking the truth so far Lord Varys?"

He did not deign to reply to the Lord Hand's mocking comment, instead calming his mind and preparing for what was to come, death certainly, but before that the most rigorous of tortures to wring from him all his secrets.

He dragged his mind back to the present, noticing that Danerys seemed to considering what she had to say next. "You are a Master of Whispers, perhaps the most despised position in the direct service of a King, or Queen. Why should I accept you into my service, when you have served my enemies and were responsible for the knives of the Usurper that sought us out time and time again?"

"Yes I sent those knives, for if I had not I would have been killed. But ask yourself this question your Grace, why did your protectors always know that those knives were coming? Why did those knives always fail to reach your or your brothers flesh? I made sure that they would not succeed, by warning your protectors and by making sure that the men sent were not of the necessary skill to succeed."

"So you say" intoned Danerys, "I have nothing to base this assertion of yours on, only your word."

"Indeed your Grace, but I come with something that you will find most valuable I believe."

"Oh? And what is that Lord Varys?"

"I bring Formal documents from the Hand of the King for the surrender of the Iron Throne to you, the abdication of King Tommen and the restoration of the Targaryen dynasty."

View in Thread

Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!

What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...

Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter

Sbiper, Apr 29, 2020Report#2194Like+ QuoteReply

RedKing96, HogarthThree, adairedevil and 271 others like this.

Threadmarks: Sansa XVIII

View in Thread

Sbiper

Sbiper

Not too sore, are you?

Joined:Feb 6, 2018

Messages:476

Likes Received:49,767

Sansa XVIII

It was funny thought Sansa that of all the things she had found strange about being married to the Old Lion it was the little things that she had found the most unusual. Case in point, the preference of Tywin to sleep naked, a practice that while she could see the benefits of, she could not bring herself to do. Despite the fact that she regularly ended up naked herself, still she always went to bed wearing a nightdress, though the nightdresses she wore now bore little resemblance to those she once wore. With little or no need to provide warmth this far south, even with autumn having been announced by the Citadel it was still pleasantly warm enough during the nights in Kings Landing, her night attire was more, well decorative if she had to be honest.

The sheerest of silks, fine lace and the thinnest of cottons made up the material of her nightgowns, often barely concealing her flesh beneath, and most of them daringly short, none of them reaching below her knees. Tywin approved of course, though he did regularly ask her to discard night attire altogether and sleep naked like he did, but she demurred.

Beside her Tywin slept, his chest rising and falling regularly, in the darkness his features were indistinct, ghostly. She had awoken a few minutes ago, something dragging her out of her sleep. She tossed and turned for a while, pondering various things in her mind; it refused to rest and let her sleep.

Her thoughts ranged from the benign regarding her duties as wife of the Hand, she ran his household and made sure that everything functioned smoothly, and Tywin had been nothing but complementary on how she was doing in respect to this. Her mind drifted over the comings and goings of the court and the latest gossip, how the Seven Kingdoms was settling down after the War of the Five Kings, how King Tommen was growing taller and stronger every day. And how the Tyrell's were positively salivating at the thoughts of Margaery being finally wedded to Tommen. Lady Olenna and her court had remained in the Red Keep this past year, refusing all polite invitations to return to High Garden, insisting on waiting for the wedding and staying stubbornly put.

She knew Tywin was very frustrated with the antics of the Queen of Thorns but he seemed to have given up on ejecting her from Kings Landing, an unlikely defeat for the Old Lion she mused. In the next few months Tommen and Margaery were sure to be wed, and it would no doubt would be a glorious occasion, full of the pomp and ceremony a Royal wedding would demand. Her and Lady Margaery had remained on good terms, she would not quite call it friendship, her former self would have, now she knew better. For now Margaery and her could associate and be polite to each other with little or no consequence, but once Margaery was married to Tommen and was Queen?

Ah but then her husband's time as Hand of the King would be numbered she knew, the Tyrell's would never stand for him as Hand then. Unlike Joffrey though Tommen would be unlikely to demand his grandfather's head, and so Tywin would be informed that his services were no longer required and he would be allowed to leave Kings Landing with as much grace and honour as he required.

Or at least she hoped that would be the case, she suspected that the Tyrell's knew that you did not insult a man like Tywin Lannister and expect to live long afterwards.

Tywin, she turned over in their bed to look at him, in the darkness she could see little of his noble features, but she could sense the masculine bulk of him inches away from her. Marriage to the Old Lion had certainly been nothing like what her Septa had said marriage would be like, nor anything like what the tales she had read as a child had described.

Her husband was a complex man, cold, ruthless, arrogant and with a will that no other man could match. But at the same time he was capable of humour, mirth, warmth and an amazing tenderness. The Old Lion seemed to have a special soft spot for his granddaughter Myrcella, who he spent quite a bit of time with, the smaller and much sweeter image of Cersei had become a genuine friend of hers. She wondered what kind of a father Tywin would be, Lord Tyrion was dismissive of his father's abilities in that department, but then again he had been in deep mourning for his first wife Joanna.

With a strange confidence Sansa knew that Tywin would be a great father to any children they would have together, and speaking of children...

With a mischievous smile playing on her lips Sansa gently sat up in the bed and discarded her night gown, before lifting the thin sheet and blanket that covered Tywin and slipping on top of him, pressing her torso against his, splaying her legs open to straddle him, her long legs gripping the outside of his thighs and legs.

"Sansa..." he mumbled.

"Is the mighty Lion awake or asleep?" she asked, planting little sharp kisses on his neck, nibbling with her teeth.

"Sansa" he mumbled again, his arms moving to embrace her, locking around her lower back.

She ground her groin into his, feeling the stirring of his manhood become more insistent, feeling it lengthen and thicken beneath her. She lifted up slightly to allow his cock the necessary room to grow to its not inconsiderable full size.

"I see the 'little lion' is awake, is his master as willing as he is?" she teased.

"Gods girl, you are insatiable" groaned Tywin, but with mirth clouding his voice.

"Well you did not do your duty by your Lady wife when we retired for the night, I am merely making sure that you attend to this duty my Lord" she reminded him, before one of his arms released her and she felt his hand bunch in her hair and lift her head up slightly. Tywin's lips met hers, her mouth opening immediately and her tongue darted into his mouth, retreating as Tywin's tongue thrust forwards into her mouth, a moan escaping her lips as his tongue probed and swirled around her own tongue.

His hand released her hair and began to join its partner in roving over her body, his calloused hands rough against her sensitive skin, sending shivers and tremors of pleasure as he skimmed lightly across her flanks and back.

She moaned into his mouth as his hands played with her skin, she felt the familiar, tugging ache in her heated, sopping core. Still keeping her mouth glued to Tywin's she moved so that her soaking slit moved up and down along his now fully effect length, teasing and rubbing against him. She smiled and tore her lips away from Tywin, pushing herself upwards slightly, gazing down into his face as she teased the head of his cock with her slit. Moving her gaze to hold Tywin's eyes she angled her body to position him at her entrance, Tywin's hands moving down to rest on the upper slope on her hips. Moving slightly she felt him at her entrance, thick and insistent, she let out a juddering moan as Tywin pushed down on her hips and thrust upwards with his body, sinking into her.

It never failed to astonish her at just how pleasurable those first few seconds of Tywin entering her was. Her husband seemed to be of the same opinion as without fail he always let out a groan of pleasure to match her own as he entered her.

Slowly Tywin pushed her down, his grip strong on her hips, his length seeking to bury itself to her depth, she rocked back to more fully engulf his manhood inside her, her jaw going slack at the pleasure of feeling Tywin fill her.

She rocked forwards and backwards, keeping as much of him inside as she could, the delicious friction between her sodden sheath and Tywin's cock making her swoon. Tywin sneaked a hand between their bodies, his fingers seeking out her engorged nubbin, teasing and rubbing it as a counterpoint to her movements. Stars exploded behind her eyelids as she reached her peak, far too soon for her liking but it was not unknown for her to have several peaks with Tywin inside her, this position with her astride him seemed to favour that outcome.

Tywin had moved his hands to the small of her back and he was pushing her down onto him, their groins grinding against each other, she had not the energy anymore to rock back and forth, so she let Tywin thrust in and out of her, sliding easily in and out of her sodden womanhood.

She drifted off into a haze of pleasure, incoherent thoughts splashing across the surface of her mind's eye, brief glimpses of things that made no sense, while her second peak lazily built, slowly, almost maddeningly. She tried to hurry it on by grinding herself against Tywin harder, but his hands crushed her to him, stilling her motions, little gasps of frustration escaping her mouth.

Eventually her peak became inevitable and she let it wash over her, long and drawn out, leaving her exhausted and barely able to form conscious thoughts. Beneath her Tywin had sped up his thrusts, grunting and moaning, his mouth sought hers, his tongue forcing its way into her mouth, trashing and wriggling against hers as she felt him tense beneath her and finally grunt his release. Inside her she could feel the hot wetness of Tywin's seed as it jerked from his manhood and she gave little satisfied moans as their mouths remained locked together.

She could feel Tywin's member begin to soften inside her after he finished spending, their mouths still locked together, but now their lips and tongues moved at a more languid pace, teasing and flowing. Her husband's hands left the small of her back and buried themselves in her hair, she loved it when Tywin did this, she loved him running his hands through her hair, it was strangely comforting to have him fondle her tresses.

Their lips parted after a while, both sweaty and slightly out of breath, she gazed down into his eyes in the darkness, moving a hand to cup the side of his face, feeling the slightly bristly skin under her fingertips.

"That, that was good..."

"I should hope so" replied Tywin, the slightest of smiles just visible on his face in the darkness.

"I don't like it when you neglect your duty my Lord, and it is a wife's burden to remind them..."

"Is it now?" Tywin asked with a teasing note in his voice.

"Yes, it is, and it has been five days since we last...and I don't like waiting so long..."

"Do you now? Maybe I should make you wait longer then?"

"You are insufferable Tywin Lannister!" she retorted, only the slightest hint of anger in her voice.

"No, I am your Lord husband, and I have my duties to attend to." With that Tywin gently levered her off him and got up out of the bed, returning a minute later with a bowl of water and a towel.

Dipping the towel in the water he gently began to clean her body, delicately dabbing the cool cloth over her heated skin, wiping away their mingled sweat. He cleaned her nether regions last, wiping away his seed that was oozing out of her. Satisfied that she was clean Tywin handed her the night dress that she had discarded and as she put it on Tywin left the room. She knew he was giving himself a wash also, and a few minutes later he returned, slipping back into bed.

Lifting up the arm closest to him Sansa took the invite and cuddled into Tywin, that was another unusual aspect of her husband, he always liked to cuddle after their couplings. Sansa found it very comforting and relaxing to snuggle up to the Old Lions flank or even to lie with her head upon his chest, listening to his breathing and his heart beat. She would always fall asleep very quickly, drifting off into a dreamless and very refreshing slumber.

View in Thread

Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!

What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...

Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter

Sbiper, May 4, 2020Report#2225Like+ QuoteReply

Jiven, RedKing96, HogarthThree and 245 others like this.

Threadmarks: Robb VII

View in Thread

Sbiper

Sbiper

Not too sore, are you?

Joined:Feb 6, 2018

Messages:476

Likes Received:49,767

Robb VII

Robb inhaled the inviting aroma of good, beef broth and smiled as a servant placed a good sized bowl of the thick, steaming broth before him. He reached out and tore off a good chunk of bread from a freshly baked loaf and began tucking in, not bothering to see if others were waiting to start.

It was a small meal, family only and was in one of the smaller dining rooms in the Great Keep, a fire crackled merrily in the grate, newly mined coal from one of the mines Tywin Lannister had paid to be opened not far from Winterfell burned with logs in the hearth.

Around the table with him was his wife, his mother, along with Rikon. Bran had apparently disappeared before Winterfell had been liberated, heading north to parts unknown with Jojen and Merra Reed. He was of course worried about Bran but Rikon seemed to be sure that no harm would come to Bran and that more importantly Bran would return to them.

How Rikon could be so sure his youngest brother could not say, only asserting with a childlike certainty that it was so.

Winterfell had suffered some damage during the Greyjoy occupation and the subsequent battle to liberate it, though with the use of the secret tunnels and crypts below the fortress they had surprised the Greyjoy defenders and easily overwhelmed them.

That dammed traitor Theon Greyjoy had been given the death he deserved, courtesy of the 'Old Ways' as Old Nan had said, tied naked to the weirwood tree and cut hundreds of times so that his life's blood had slowly leaked away to stain the earth. The squid's blood would feed the weirwood, or so Old Nan had said, his mother had not been happy with this 'heathen practice' but he had overruled her, insisting on the death of the Greyjoy as prescribed. All had been offered their chance to cut Theon, even his southron wife, heavily pregnant with his child, had taken her cut, not flinching in the slightest he had been surprised to see.

That fact alone made him proud of his wife, never mind that she was already carrying the next generation of Starks in her womb, nor that Cerenna had proved to be a willing bedmate and to have a sensible head on her pretty shoulders. Pretty was a good word to describe his wife, there was nothing about her that he did not find attractive physically, she was a gorgeous, golden jewel and he had come to believe himself lucky to be married to her. Even of the circumstances of their marriage had been not of his choosing, even if their union was forced and contrived. He had come to accept this, not forget, or forgive, but at least accept. And there were certain advantages to being Tywin Lannister's good brother of course, not least of which was the considerable coin which was flowing northwards in the form of investments, outright gifts and generous loans to assist the North.

A few moons ago Cerenna had given birth to a baby boy, who he had named Brandon, and he had to admit that fatherhood had changed him further, made him recognise that while he was the Warden of the North, he had a duty to his son as well as the people of the North. He had to make sure that he would pass down a realm in good shape to his son. Brandon had the grey eyes of the Starks but his head was adorned with wispy blonde hair, his mother's blood showing true.

Part of his duty to the North had been eliminating the last of the Bolton's, but annoyingly Tywin Lannister had got there ahead of him, the sole remaining Bolton, the bastard Ramsey Snow, had apparently been killed by agents of the Lord Hand. It had sent his temper flaring at the news of this, but in the end he had let it go, and it somewhat suited him as he could claim to the other Northern Lords that the destruction of House Bolton was not something he had any hand or part in, it was solely due to the Bolton's own traitorous machinations with the Lord Hand.

And to be fair none of the Northern Lords really cared a toss for House Bolton, whose lands he had yet to decide what to do with, were Jon not in the Nights Watch he would have legitimised him and given him the Lordship of the former Bolton Lands.

And speaking of the Lord Hand, the several thousand Red Cloaks and knights that his good brother had lent him were still quartered in Winterfell, though many grumbled about this, whispering that the fist of Tywin Lannister held Winterfell. They were staying put for now as Lord Stannis was rumoured to be sailing to the North, and Rob had no problem with extra swords for when the time came to deal with Lord Stannis.

And unlike some of his bannermen, and especially unlike the various contingents he had commanded in the Riverlands when he still wore a crown, the Red Cloaks, their Officers and the accompanying Knights were well behaved and never once questioned any order he gave them. Lord Tywin had placed him in command of them, and as such he had the authority of the Lord of the Westerlands over them, and that was good enough for every one of them.

A refreshing change from the often garrulous lot he had commanded as King.

Anyway, ravens had gone out to inform the Lords of the North that they would be needed to deal with Stannis Baratheon if he indeed did land on the shores of the North. He hoped that Stannis did not land and that instead he was heading off to exile in Essos somewhere, but according to what the Lord Hand had said he could be expected to land either at Eastwatch by the Sea or at points farther north beyond The Wall.

What Stannis wanted in the North, or even beyond The Wall Robb could not know, it sounded stupid to him but it was his job as Warden of the North to defend his realm against Stannis, who was in rebellion against the Iron Throne.

"You have hardly said a word Robb" his mother scolded him, bringing his mind back to the room, his bowl was nearly empty, the second course was a whole roasted boar, great slabs of which had been laid out on a platter, glistening with fat and their juices.

He took a sip of his beer, his favourite Westerlands tipple; a brewery for this very same beer had been set up in Winterfell shortly after he had recaptured the place. When chilled this beer was even nicer than when only cool.

"I am sorry mother, I was hungry and I have a lot on my mind" he replied, noticing Cerenna's green eyes twinkling in the candlelight. His wife was rapidly regaining her girlish figure after the birth of Brandon, but as yet they had not lain together as man and wife, though there were other ways for them to be 'intimate' as Cerenna had shown him, so he was not missing out on much he mused.

Surprisingly for him it had been the moments of intimacy after their often heated and frantic couplings that he had come to enjoy almost as much as the physical acts themselves. Cerenna had a lively wit and mind, and they had often spent hours late into the night talking, often about themselves and their childhoods. But equally often about the North and the Westerlands, and about politics in general.

He had a very particular topic he wanted to discuss with Cerenna later on, his train of through once more interrupted by his Mother remarking that the sooner the Lannister soldiers were gone the better.

That was the nearest his mother came to mentioning Sansa, whose name his mother appeared determined to not let cross her lips ever again. He was not sure how he felt about Sansa, and her revelation of the part she played in the death of his father. His mother seemed to have decided that her eldest daughter was effectively dead; much like it was suspected that Arya was actually dead.

He hoped Sansa was enjoying being wedded to the Old Lion; he hoped she enjoyed being a great southron Lady, like she had always dreamed of being. He put all the sour thoughts about Sansa and Tywin Lannister and the south behind him and concentrated on eating his fill of the roast boar. The conversation that flowed between Cerenna and his mother as he ate until he was satisfied was still somewhat stilted, but at least it no longer consisted of hostile silences and barbed comments.

Afterwards in the chambers of the Lord and Lady of Winterfell he decided to forego some of the highly pleasurable play of lips and tongues over each of their bodies to instead talk to his wife about what concerned him. He noticed she was slightly annoyed by this; he would have to instead pleasure his wife after their conversation in that case.

"The Freys" he began, knowing that Cerenna knew exactly what he was referring to.

"What of them?" she asked, innocently enough, but Robb knew his wife well at this stage, he could see the slightest hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

"We both know that the story of what happened is a tissue of lies, a fabrication..."

"Do we?" she asked "Lord Edmure has accepted that the Frey's brought their own doom upon them, and he has confirmed Lady Genna's husband as Lord of the Crossing," one delicate, blonde eyebrow arching slightly.

"So that places the Lannister's in effective control of the crossing, the Frey's, such as they are will require significant loans to repair the Twins, and I hear that the proposed canal from Seaguard to Port Town has received Royal approval. More loans will be needed to construct that. And who will be providing all that coin? Not the Iron bank but my very own good brother, Tywin Lannister..."

Cerenna took several steps towards him, until she was standing with her body pressed against his, she reached up with a hand and pulled his head downwards, but instead of the kiss he hoped for she instead whispered in his ear "the truth is what people say it is, and if you are as powerful as Tywin Lannister then your truth IS the truth. Who cares for the Frey's, they were poor allies of you when you were King, abandoning your cause, and like the Bolton's likely plotting with Lord Tywin. And dead men tell no tales, whatever Lord Tywin had been planning with them died with both traitorous Houses. The Crossing is not in the North, worry about that first and foremost."

With that Cerenna moved her head and captured his lips with hers, her tongue darting playfully into his mouth, his concerns and worries evaporating as his mind clouded with lust.

View in Thread

Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!

What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...

Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter

Sbiper, May 13, 2020Report#2247Like+ QuoteReply

Jiven, RedKing96, HogarthThree and 224 others like this.

Threadmarks: Bronn VI

View in Thread

Sbiper

Sbiper

Not too sore, are you?

Joined:Feb 6, 2018

Messages:476

Likes Received:49,767

Bronn VI

Life, Bronn realised had never been better, here he was, sat at the High table in a feasting hall of the Red Keep, his wife of two hours sat beside him. The chit was ten and seven years old, Joanna Swyft of House Swyft.

He took a sip of his wine, good arbour gold, not the sour piss he was used to, for was he not 'quality' now eh? He would have preferred marry into a Lordly House of course, preferably one with huge gold mines, but he was satisfied enough with the match Lord Tywin had made for him. House Swyft was one of the largest producers of grain in the Westerlands, its lands rich and bountiful, and they actually did have several gold and silver mines to their name, but their output was pathetically small compared to that of other Houses.

However Lord Tywin had imposed upon him the caveat that any children he would father on Joanna would take the name Swyft. It was he mused no great imposition as he had only had a real 'last name' since the Battle of the Blackwater. And fathering pups should not be too much of an imposition on his new wife either.

Also he now became related by marriage to the Lannisters, via the fact that Lord Tywin's brother Kevan was also married into House Swyft. And apparently this had caused something of a rift between the two Lannister brothers, though Bronn knew that whatever resentment Kevan Lannister might have he wisely did not pursue it openly, and from when he knew of Kevan Lannister the man was thoroughly beholden to Tywin and unlikely to make too much of a fuss.

He glanced at the girl, ash blonde of hair and blue of eye, with a delectable swelling of creamy teats visible under the folds of her dress. He would enjoy bedding the girl, though he did wonder if he was cut out to stay faithful to her, he had always easily tired of women, preferring the company of whores. At least with them there was no artifice, you paid them and they did their job, end of story. And speaking of whores, what of his particular favourite, Merie? Apparently the girl had left Chataya's and departed for places unknown, and without so much as a by nor leave. A shame that, she had been an enjoyable tumble, sufficiently naughty and skilled to keep his attention. He had always preferred 'duskier maids' before Merie, whose golden hair atop her head and between her legs had inflamed his desires.

Adjusting himself in his seat he felt his pillar beginning to stiffen at the images flashing through his mind's eye, he turned his thoughts elsewhere to reduce his discomfort.

Neither the current head of House Swyft, Ser Harys Swyft, nor his good father Steffon had been at all pleased with the match, but Lord Tywin had insisted, and like most bannermen of the Old Lion they might have grumbled but they did not dare defy their Lord Paramount. He grinned at that, anyone fool enough to cross Tywin Lannister must be devoid of an ounce of sense. For had the Old Lion not eliminated four Houses that displeased him? Well technically House Frey still lived, but only the portion with Lannister blood.

"My Lord Husband" the girl said, her eyes downcast, nervousness evident in her voice.

"Aye lass, what is it?" Bronn replied, picking up his wine goblet and taking another good gulp, this really was very good wine, he ought to secure some of this for his own use, now that he was a 'proper' Lord. Well, technically he was still just a Ser, but how and ever...

"You have scarce said a word to me since we were wed, do, do I displease you?"

"No lass, of course not, I'm not a man of many words, especially with someone I hardly know. Worry not love, we will get to know each other very well, you will be staying on with me in Kings Landing for now. I am sworn to the Lord Hand's service, he likes to keep me close, often has interesting work for me to do."

On that note, things had actually been quite boring recently, with only the odd bit of 'wet work' that required his skills. Not that he was complaining, the money was still good, and the living was better than he had ever enjoyed in his life. He idly wondered when he would return to the Street of Silk to enjoy himself, tomorrow? A week from now, a Moons Turn? He let his eyes rove over his young wife, she was certainly attractive enough, but her knew he would get bored of her soon enough. The girl was almost certainly a maiden, probably had never seen a cock before in her life, and most likely knew nothing of the arts and ways of pleasing a man.

A bubble of mirth escaped his throat, and the Sigil of Hosue Swyft was a fucking cock of all things!

He half suspected that this was some vast joke, the Imp had certainly said as much; slyly whispering that his Lord father thought that marrying Bronn into a house whose Sigil was a cock was a joke of cosmic proportions.

He moved his gaze to the pair of Lannisters, both present with their wives, a sign of the honour and esteem he was held in by House Lannister, which also meant that his new in laws behaved themselves. A finer study in contrasts one could not find he mused, and not just in their physical appearances. The Old Lion's wife sat regal and beautiful beside him, paying her husband as much attention as was proper and right, a soul of courtly manners and ladyship. The Imp on the other hand slumped drunk, his wife, her swollen belly making her tiny fame almost disappear behind it, looked to be on the verge of tears as usual.

All was not well with that pair he knew, the Imp had even said as much, telling Bronn one drunken evening that he had to force his husbandly duties on the former Frey chit, that she never acceded to her duty willingly. Shame that Bronn idly pondered, the Frey chit was pretty enough, if she ever smiled and did not go around with a hangdog expression on her face all the time.

Still, pretty as the Frey chit was, he was not married to her thank the gods, he did not know what he would do if married to such a girl. No, he did know what he would do; he would be spilling his seed into whores instead, not bothering to waste it on one so ungrateful.

He put Tyrion and his unhappy marriage from his mind and returned his attention to his new wife; maybe he would have some entertainment in teaching the chit how he liked his women to pleasure him. She seemed meek enough that a bit of cajoling, sweet talk and being smart about how and what he said might make for some interesting times ahead.

There would be no bedding ceremony; the Lord Hand's well know dislike for this practice ensured that nobody was foolish enough to suggest one. He had to agree in principle with the Lord Hand; he did not like the thoughts of his wife being manhandled by a bunch of drunken louts.

He put these thoughts from his head, he had come a long way from the gutter he mused, he had climbed high in the service of the Lannister's. Not bad for a smallfolk sellsword he thought, not bad at all.

The candles provided soft, low light in the chambers in the Maiden vault that he and his new wife had been assigned, nice enough quarters and a damm sight better than he was used to. Appropriate to his newfound station and that of his wife, who would be joining the handmaidens of the Lady of Casterly rock.

Joanna turned to him, nervousness making her blue eyes seem huge in the semi darkness, she twisted her hands before her, shying away from his gaze and looking at the floor. She had been prepared for bed, her clothes removed and instead she was dressed in a silk nightgown, which was almost, but not quite see through.

Bronn sighed, he was not good at this he mused, whores were not shy like this, unless you paid 'em to act like this, and well, he was not a great believer in the supposed pleasures of maiden cunny. Bedding a maiden meant more work for you, and dealing with an inexperienced lass was not high on the things he relished. Give him an experienced whore any time of day or night, one who knew how to bring a man pleasure and who could drain his stones completely leaving him exhausted and sated.

Instead he would have to spend far too much time educating this chit to the ways of pleasing a man, and mayhaps he might even fail in this endeavour, for whores rarely complained when you made them swallow your seed, so long as they were paid appropriately.

Dragging his mind back to the present he said as gently as he could "take off the night gown lass."

She looked up at him, fear plain on her face, she looked like she was about to say something but instead she complied, removing the garment and discarding it, to stand naked before him.

"You are very beautiful Joanna" he said, keeping his voice steady and he took a step towards her, the girl made to take a step back but she stopped herself.

Shrugging off his doublet he pulled his shirt off over his head, taking another step to stand mere inches from Joanna.

"What do you know of what happens between a husband and a wife?" he asked, bending his head down to whisper this in her ear, noticing that the girls nipples were standing erect and that her breathing was becoming increasingly shallow.

"I, erh, my Septa has told me that I must lie back and let my husband do his duty...that...that there will be pain, and...blood...at first..."

He smiled to himself "so nothing then?" he whispered as he bent his head to nuzzle in the join of her shoulder and neck, inhaling the scent of her skin and hair. He kissed the girls skin lightly, just over where one of her veins pulsed in her neck, hearing her sharp intake of breath at this touch.

Bronn brought his hands up to cup the girl's waist, feeling her shiver as his calloused hands rubbed over her soft skin. Sliding his hands upwards his fingers traced the underside of her breasts, before his finger tips brushed lightly against her erect nipples.

The gasping moan that escaped the girl's lips brought a smile to his face, maybe teaching this chit would not be so much of a chore after all?

Picking her up in his arms he ignored her yelp of surprise as he carried her to the bed, depositing her there gently and pulling off his boots, socks, trousers and small clothes. He climbed up onto the bed as naked as the girl, noting her eyes immediately flick towards his groin and his proudly erect member.

He bent his head to take a nipple into his mouth, enjoying the electric like shock it produced through Joanna's body; he suckled and bit at the nubbin of hard flesh in her mouth, as Joanna moaned at this. His hands were not idle, discovering every sweep and curve of her soft flesh, teasing her legs open despite some slight resistance.

He dipped a finger into her folds, pleased to find her commendably wet, he brought his finger up to discover the little secret centre of pleasure that was the key to pleasing women.

Brushing against it he smiled with a nipple in his mouth as Joanna gave a gasp of pleasure, followed by an aching moan.

Resting his palm on her lower belly, feeling the familiar bone under the heel of his palm he pressed down while his finger circled that hard little piece of puckered flesh hidden among the damp folds of her womanhood. Joanna arched her back, pushing herself up against the heel of his palm, and he smiled again.

That little trick worked every time he grinned, he moved his mouth the other nipple, lavishing it with attention, before heading southwards along her belly, trailing his tongue through the golden curls above her sex and fastening his lips around the flaps of flesh that hid his goal.

Using his tongue and lips to part his quarry he gave it a light flick, followed by a much more forceful lick, Joanna's body bucked and squirmed underneath his ministrations, incomprehensible sounds escaping her mouth.

Bronn licked and lapped at his wife's increasingly heated and dampened sex, until he felt her clench and arch her back, crying out. He kept up a frantic licking as she rode her peak, as it began to fade he ceased to stimulate the little bud, instead lapping and pulling her folds, though every few seconds he returned to her clit and gave it a quick, hard lick. Each one of these produced a sharp intake of breath from Joanna, followed by a wanton moan of pleasure.

Well, that's part one finished Bronn thought, rather satisfied with the job he had done, as he levered himself up and gazed down at Joanna. Her body was slick with sweat and looked fevered with the flush of blood across its surface, especially across her chest and over her face. Positioning himself between her legs he teased at her sodden folds with the tip of his cock, she moaned slightly at this and opened her eyes, her head flopping to one side to get a better look at him.

"Susshhhh now sweetling, just relax..." he whispered as he pushed forwards, meeting her maiden head and he kept on going , breaking it, seeing Joanna's face twist from slack passion to tensed pain in the merest second.

"Ahhhh, that hurts..." she moaned.

"Aye lass, it will hurt for a second or two, no more," he replied, slowly thrusting deeper into the incredibly tight cunny of his wife. "Fuck" he breathed as he hilted himself, he'd never felt a cunny so tight, nor so wet, in all his life. Holding himself inside the girl he leaned closer to her face, bucking his hips slightly to shove himself in even deeper than he already was, grinding his groin against hers, not noticing her maidens blood slick at the base of his cock.

Joanna's mouth found his, her tongue snaking into his mouth, oh now that was good, if unexpected. He pulled back slowly and equally slowly thrust forwards again, noticing that Joanna did not wince as much this time. He kept this up for a few minutes, a nice, slow, easy fuck, anything faster would have had him spending in seconds due to the fierce, slickly heated grip that his wife's maiden cunt had on his cock.

But eventually even he could not contain the seed boiling in his stones and he grunted and let himself spend inside his moaning wife. He held the chit in his arms afterwards, stroking and kissing her like he knew some women liked after they got a good dollop of seed inside them.

After a while he freed himself from Joanna's embrace and washed himself down, Joanna did the same, her maids having prepared a bath for her. Bronn scowled at this, here he was washing himself with a towel and a bowl while his wife was getting a nice bath, something was not right about that...

Afterwards, once both of them were cleaned they went back to bed, he pulled on his smallclothes and Joanna her night shift.

Bronn was sure that the girl wanted to ask him something as she lay beside him in their bed.

Opening his arms he beckoned her into his embrace, women, even some whores he knew, liked to be embraced and cuddled, and especially after sex.

"How was that for you lass?" he asked, whispering, giving the top of her head a kiss, he really liked the smell of Joanna's freshly washed hair, it reminded him of summer.

"That, that was very nice husband" she replied, lifting her head to give his chest a little kiss.

"You can call me Bronn you know" he replied.

"And you may call me Joanna" the girl said, her voice only slightly cautious.

"Grand, that's the awkwardness of first names out of the way" he joked.

"Bronn?" Joanna said, something lurking in her voice that made him instantly wary.

"Yes Joanna?"

"That, that thing you did with your mouth..."

"Aye, it's called 'the Lords kiss', or so I'm told" he replied, grinning.

"It, it was very pleasurable...…"

"I'm glad you liked it, and before you ask, yes, I liked it as well..."

"Is, is there...a...'lady's kiss' also? I'd like to learn how to do it..."

Bronn's eyebrows climbed almost to his hairline, mayhaps marriage would not be so boring after all?

View in Thread

Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!

What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...

Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter

Sbiper, May 22, 2020Report#2315Like+ QuoteReply

Jiven, RedKing96, HogarthThree and 218 others like this.

Threadmarks: Robb VIII

View in Thread

Sbiper

Sbiper

Not too sore, are you?

Joined:Feb 6, 2018

Messages:476

Likes Received:49,767

Robb VIII

As was now all too common his mother and Arya were arguing, about what he cared little about, no doubt something his mother wanted Arya to do and which she was violently opposed to. His little sister had turned up two moons ago in the company of Sandor Clegane, who upon seeing Lannister troops in Winterfell had growled "fucking Lannister's everywhere I turn, fucking Lannister cunts".

The Hound had stayed a few days, collected a reward from Robb for returning his sister to Winterfell and had promptly left, but not before having had one too many arguments with the Lannister forces still garrisoned at Winterfell. Said forces, unlike The Hound, had shown no signs of leaving anytime soon, and thus it was just as well that Winterfell was large enough to accommodate them. His mother, along with an increasing number of his Bannermen had become steadily more vocal in their opposition to the continuing presence of the Red Cloaks and Westerlander knights in the North. He was not altogether pleased with their continuing presence either, his raven to Kings Landing asking for the Lannister forces to be removed had been turned down by his good brother, citing the threat of the Wildlings massing beyond The Wall. Robb had taken this as an insult to his ability to defend the North and still bristled when he thought about it.

But the Lannister forces had proved their mettle when it had come to dealing with the Army of Stannis Baratheon. The Lord of Dragonstone who had crowned himself the King of the Seven Kingdoms had landed by Eastwatch by the Sea and had marched to Castle Black, before heading south, seemingly intent on taking Winterfell. But what Stannis had wanted in the North Robb could not, even now, fathom, weeks later. The Army of the last Baratheon had lacked cavalry and sufficient scouts, of which he and the Northern Army that had marched north to meet him had plenty. They had kept Stannis under close watch as he and his host had come south from Castle Black, eventually confronting him on terrain that suited Robb and his forces.

It had been hard fought alright, but in the end the outcome was never really in doubt, and afterwards it had been a rather harrowing time of dealing with the shattered elements of Stannis's banner men. Though many bent the knee or were dispatched back to The Wall to live the remainder of their lives as brothers of the Nights Watch, a disturbingly large number of the former Army of Stannis Baratheon had refused either option and had to be beheaded. Lord Stannis had been taken alive, cursing Robb for being a traitor and sullying his father's honour by bending the knee to a bastard King as he had been captured.

In the end though he had swung the sword himself that had taken the head of Lord Stannis, the man refusing all entreaties to bend the knee or take the black to the very end.

Of the Red Priestess who was supposed to consort with Stannis nothing was found, he suspected that she was still at Castle Black, though Lord Tywin had indicated in a raven that she should be left there for the time being. Also missing were the wife and child of Lord Stannis, apparently the former had killed herself and the later had been burned to death as an offering to the Lord of Light by the Red Priestess.

He wondered what his good brother wanted with the Red Witch, whose followers had mostly fought to the death and who had refused to surrender, the battle having been a bloody affair when all was said and done.

Lord Tywin...the man's very name was still bitter on his tongue, despite everything. The Red Cloaks and the Westerland knights he had been lent had been completely loyal to him, probably more than his own sometimes quarrelsome banner men, something that he was both surprised and annoyed by. These Westerlanders had never questioned any of his orders, and they did their duty to him without complaint or hesitation.

The unfortunate demise of the vast majority of the Freys meant that Arya's intended Frey match was no longer on the table, and the Northern Lords had not been shy about declaring that she would have to be married into the North, seeing as how Sansa had married into the south. His sister was having none of that, threatening to run away if she was betrothed to anyone, and generally making his mother's life a complete misery by point blank refusing to behave in a 'ladylike' manner.

And Arya had been scathing with him when she had learned of his marriage to a Lannister, barely even acknowledging his wife even now, weeks later after her arrival back at Winterfell. When he had tried to explain to Arya the reasons for him ending the War of the Five Kings her reply had been a brusque "you won every battle you fought, and you decided to surrender. Father would never have surrendered..." And with that Arya refused to hear more on the subject.

His mother had employed the services of a new Septa to teach Arya, it had ended in disaster when Arya had pulled a knife on the woman and cut the woman's face over something the southron had said to Arya.

His mother had been furious with Arya for this, but he was strangely ambivalent if he was honest with himself. Actually no, that was wrong, he was, if he was honest somewhat glad that Arya had done what she did. The tales his little sister had told of her adventures after escaping Kings Landing showed Robb that Arya was not some delicate Lady, and despite his mothers best will and intentions Arya would never be a 'Lady', at least not in the accepted southron sense of the word. Probably not even in the northern sense either, his little sister would have probably been better off born a Mormont than a Stark. But she would have to be married off eventually, a task Robb did not relish in the slightest. But he was proud of Arya when she had recounted her tale of how she outwitted the Old Lion in Harenhall, of how she had been his cup bearer and how she had spied upon Lord Tywin's strategy sessions.

Tywin Lannister...his mind drifted once again to his new good brother, and the missives he had sent recently concerning The Wall and what lay beyond it...

It, it troubled him greatly as Warden of the North, the talk of Wildlings massing under a King beyond the Wall, of which Lord Tywin seemed better informed about than him. Add to this the news that his half brother had been appointed Lord Commander of the Nights Watch, along with Jon's apparent wish to bring the Wildlings south of The Wall. He grimaced, the Umber's were in uproar, along with most of the Northern Lords when they had heard of Jon's plan, the Umber's just being the loudest and most vocal, as was their wont.

Jon had pointed out that the Gift and the New Gift were the effective 'lands' of the Lord Commander of the Nights Watch and as such his to administer and work as he saw fit. This argument had carried little weight with the Lords of the North unfortunately, but his good brother had intervened into the argument by supporting Jon Snow. Lord Tywin had sent out missives to him and all the Northern Lords stating the exact legal status of the Gift and the New Gift and that the Lord Commander was in effect the feudal Lord of these lands. In addition Lord Tywin had shocked many by his generous donations of food, clothing, arms and sundry supplies to the Nights Watch, amounting to more than the Crows had ever received in the last decade from the Lords of the North. The ships from Lord Tywin had already started to arrive at the Bay of Ice and at Eastwatch and were busy unloading supplies for the Black Brothers.

The Ironborn, though kicked out of the North with substantial casualties were not as yet defeated, but Lord Tywin seemed to be content to harass them with elements of the Lannister and Royal fleets, supported by the Reach's not inconsiderable naval forces. Which was equally strange, Lord Tywin was not the kind of man to let such a threat fester, especially right off the coast of his lands.

Not for the 1st time Robb wondered what exactly the wily Old Lion was up to?

View in Thread

Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!

What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...

Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter

Sbiper, May 29, 2020Report#2333Like+ QuoteReply

Jiven, RedKing96, HogarthThree and 219 others like this.

Threadmarks: Varys IV

View in Thread

Sbiper

Sbiper

Not too sore, are you?

Joined:Feb 6, 2018

Messages:476

Likes Received:49,767

Varys IV

"This, this offer of Lord Tywin's...I am troubled by it, it, it does not make any sense...it looks more like a trap to me than anything else..." muttered Daenerys, her hand absentmindedly stroking the thin stem of her wine glass.

"Indeed your Grace" he replied, tilting his head to a small bow to the Targaryen girl, but as yet saying nothing.

The two of them, along with Ser Barristan Selmy, Ser Jorah Mormont, Missandei and Grey Worm were in Daenery's personal quarters atop the Great Pyramid of Mereen, night was falling and Varys could see a spectacular sunset through the thin silk curtains that covered the large windows and doors that lead out onto the balcony that made up quite a bit of the pyramid at this level.

"Well?" Daenerys asked, seemingly to the room in general, but Varys knew she was asking her de facto 'small council' about what it thought.

"I can scarcely credit it your Grace" replied Ser Barristan, the first out of the traps as it where. "Lord Tywin is a ruthless and ambitious man, for him to make an offer such as this...well...it smacks of...well I don't know what it smacks of to be honest..." Barristan's words failing him and he fell silent.

"It's a trap, it has to be!" announced Ser Jorah vehemently "Wights!? The Others?! Does Tywin Lannister think us simple minded fools! Your Grace, this is a trap, one made more devious by its outlandish claims!"

"Hrmmm" was all Daenerys Targaryen said in response to her two male advisors outbursts.

"Tywin Lannister is the man I hold most responsible for the deaths of my kin and the toppling of the Targaryen dynasty, as such his life is automatically forfeit the moment I return to Westeros. And he must know this, but he makes me this offer, it's very outlandishness completely out of character for the man, if I am correct?"

At this Daenerys glanced at him, he inclined his head slightly and took the girls look as his leave to speak.

"Your Grace, before the Outbreak of the so called 'War of the five Kings' the Nights Watch sent one Alister Thorne to Kings Landing with supposed 'evidence' of the wights and the White Walkers. I saw this evidence, a half rotten hand that moved and skittered of its own accord, magic of course but not conclusive proof either way. However, Lord Tywin is neither a fool nor someone who is easily swayed by rumour or myth. The very fact that he states that he believes that the Others are real, that the Long Night is about to come again...from anyone else this would seem fanciful, incredulous, fantastical...but from Tywin Lannister?"

"He knows I will kill him, if not immediately, then when I ascend the Iron Throne, and yet he makes no entreaties for his life?"

"No your Grace, he only asks that his wife and children be allowed to continue the Lannister name, he, he is perhaps resigned to his fate?"

"Pah! If you believe that you are a fool Varys!" spat Jorah Mormont in response.

The gruff northerner, his former spy and a man whom he could destroy with ease, even if he had yet to establish himself fully in the trust of the Dragon Queen, was not someone who trusted Lord Tywin Lannister it seemed. Not that Varys blamed him one whit, but, and this was frustrating him greatly, he had failed to discover any obvious signs that Tywin Lannister's offer was anything but genuine. And that terrified him, Varys was sure that this offer was a trap, yet he felt it was not his place as yet to confirm this, for the annoying truth was he had no proof of Tywin Lannister's obvious duplicity, beyond the fact that it was Tywin Lannister they were dealing with. And so everything had to observed through the lens of how this impacted the Lannister's and their seemingly vice like grip on the Iron Throne.

"I knew Lord Tywin from my time in the Kingsguard your Grace" remarked Ser Barristan "he was perhaps the most able Hand in the last half century...a man not given to sentimentality or foolishness. He, he would not make this offer unless he was serious..."

"Or devious!" retorted Ser Jorah "I state it again, this is a trap your Grace, nothing more, nothing less!"

"Can he, can he deliver what he promises Varys? The Seven Kingdoms on a plate for me?"

"He can deliver the Westerlands, the Riverlands and the North your Grace, seeing as how Lord Tywin is linked by marriage to the rulers of said realms. The Crownlands has always been loyal to House Targaryen and would welcome a restoration. The Stormlands would, under the terms proposed by Lord Twin, come under the rule of Tommen Baratheon, the current King who would step down in favour of your Grace. The Vale is currently in something of a state of flux; its presumptive heir has rejected a marriage proposal for the hand of Lord Tywin's granddaughter. The Reach have tied themselves to the Lannister's, firstly to Joffrey and now via the proposed marriage of King Tommen. This may be problematical once the Tyrell's become aware of Lord Tywin's plans however..."

"The Tyrell's were loyal to my father, and yet they now ally themselves with the Lannisters?" asked Daenerys, an eyebrow arching to counterpoint her question.

"The Tyrell's, as Lord's Paramount, are not as strong rulers of their Kingdom as say the Stark's or the Lannister's are of theirs your Grace. They have long sought royal favour to give them an advantage over their powerful vassals" added Ser Barristan, his face neutral but Varys was sure he could detect the slightest hint of disdain in his voice.

Daenerys gave the Lord Commander of her Queensguard a glance before she asked him "Dorne and the Iron Born?"

"House Martell would support anyone who would support them in their quest for vengeance against Tywin Lannister. The actual murderers of Princess Elia Martell and her children, Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch were executed by Lord Tywin, as a sop to Dorne."

"And?" asked Queen Daenerys, taking a sip of her wine.

"Anyone who thinks that's the end of it is a fool!" Ser Jorah jumped in before he could reply.

Giving Ser Jorah a slight bow of his head in acknowledgement Varys continued "Indeed, the Martell's will not be satisfied until Lord Tywin is dead by their hands, preferably in the most protracted and painful of manners."

Yes, on that Ser Jorah was indeed correct; the Martells would not be satisfied until they had extracted their 'pound of flesh' from Lord Tywin himself. And speaking of the Martell's, their Prince and Princess had once featured so prominently in the plans he and Illyrio had hatched, but now? The girl he saw before him had never featured much in those plans, well perhaps tangentially, and only as a bride, either to increase the legitimacy of Illyrio's bastard who they had convinced Jon Connington was the son of Rhaegar, or to be wed to the Prince of Dorne. The Dornish Princess had been a backup marriage prospect for 'Aegon' if Daenerys had proven in anyway unsuitable. Her elder brother Viserys, well he had always been...expendable as far as they were concerned, for he had never been a pawn of theirs like Aegon. And as the boy's familial similarities to his late father had become more and more obvious, then his days and his usefulness become as numbered.

Politics and the delicate balance of keeping the Seven Kingdoms unstable but not collapsing, and the increasing need to finally decide upon which option they would pursue for a Targaryen restoration had to an extent forced their hand. Illyrio's contention that the brother and sister were actually less use to them than their 'fake Aegon' he did not totally agree with, but the Cheesemonger had acted anyway, sure that Viserys would remove himself from the succession by his own stupidity. Things had played out as Illyrio had expected, Viserys having gotten himself killed. And that should have been that for them, the girl should have spent the rest of her days as the brood mare for a Dothraki horse savage and safely away from the Seven Kingdoms. What neither of them had expected was Daenerys hatching Dragons, nor her conquering Slaver's bay with her Unsullied Army.

He had planned to go and meet Daenerys Stormborn for himself anyway, to see what he made of her, the last of the Targaryen's, and if she would make a decent Queen. For her birthing of Dragon's had thrown everything into, well, chaos. The Aegon that Illyrio had placed so much hope in now had a, well rather knotty case of illegitimacy – would what Targaryen blood he had in him be sufficient for him to be accepted by the Dragons? Illyrio was adamant that it did not matter; he on the other hand was not so sure about the Cheesemonger's confidence in this regard. For him it would come down to if this Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Breaker of Chains – as she styled herself, was a worthy Queen to sit atop the Iron Throne.

And that was indeed the nub of it, would the Mad King's daughter, and with three Dragons mind you, be a good ruler of Westeros? Oh she could probably conquer Westeros if she tried, enough Lords would flock to her banner as she had Dragons, the Crownlands en masse for one. The Dornish also, just to spite House Lannister due to its current grip on the Iron Throne. It might take another Harenhall or the Fields of Fire to persuade the rest to bend the knee, but they would eventually. But Daenerys might end up ruling the ashes, something he would be loathe to permit to happen, if he could prevent it.

"And the Ironborn?" asked Daenerys, dragging his mind back to the present.

"No one cares about the Ironborn" muttered Ser Barristan under his breath while out loud Varys stated "the Ironborn remain a conundrum for the Seven Kingdoms, forever testing the limits of the Iron Throne's forbearance your Grace..."

"I have Dragons Lord Varys, they will not test the limits of my forbearance..."

"Indeed your Grace" Varys replied smoothly, keeping his face neutral of any emotion, so 'Queen of the Ashes' it very well might be. He set his mind to making sure that this would not happen, and for that he had to make absolutely sure that he gained the trust and confidence of Daenerys Targaryen.

"So Lord Tywin offers me most of the Seven Kingdoms in return for me swearing to fight these so called 'Others' from beyond The Wall. He proposes that I bring my army to Westeros, to the North in fact, where he will, he says, present solid proof and evidence of these selfsame 'Others'. He makes no pleas for clemency on his part, nor offers any contrition or apology for the murder of my family and its overthrow from its rightful rule over the Seven Kingdoms. He swears he will bend the knee and asks only to be allowed to fight against the Others in my name, so long as his family is spared and allowed to continue as Lords Paramount of the Westerlands."

"That is the right of it your Grace" he replied, wondering for the umpteenth time if Lord Tywin was mad.

View in Thread

Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!

What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...

Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter

Sbiper, Jun 4, 2020Report#2347Like+ QuoteReply

RedKing96, HogarthThree, PompadourWampus and 219 others like this.

Threadmarks: Melisandre II

View in Thread

Sbiper

Sbiper

Not too sore, are you?

Joined:Feb 6, 2018

Messages:476

Likes Received:49,767

Melisandre II

She had said the words "We beg the Lord to share his fire, and light a candle that has gone out. We beg the Lord to share his fire, and light a candle that has gone out. From darkness, light. From ashes, fire. From death, life." She had performed the rituals, the washing of the body, the clipping of hair to be burnt in the flames as offerings, the laying on of hands. And she had left that cold, dank room as depressed and defeated as she had entered it, with Jon snow un-risen and still dead by the hands of his former comrades.

But now? Now her body once more glowed with the warming light of her God, his burning presence banishing the chill once more. For had not Jon Snow risen indeed, and killed those who had betrayed him? She had asked for the lives of these traitors to be given to R'hllor, as a gift for the former Lord Commanders life, but Jon Snow had refused, instead hanging them, to her displeasure.

That was unfortunate, but of little consequence, for the flames in her quarters shimmered and danced in writhing passion, never before had she seen the flame behave so. Not even in the Red Temple of Volantis when scores of specially bred and trained slaves offered up their lives upon giant pyres to allow the priests to commune with the Lord of Light.

Wolves, Dragons and Lions danced and fought together against a howling darkness, an old Lion with two heads at the forefront, two russet haired wolves to either side of him, above them silver Dragons wheeled and screeched, unleashing unending streams of golden fire to banish the darkness. Ice and Fire met and clashed, merged and split apart, waves of dead men led by spectral, skeletal figures wielding long blades of crystalline Ice surged forwards, slaying desperate men with abandon. A figure wearing a crown of Ice strode forwards, menace and darkness clinging to him like a shroud, his face split into a hideous smile as he raised a sword of glittering crystal. Other visions danced and roiled, sometimes their meanings obvious, sometimes their meanings were confused or hidden, but all raged to Melisandre's sight with an ardour, a fervour she had scarce ever experienced.

Melisandre gasped as the flames suddenly blazed and then guttered, returning to normal, she inhaled massively, her lungs seeming to have forgotten how to breathe, gasping and heaving a she steadied herself. After a few moments she composed herself, her mind whirling and surging with the visions her God had provided her.

The Old Lion, that creature of two souls, that abomination before the Lord of Light...she knew he was important but she had failed to see, or she had not been shown, how important he, it, now was. It seemed that the Old Lion had been playing a pivotal role in her God's plans, and whose actions had been partially shielded from her gaze in the flames.

But now? No, now she could see the works of this, this thing in all their multiform and nefarious complexity. Melisandre marvelled how the works of such a foul, lust filled beast were mostly in accordance with her God's glorious plans.

She arranged her clothing, having no longer any need for the heavy cloak or furs she had worn following the death of Stannis Baratheon, with a twist of thought she commanded the fire ruby at her neck to adjust her glamour. Her skin took on a more radiant, healthy glow; she admired herself in a small mirror, deciding that her teats could do with being a little larger and firmer. Smiling as her glamour responded to her will she departed her room, heading for the quarters of the Lord Commander.

She was admitted immediately, the Wildlings guarding the door shuffling away from her, fear and awe evident in their eyes, mayhaps future converts there to the one, true faith?

Entering the room she saw Jon Snow seated behind his desk, writing, he glanced up at her and stood up, coming out from behind the desk.

"My Lady" he intoned, his voice just the slightest bit shaky, for Jon Snow was still as yet weak from his resurrection, though Melisandre could see the fire of her Lords light burning inside Jon Snow, flickering and faint aye, but soon to blaze forth in glory.

"Lord Commander" she purred, tilting her body slightly to present her form to best effect, decades of experience in seduction and persuasion would guide her movements, the timbre and pitch of her voice.

"I, I am no longer the Lord Commander my Lady, I died, my watch has ended..." Jon Snow replied, sounding morose.

"And if such is the case, what will you do Jon Snow?" she asked her voice melodious and husky as she took a step towards the boy, yes he was still a boy despite everything she mused, and definitely a boy compared to her span of years in service to R'hllor.

"I, I don't know...leave here, go south...I don't know..."

"What if I told you that your place is here Jon Snow, that what you saw beyond The Wall is the very reason you were born in the first place?"

"What? What do you mean?" he replied, the words increasingly harsh as they spilled from his mouth.

"Your destiny is to fight against the Great Other, the beast from the outer darkness that threatens the realms of men. That is why you came back, I did not bring you back Jon Snow, R'hllor brought you back, brought you back for this reason and this reason alone."

Jon Snow glared at her but before he could respond she continued "your dealings with the Old Lion, his sudden interest in the Nights Watch and his provision of a ruling from the Iron Thorne legalising you bringing the Wildlings south of The Wall, why do you think he did this Jon Snow?" Melisandre asked, taking two steps closer to Jon Snow, noticing that despite his best efforts his eyes could not remain fixed on her face. Instead they rove over the valley of flesh that ran down the front of her gown, from her neck to her stomach, the swell of her teats pushing and tenting the material, their fleshy curves partially visible, enough she knew from long, long experience to entice and aflame the desires of any man.

"I, I don't know..." he stammered, taking a step backwards, but she took two steps forwards to stand mere inches from him.

Melisandre tilted her head to one side, pouting her lips slightly before whispering "because Lord Tywin Lannister knows about the Others Jon Snow, he knows what you know. The Old Lion knows of the Great War to come Jon Snow, and he knows what must be done, of the parts we all must play so that we may see the Dawn and not die under the pall of the darkness of an endless night..." These last words were whispered almost into Jon Snow's ear, as she had bent her head forwards so that her lips were mere inches from the boy.

She could sense the fire burning in the boy, his desire rising, feeding the flames, but she would not give him of her flesh, for this Jon Snow was meant for another and not for her. A shame that, for Jon Snow was certainly pretty enough, and young enough and thus more able to bear the price of fuelling her magics, unlike Stannis whose essence had been drained beyond her expectations by fathering the shadow that had Killed Renly.

Just then there was a knock at the door and she stepped hurriedly back two paces, a sultry smirk on her face.

"Wh...What?" stammered Jon Snow, his voice stammering and hoarse.

"A raven Lord Commander!" announced the voice from the other side of the door. "From Kings Landing, it bears the seal of the Hand of the King!"

View in Thread

Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!

What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...

Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter

Sbiper, Jun 12, 2020Report#2396Like+ QuoteReply

RedKing96, HogarthThree, PompadourWampus and 204 others like this.

Threadmarks: Jon I

View in Thread

Sbiper

Sbiper

Not too sore, are you?

Joined:Feb 6, 2018

Messages:476

Likes Received:49,767

Jon I

"Hold it! Hold it down! Tighten its bindings!" he bellowed, fear and exhaustion roughening his voice.

His brothers, though was he truly still a broth of the Nights Watch, was he really still their Lord Commander, seeing as how he had died? He thrust these thoughts from his mind; he had no time for these ruminations now.

His party of Brothers and Wildlings struggled with the dead thing, as it hissed and screeched at them, they had managed to throw a net over the ragged, magic animated corpse and were attempting to bind it further with chains and ropes. Around them the remains of the party of dead things that they had ambushed lay scattered around, mostly dismembered and thankfully no longer animate.

They had marched out from Castle Black nearly a week ago, Crows and Wildlings, at his behest but really at the orders of the Lord Hand, Tywin Lannister. Lannister's might be famous for paying their debts but Jon Snow knew also knew how to honour debts. For Lord Tywin Lannister had become the most generous supporter that the Nights Watch had ever known, sending a torrent of goods and gold north to them for the last nigh on six months. The Brothers ate food sent from the south and paid for by Lannister gold, wore good, warm clothing from the mills of the Westerlands and were armed with plate, chain and swords produced by the Lannister's and shipped north in quantities the Nights Watch had never seen before.

And so when the latest raven from the Hand of the King had asked him to capture one of the dead creatures that roamed north of The Wall Jon Snow had known that despite his own fears, he was duty bound to carry out the Hand's request.

After Hardholme he had feared returning north of The Wall, like all his men who had witnessed the attack led by the Night King and his Army, and he had dreamed, nay, he had nightmared many's the night of that battle.

And so despite his fear, and he was sure the fear of his brothers and the Wildlings, they had ventured north of The Wall, to find and capture a wight to bring south to show all of Westeros the threat that lay in the frozen north. The missive from Lord Tywin had been quite specific – he believed in the existence of the wights and the Night King, and he understood the threat they represented, but the Lords of Westeros required proof positive. Hence the request for a 'live' wight, though in truth was it really a 'request'?

Lord Tywin Lannister, Hand of the King, Hand to a bastard King if the rumours be believed, and husband of his half sister Sansa...

Before he could muse anymore there was a cry from his men and he whipped his head around. Out of the shrouded forest more of the dead things were running and stumbling, screeching in that terrible, hideous way of theirs. Drawing Longclaw he gestured to his men to form around him, the only way to fight these things was in close order, not letting them swarm you. Black Brothers and Wildlings drew their weapons, spears and maces tipped with Dragonglass, another gift from Lord Tywin, along with the advice that Valyrian steel, fire and Dragonglass would kill the monsters from beyond The Wall.

The nauseating wave of undead corpses rushed at them, headless of anything except getting as close as possible to them so as to drown them in numbers. The first of the corpses were upon them in seconds, and the brutal fight for survival began. They had just managed to kill the twenty or so dead things that had been with the wight that they had captured; now they were facing what looked like hundreds of the things.

Jon hacked and stabbed and slashed with Longclaw, his mind blank of anything but his next strike and when to twist and sidestep a rusty blade or axe. Around him the men of the Nights Watch and the Wildlings fought desperately, any who fell were stabbed with dragonglasss by their comrades to prevent them rising as wights.

But the sheer numbers of wights was telling, more and more of his comrades fell, and the little band of living men was compressed into an ever smaller space.

He wondered idly if this was where he would fall, and only hoped that someone would stab him with Dragonglass so as to prevent him from rising as a wight. As this thought crossed his mind a blossom of fire burst behind the wall of wights, a pitiful screeching wailed from the wights that had been engulfed in flames.

A cloaked rider on horseback emerged from the gloom, swinging a chain with a ball of fire on its end. Wherever this fiery ball touched the wights they would burst into blazing, roaring flames, consuming them as they flailed and screamed.

Jon let out a roar of defiance as Longclaw whirled and stabbed in his hands, desperation born of terror driving him onwards to kill as many of the wights as possible. His companions were of the same mind, screaming and hacking at the dead tide with equal fierce and frantic blows.

And then with a shocking suddenness Jon realised that there were no more dead things in range of Longclaw, he sucked in a huge breath of freezing air, stinging his nostrils and hurting his lungs. Around him the last of the wights were being dispatched by the Black Brothers and the Wildlings, he kept Longclaw in his hands as he turned to look at the figure atop his horse who had so aided them in defeating the dead things.

The stranger was cloaked in black with his face hooded and concealed behind a scarf wrapped around his head. From his right hand hung a long chain, at its end some sort of brazier burned with yellow/white flames. He rode atop a huge black horse, who stamped its hooves in what seemed to be annoyance as the stranger turned the beast towards him.

Jon stood his ground as the black garbed stranger drew closer, holding Longclaw at the ready, he barely notice Edd and Tormund move to his side, their weapon also raised.

The great war horse stopped before them, Jon noticing that the golden flames of the brazier at the end of the chain guttered and died. The stranger reached up and pulled back his hood and lowered his scarf.

"Uncle Benjen!" Jon gasped, recognising the man revealed before him.

"Hello lad" his uncle responded in a strange voice, more akin to a harsh and guttural whisper than the voice Jon remembered him speaking with.

"First Ranger!" blurted out Edd "are we glad to see you!"

"No doubt Ed" replied Benjen Stark, what was probably meant to be a smile tugged at his uncle's lips, but to Jon it looked more like a grimace. In fact the more he looked upon his uncle, the more Jon could not help feeling that there was something wrong with his uncle. The pasty white skin of his face, the strange way the pale light seemed to reflect flatly in his eyes, this unnerved Jon if he was honest.

"I came at the behest of someone who is anxious to meet you Jon Snow" said Benjen, raising his left arm to point to the tree line behind them. A figure clad in Wildling furs emerged, pulling something behind them, as they got closer Jon realised the figure was a girl.

She halted a few feet away from them and then pivoted to show the sled like contraption she was pulling behind her.

"Hello Jon Snow" said a fur wrapped figure on the sleigh.

"Bran!" exclaimed Jon Snow in amazement.

View in Thread

Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!

What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...

Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter

Sbiper, Jun 21, 2020Report#2406Like+ QuoteReply

Jiven, RedKing96, HogarthThree and 194 others like this.

Threadmarks: Robb IX

View in Thread

Sbiper

Sbiper

Not too sore, are you?

Joined:Feb 6, 2018

Messages:476

Likes Received:49,767

Robb IX

"I can scarce believe this..." muttered Rob, staring at the letter on his desk, the man who delivered this missive, Ser Davos Seaworth sat opposite him but said nothing.

The so called 'onion knight', once a confidant of Lord Stannis said nothing in response, holding his counsel, which annoyed Robb slightly if he was honest.

Ser Davos had rode south from The Wall with a letter from his brother Jon, whose contents were for Robb's eyes only, at least for the time being. Accompanying Ser Davos had been a rag-tag bunch of Black Brothers, former soldiers in the Army of Lord Stannis and Wildlings. This ensemble, almost as unbelievable as the message they bore had been granted passage through the North to Winterfell by a letter of safe conduct signed by Jon as Lord Commander of the Nights Watch.

"I would not have believed it either my Lord, had I not seen the things I have seen..."

Robb glanced up at the former smuggler, his flea bottom accent still evident in the man's voice, noticing the small pouch that hung from his neck, which was reputed to contain the finger bones from those which Stannis Baratheon had taken from him in punishment for smuggling.

Stannis Baratheon... a stubborn, uncompromising and, if he was honest, a rather unlikeable man, going from his admittedly brief encounter with the rebellious Lord. Which had ended with Robb taking the head of Lord Stannis, who had refused to either bend the knee or take the black, instead stubbornly insisting to the end that he was the lawful and legitimate King of the Seven Kingdoms. And Robb was inclined to agree with Stannis on this point, but the time for challenging the Lannister grip on the Iron Throne was long past, he was a loyal Warden of the North, bound by golden chains to the Lannister's, chains of blood and coin.

"Hmmmm" grunted Robb in reply; he had seen the 'thing' that the men had brought with them, a so called 'wight' and had been horrified by it. Robb had also shown the wight to his mother and wife, along with the rest of the senior staff at Winterfell, just to make sure that they knew what they were now facing. As Jon had urged him he had sent out ravens to all the Houses of the North, those that the party had not visited on their journey south to Winterfell had been commanded to make all haste to Winterfell to see the wight for themselves.

"This is why Lord Commander Snow", Robb noticed the slightest of catches in the smugglers speech when he said his half brothers title "let the freefolk past The Wall my Lord. They would all become like that thing, soldiers in the Night Kings Army of the Dead..."

"Hmmmmmm" replied Robb. Why was this happening now, of all times? He felt like laughing at the absurdity of it all. He had fought to reclaim his father's life, then when that failed his father's honour. He had lost a crown and married into the family he and all the North held most responsible for the death of his father and the subsequent War of the Five Kings.

And now, to top it all, the Long Night was returning! He thought to scream at the monstrous injustice of it all, and to top everything it seemed that his goodbrother Tywin Lannister not only seemed to know of this threat already, but was actively aiding the Nights Watch to prepare for the threat of these 'Others' as they were oft referred to.

For the rest of the day Robb pondered and fretted, terrified about what was to come and the monstrous responsibility now cast upon his shoulders and upon all those who knew of the return of the Long Night. At dinner he was morose and sullen, unwilling to engage in any sort of conversation, brooding and letting his morbid thoughts spin and tumble in his mind.

"Robb!"

"Huh? ermmm, oh, sorry..." he mumbled, seeming to see his wife's emerald eyes for the first time as the hovered close in the light of a single candle.

"You have not been listening to me..." she purred, a smirk quickening her lips as she lay half atop him in their bed.

"No, ummmm...I've, I've a lot on my mind Cerenna, sorry..."

"My Lord husband is the Stark in Winterfell, the Warden of the North; he had best get his mind back to where it belongs!" Cerenna mock hissed at him, before her face turned serious. "Septon Ronard is going to be a problem."

"Oh?" he asked, suddenly very interested in what his wife had to say "I wonder how he could be even more of a problem?"

The good Septon had joined them in the Riverlands, attaching himself and a Septa to their party as it had travelled North. The Septa, a sour faced hag was the same one that Arya had cut in a fit of anger, had at least had the decency to leave Winterfell after this incident.

Septon Ranard on the other hand, was determined to make a nuisance of himself, seeming to rely on his mother's patronage and protection to generally cause insult and annoyance wherever he went.

Robb had already had to bar the man from the Godswood, and only his mother's pleading had stopped him from ejecting the meddlesome priest from Winterfell altogether. The good Septon seemed to think it was his life's mission to convert the North from its 'heathen ways' and was not shy about pursuing this goal. The presence of so many Lannister troops, most of them adherents to the Faith of the Seven, whom the Septon was careful to minister and preach to, seemed to make the man ever bolder in his pronouncements and preaching. Robb would not be in the slightest bit surprised if the Priest would be found dead some morning, probably with his throat slit at the feet of the great weirwood tree.

"He has been preaching against the...the wight, saying that it is an affront to the Seven and a thing of foul, northern magic, a trick to 'sway the faithful from the light of the Seven'...to quote his evening sermon from yesterday..."

"He's, he's seen the, the thing, how the fuck?" Robb spluttered in reply.

Cerenna just gave him a thin smile in reply "the fanatical believe what they want husband...he has come to me to ask...no, ask would be the wrong word...to instruct me that it was my duty to get you to order the wight destroyed. And that if I did not my soul would be cursed forever..."

Robb's anger flared and exploded, he could hear nothing but a roaring in his ears, that southern cunt, thinking he could 'order' his wife about, the Lady of Winterfell and the mother of the next generation of Starks!

He went to rise from his bed, his rage all consuming, grabbing his clothes and hastily putting them on, barely noticing that Cerenna was also dressing herself, shouting for his guards to assemble and be ready for him.

Storming through the halls and corridors of Winterfell Robb ordered his men to carry out the tasks he wanted, his fury having cooled enough to enable him to think coldly, clearly.

Striding though the night he and his men came to the cells and to his rage he came across the Septon, his mother and a small contingent of Westerlander soldiers outside.

A cooling breeze seemed to waft through his mind as he announced "take Septon Ronard into custody, any who resist are disobeying the direct command of the Lord of Winterfell."

"Robb!" shrieked his mother, making to stand in front of the Septon, who was brandishing a torch, along with several others of the party.

"That includes my Lady mother" he hissed, noticing his mothers face suddenly go slack with shock.

"You are making a mistake boy" snarled the Septon "that thing is an affront to the light of the Seven and deserves to destroyed! A foul product of northern blood magics and sorcery! Its presence corrupts your very souls!"

The Septon continued wailing as he was manhandled away, the small crowd of his supporters putting up no resistance. Robb barely noticed Westerlander Officers and Knights arriving, who took charge of their errant men, disarming and binding them.

All marched with Robb to the Godswood, the Septon's screams about their souls being cursed echoing off the walls and buildings of Winterfell, his mother plea's equally shrill. But Robb listened not to either of them, his mind set, his heart hardened to what he had to do.

Reaching the Godswood and the ancient Weirwood at its heart, Robb gestured with his hand, indicating that the Septon be bound to it.

"Robb, please..." his mother sobbed "don't do this..."

"Listen to your Lady Mother boy, what you plan to do will damm you all for eternity. You are a madman!"

"You come to my home, my Castle, preach against my gods, try and destroy the evidence we have of the return of the Long Night and threaten my wife..."

"Blasphemy! You speak blasphemy, that thing has poisoned your minds, you are gripped by madness, MADNESS!" The Septon shrilled, his voice going hoarse from the sheer effort he put into his screech.

"Madness?" Robb asked, his voice quiet in the sudden silent aftermath of the Septons scream. He gazed around him, seeing grim resolve on the faces of his men, fear in the eyes of many of the southerners. He sought his wife's face, noticing with some pride that she was a grim faced and stoic as the rest of the northerners, her eyes met his and she gave him the slightest of nods.

He turned back to the Septon "Madness? THIS. IS. WINTERFELL!" he bellowed, drawing his sword and beheading the Septon in one single, brutally swift stroke.

Turning away from the slumping, headless corpse he announced "those men who chose to follow the Septon and threaten the Peace of Winterfell have but two choices – join the Septon in the afterlife or take the Black. Lady Catelyn will be confined to her quarters for the time being, that is all."

All of the westerlanders who had followed the Septon decided that life in the Night Watch was preferable to an immediate death, they were hustled away and the crowd began to disperse, none paying any head to the body of the Septon, nor the blood splashed scarlet across the pale bark of the weirwood.

Soon there was only Robb, Cerenna and a handful of guards remaining, Robb noticing the pride and strength in his wife's gaze as it held his. A small shape detached itself from the shadows, his sister Arya, dressed like a boy as usual and with her hair haphazardly cut short, most likely by her own hand with a knife.

"Well done brother" she announced coldly, turning her gaze to Cerenna "and you my lady, not too bad for a southron" before she dashed off into the enfolding darkness.

View in Thread

Last edited: Jun 27, 2020

Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!

What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...

Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter

Sbiper, Jun 27, 2020Report#2420Like+ QuoteReply

Jiven, RedKing96, Pilatypus and 202 others like this.

Threadmarks: Olenna III

View in Thread

Sbiper

Sbiper

Not too sore, are you?

Joined:Feb 6, 2018

Messages:476

Likes Received:49,767

Olenna III

Well now, was this not the most fascinating of news Olenna Tyrell chuckled to herself, sitting in her favourite spot in the gardens of the Red Keep and enjoying the view out over Blackwater Bay. Strong sunlight sparkled on the waves, dazzling splashes of pure white light reflecting off the azure waters. Despite the Citadel announcing that autumn was upon them the weather in Kings Landing had yet to change, the days were as bright and as hot as ever, the nights muggy with the stored heat of the day seeming to bleed out of the very stones of the Red Keep.

The smell was still the same, the Red Keep still stank of the wastes of the half a million citizens of Kings Landing, though thankfully the hill upon which the Red Keep was built allowed the breezes off the Blackwater to carry away the worst of the stench. But the plotting and scheming were still the very same, in fact Olenna was sure that this had to be the most exciting time to be alive, it was only a pity that it had come so late in her life, when she might be removed from the Great Game by the whims and foibles of time and age.

She wagered that not even the end of the Mad King was as interesting as the time she was living in now, though maybe less lethal...though that was debateable.

At least things were kept to the shadows and overt violence was kept to a minimum, as much a sign of the Old Lion's iron fisted rule as anything else she knew. But now? Well the Great Game was definitely afoot once more, of that she was absolutely certain!

She was surrounded by her gaggle of clucking hens, mostly the daughters of bannermen sworn directly to Highgarden, some also acted as handmaidens Margaery. As to her granddaughter herself, the girl was sitting and chatting amongst them; Olenna caught her eye and beckoned her over.

"Grandmother" Margaery said in a level tone, her eyes cool and unreflective. Good,by her tone the girl knew that serious business was to be discussed.

"Child, have you managed to get the boy kings cock inside you, mouth or cunt? Cunt would be better of course..."

"Grandmother!" hissed Margaery, her face a picture of shock and surprise but Olenna knew the girl was playing a mummers game.

"Oh hush now, there are no 'little birds' close enough to hear us now, well?"

"No, not yet I'm afraid. He is guarded constantly, and Lord Tywin keeps him busy morning, noon and night. He spends nigh on half each day with his uncle sparring and practising his sword work, the rest in study with the Maesters, with his Grandfather or in Court. The poor boy has scarce a minute to himself."

There was something of frustration to be heard in her granddaughters voice, but Olenna put it to one side "you will cease in your attempts to seduce the boy King my dear."

"Yes Grandmother" replied Margaery, her gaze asking the question that she was too clever to ask with her mouth.

"There are changes in the Great Game afoot my dear, changes that mean House Tyrell should no longer be seen as being too close to House Baratheon and House Lannister."

"The Targaryen girl..."

"Indeed, this Danerys Stormborn has set the cat among the pigeons my dear" she chortled; proud that Margaery had gotten straight to the matter.

The Seven Kingdoms were not to slumber peacefully under the reign of the Old Lion and his grandson, of that she was now certain, but as to what the Old Lion appeared to be planning? Well she suspected a trap, or at the very least some nefarious scheme to hobble House Tyrell, or at the very least to enhance the power of House Lannister.

Or was it, that was the question now was it not? Her spies had finally been able to ferret out some small titbits relating to the plans of the Old Lion. Ever since she had discovered the severed head of her best agent in the Red Keep in her bed, after she had sent him to silence Petyr Baelish she had spent much effort to regain adequate sources of information. The warning from Tywin Lannister that the severed head had represented had been greatly appreciated by her; she knew that she would have to exercise extreme caution when dealing with the Old Lion.

But then, in her long, long years of life she had come to understand one salient truth above all else. To know your opponents motives was to know them as well as they knew themselves. And the Old Lion's obsession was with his legacy, and so she supposed she should not be surprised by what she had just learned. And if what her agents reported about the Lady Sansa were true, that the girl was carrying the first of the latest generation of Lannister's in her belly?

Well then Tywin's actions made even more sense in that case, did they not?

But, but the sheer gall of the man, to think that he could get away with it! But then nobody ever accused Tywin Lannister of lacking balls, why the man must verily clank when he walks, his stones made of brass, to match his neck she mused.

Reaching out to the Targaryen child in Essos and offering her the Iron Throne on a plate! With the price being the survival of his House, and probably his own mangy hide to boot! And what of Margaery's marriage to Tommen then eh? At best she would be the Lady of the Stormlands, if at all.

The Targaryen girl had three dragons if rumours were to be believed, along with an Army of Unsullied, and some assorted mercenary riff raff, more than her famous ancestor had, though his dragons had been bigger she had to admit. She also had Varys, the former Master of Whispers and Ser Barristan Selmy, sure to be able to provide the girl with sound enough advice about Westeros and its various Lords, Ladies and factions.

And just what should she do in response to this most amazing of rumours then? Well for a start they were no rumours though; the sources that had relayed this information to her were ones she trusted, so she believed them at face value. Most important was to make sure that Mace did nothing precipitous or stupid, but she repeated herself. Now to the nub of it, what should House Tyrell do to advance its position and ensure survival?

"But not only that my dear, it appears that out Lord Hand has been in contact with the Targaryen girl, who styles herself the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Not only in contact, it appears that Lord Tywin is offering her the Seven Kingdoms on a sliver plate!"

"No doubt in return for his life" Margaery slyly replied, sotto voiced.

"That man is far too clever for his own good, he is bound to come unstuck sooner or later, but yes, Lord Tywin intends to trade the Iron Throne for his life and that of his family."

"I hear she has Dragons, this Targaryen girl, our would be Queen?"

"She does indeed, young dragons yet, but dragons nonetheless. And an Army of Unsullied and sellswords, plus Dothraki savages."

"A pity her brother is not still alive..." Margaery said softly, her face set in a determined look.

"Her brother was a madman by all accounts, no, we've had enough trouble with mad Kings and Joffrey..."

"She is unwed, this Targaryen girl who styles herself our Queen?"

"She is..." replied Olenna, looking smug.

"So would that make Willas King or Prince Consort?" Margaery asked, her mouth twisting into a mischievous smile.

"Your father will probably huff and puff but I'll offer her Willas as her Prince Consort, and the Great Council be dammed. House Tyrell remained loyal to the Dragons to the end; it's time we made that loyalty pay off."

"And me?" Margaery asked, her voice light and innocent sounding, but Olenna knew her granddaughter well, she could sense the concern behind her words, see the worry behind the perfectly composed mask of her pretty face.

"You are my favourite Margaery, do not worry, your chance will come my dear, of that I am sure..."

For if this Daenerys was to be crowned Queen it was best that House Tyrell stood square behind her, for who could trust the Old Lion eh? He was sure to try and murder this Targaryen girl was he not? And when House Tyrell was able to show conclusive evidence of the Old Lion's murderous plans, well then...she could see rains weeping over the halls of Casterly Rock.

View in Thread

Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!

What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...

Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter

Sbiper, Jul 9, 2020Report#2438Like+ QuoteReply

RedKing96, HogarthThree, Nepcotevalley and 194 others like this.

Threadmarks: Tyrion XVII

View in Thread

Sbiper

Sbiper

Not too sore, are you?

Joined:Feb 6, 2018

Messages:476

Likes Received:49,767

Tyrion XVII

"Not something I thought I'd ever live to see" he mumbled, pitching his voice so that his brother could hear him.

"No, I suppose not" replied Jamie, standing behind him and staring at the sight that was both enthralling, and utterly terrifying to him.

Dragons, actual fucking DRAGONS! Soaring and wheeling in the sky before them, their screeches and cries echoing off the cliffs of Dragonstone as they danced and swooped, sometimes diving down to the surface of the water to pluck an unfortunate sea creature from the water with their claws. The largest dragon, with a black body and red wings would haul its struggling prey into the air and toss it away to their front, before immolating it with dragonfire, dashing in to devour their cooked meal before it could fall back to the sea below. The two smaller ones, one green and bronze coloured, the other cream and gold flew with their catches to a beach, where they cooked and devoured them.

"Blackwater pilot whales" said the ship's captain, unbidden by either of them, from where he was observing the scene as the ship glided towards the port below the huge, looming presence of the castle of Dragonstone.

"Good eating in them, can feed a hundred men from one of 'em easy..."

"Indeed..." he replied, never once taking his eyes off the circling dragons, letting his mind wander back a mere nine days, back to Kings Landing, and to his father, it was always his father he mused, always his godsdammed cunt of a father.

"You want me to do what now?" his voice rising despite his best efforts, threatening to be a most unbecoming squeal.

His father regarded him from the semi shadow as he sat behind his great desk, more games and mummery from his father, thinking to intimidate him, and his brother Jamie in this so obvious a way. Outside the Office of the Hand night had fallen, fallen on a day that Tyrion was sure he would never forget until his dying breath. For Robb Stark, his wife and infant son, along with his brother Bran and his bastard brother Jon, some Black brothers and even some Wildlings, along with the Red Priestess who had once consorted with Stannis, and one Ser Davos, another former Stannis loyalist had arrived in Kings Landing. And with them...and with them, in a sturdy crate a thing from the deepest, darkest nightmare.

The wight, as it was called, had been shown to the Small Council, the King and the Tyrell's, along with the High Septon and the Most Devout. Everyone was terrified of it, as it had burst screeching from its crate, thankfully chained. It had trashed with unnatural life, its bright blue eyes full of the madness of the dammed. It stank powerfully of decay and rot, yet it moved with terrifying speed and purpose, making for the nearest living thing to attack it with its bony, claw like hands. Thankfully it was heavily garbed and tied with chains and it was brought up short, snarling and gnashing its rotten teeth, wailing piteously as it was dragged back by four men, two black brothers and two wildlings, who manhandled the thing via its chains back into its crate.

He surveyed the scene, everyone apart from the Northern party was frozen in shock and sheer, utter horror, everyone that is except his father, who stood still and unemotional, his face might as well have been carved from granite for all the emotion it displayed.

Interesting he mused, very, very interesting, but then mayhaps not so interesting he noted sourly. This was his father after all, the Old Lion, the man whose actions prompted the 'Rains of Castamere'. And it was not that his father was unafraid of these things, no, for that would be stupid, and Tywin Lannister was many things, but stupid was not one of them. No, Tywin Lannister not only knew about these fantastical things, he was already planning and plotting to defeat them, in fact if he knew anything about his father he would wager that Tywin Lannister not only knew how to defeat these creatures, but that he had a complete strategy worked out. A memory tickled at his mind, his father informing Cersei that he 'knew a great many things, things which others might dismiss as rumours and as fantastical. But which he knew were true.'

This did of course lead him to ponder about his father's actions over the last few years. And to re-examine them in a whole new light, and to admit somewhat grudgingly that his Lord father was an even better player of the Great Game than he had been willing to admit.

That night there was a small feast, more like a family dinner in reality - him, his father, Sansa, Jamie, Tommen, Robb Stark and his wife. His father kept the talk relatively light, only making the odd reference to the day's events, probably to spare the sensibilities of the ladies present. Lord Robb seemed to be in better fettle since he last saw him, certainly less sour and broody, no doubt the influence of his beautiful Lannister wife; the chit had probably sucked all of the young Wolf's ire right out of the tip of his cock!

Afterwards he and Jamie were invited to their father's Solar, and they learned of their upcoming mission.

"You, along with Jamie are to head to Dragonstone and meet with Danerys Targaryen, you will be the Iron Throne's ambassador to the girl, Jamie your guard" his father repeated, his tone cool and indifferent.

"You mean her hostages!" he spat, unable to help himself.

"Tyrion, you have seen what we have to face, the Seven Kingdoms can fight those things or it can fight Daenerys Stormborn, it cannot fight both..." his father replied, his voice deep and rumbling from where he sat in semi darkness.

"And what of Roslyn and Tyrone?" he asked, terrified at what he suspected was the answer. While he cared little for his wife in truth, he did care about his son, a babe barely a year old and one who showed no sign of his affliction. And one whose golden hair and green eyes marked him as a Lannister, true and true.

"They will stay in Kings Landing, Danaerys Targaryen has asked that as many High Lords and their families as possible be in Kings Landing when she finally arrives in Westeros."

"So more hostages then" he replied, unable to hide the bitter tone in his voice. And a part of him could not help but wonder if his father was losing his touch, for this seeming surrender to the Targaryen girl appeared to be, well, out of character for his father. No, no that was not right, his father was up to something, he was acting according to a plan that he was not sharing with him or Jamie, that, that was obvious to him now. The wight and the coming Long Night were obviously a prime constituent of his father's plans, that much was blatantly obvious, but beyond that Tyrion was stumped as to what his father planned.

Mayhaps he planned to finish the work that The Mountain had begun all those years ago? Or he could be genuinely more scared by what that wight represented than the thoughts of his own survival?

But now that the Lady Sansa was with child, and with twins apparently, his Lord father's actions in sending him and Jamie to Dragonstone were a stark reminder that some things about Tywin Lannister never changed...

But, even if he strongly suspected that Jamie and him were no longer of that much use to the Old Lion, why would he be risking his so called legacy, with the babes in Lady Sansa's belly not even born yet?

It was a conundrum that was already churning his mind into a storm of doubt and uncertainty.

Never mind that he and his father had become closer; never mind that his heir, his son Tyrone was of 'perfect' Lannister stock. No, Tywin Lannister was not someone to forgive or forget, nor was he a man to ignore an opportunity presented to him. The Stark girl's attempt to end the War of the Five Kings without the annihilation of her family had presented the Old Lion with the perfect chance to try again with his legacy. A sour and resentful part of him hoped the twins growing in Lady Sansa's belly were a boy and a girl; would not that be a great jape for the Gods to play upon his father eh?

"You will depart on the next tide for Dragonstone, Daenerys Targaryen and her forces have arrived a few days ago to take up residence there."

"You, you let her, her dragons, eight thousand Unsullied and fifty thousand Dothraki Screamers set up camp right off Kings Landing?" asked Jamie, his voice steadily rising in pitch and anger.

His father turned his gaze to his eldest son, pausing a few seconds to let an intimidating silence settle, before saying "I did Jamie, and do you know why?"

Silence greeted his father's question, until Lord Tywin decided to answer his own question "Let us for a moment ignore the eight thousand or so Unsullied and the several thousand of the Second Sons and concentrate on the Dothraki shall we? There are rumoured to be 50,000 Dothraki Screamers with Daenerys, lets also ignore the fact that they have also brought their herds, slaves and their families with them, their so called 'nation-in-arms'. Typically each Screamer has five remounts at least with him, so that's a quarter of a million horses alone. Each one of their horses, and they are not Westerosi horses, they are smaller and hardier than a destrier, requires 6 lbs of hay and barley a day if they are not let out to pasturage, along with five gallons of water a day. Where they put out to pasturage a quarter of a million horses would require four thousand, four hundred acres of pasturage, or eleven and a half square miles per day to sustain itself. Horses grazing fresh pasturage would only require two and a half gallons of water per day. Dothraki horses typically graze for ten hours a day if feeding exclusively on pasturage to eat their daily fill. And that is before taking into account the needs of her men for food, or their herds. The Dothraki probably depend on their flocks and herds for food, but everyone else needs a minimum of 2 pounds of milled wheat – and that's an absolute minimum ration."

"So?" Jamie asked, his tone petulant "All you have done is forced her to act quickly!"

"An amateur talk's tactics, a professional talk's logistics" he interjected to break the staring match between father and eldest son that had developed in the silence after Jamie's last outburst.

"What options does the girl have Tyrion, with all her strength gathered on Dragonstone, a short ride on Dragon back or a few days sailing from the heart of power in Westeros?" his father asked him, his father's eyes never leaving their focus on Jamie.

"She can strike Kings Landing with her Dragons to try a 'decapitation strike'...but all those new Scorpions, Catapults and Bolt Throwers that have decorated the walls of Kings Landing and the Red Keep over the last few years, plus the repairs and upgrades to the defences on Kings Landing in general now make much more sense...she could attack with her Dragons and her Army with the intent of capturing Kings Landing, the longer she stays on Dragonstone the more dependant she is on supplies arriving by sea. She has three Dragons and had enough shipping to move her army in one go from Essos to Dragonstone, so she might be able to keep herself supplied on Dragonstone in that case, so long as the Navy of the Iron Throne doe not interfere with her supply lines. She could crush us if she was of a mind. No, there is something else here father, it's the Others..."

"Your aunt Genna always said you had my mind" his father growled at him through teeth that were just the slightest bit clenched, he dipped his head in recognition of his father's praise, however begrudgingly given.

"The girl who imagines herself Queen no doubt thinks she holds all the cards, and that I have gone soft in the head, or that I've finally lost my nerve. Varys no doubt is advising her not to trust me, but the girl came when bidden, when I offered her the Iron Throne..."

"You did what?" gasped Jamie, a look of utter disbelief exploding onto his face. "She, she will kill us all father, without a thought of mercy! Have you gone mad?"

"Tyrion?" his father asked him, ignoring Jamie's outburst.

"I, I am not in the full possession of all the facts that you appear to be basing your calculations on father, but...you offered her the Iron Throne in exchange for the lives of your family, not yours though. Tommen will step down and become Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, the invite you will no doubt have me give to her to come to Kings Landing will be phrased in terms of ensuring a 'peaceful and swift' handover of power."

"And?" his father asked, his voice low and menacing, despite it being utterly without emotion.

"Hrmmmmm, you no doubt have sent ravens to the other Lords Paramount to come to Kings Landing, though the Dornish and the Iron Born are likely to ignore you. And...and you have not yet told the girl about these others, have you?"

"Clever boy" was all the old Lion said in reply.

Dragging his mind back to the present a part of him thrilled that he was seeing real Dragons, and soon also real Dothraki and Unsullied in the flesh as it where. But then again the girl was the Mad Kings daughter, his brother had murdered her father and their father had murdered her family. She might very well kill them on sight, maybe even have her dragons burn them, and maybe even eat them afterwards, though there would not be much eating in him he japed in the privacy of his mind.

"If we don't make it out of here alive, it was a pleasure being your brother Jamie."

"Has fatherhood robbed you of your wit and thirst for life?" Jamie joked in response.

"No, but you have to admit that Targaryen girl is as likely to burn us alive as offer us bread and salt!"

"Maybe, maybe not. We shall have to see won't we?"

"I don't like those odds Jamie; I like my skin far too much..."

"We are expendable Tyrion, now that Lady Sansa is pregnant, and with twins to boot, father has no need of us anymore. Danaerys would do him a favour by killing us, thus keeping his hands free of the stain of kinslaying."

"Lady Sansa has not yet given birth to our half siblings yet Jamie, and he is not a reckless man, our father. Cold, heartless, calculating yes, but not reckless, nor a fool."

"He's still a cunt though" quipped Jamie.

"Aye, that he is..."

View in Thread

Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!

What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...

Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter

Sbiper, Aug 9, 2020Report#2496Like+ QuoteReply

Andrei_Sokolov, RedKing96, HogarthThree and 260 others like this.

Threadmarks: Sansa XIX

View in Thread

Sbiper

Sbiper

Not too sore, are you?

Joined:Feb 6, 2018

Messages:476

Likes Received:49,767

Sansa XIX

Sansa lay against the flank of Tywin, as was his want he was naked in bed, she wore a thin cotton night gown, for she was never able to be quite as comfortable with casual nakedness, even in bed with her husband. Tywin's arms were wrapped around her belly, cupping the considerable bump that denoted the twins growing inside her. The decision to secretly cease taking the Moon tea had been a little rebellion on her part, one which Tywin in the end had been only slightly annoyed with her about. She had expected the Old Lion to be angrier with her when he found out, she had even been prepared to lie and say that Moon tea was not always effective in preventing seed quickening, and the Gods knew Tywin had seeded her womb enough for her to get with child...she blushed slightly at this, sex was good, it was more than good, it was very, very enjoyable, and so both of them had not stinted from engaging in it. And strangely, even though she was with child, she found herself desiring to have sex with Tywin more and more, something which pleased both of them to be honest.

"How is Sandor getting on?" she heard Tywin ask her, the rumble of his words low in the darkness of their bed chamber.

"He is fine, especially now that he has learned to stop calling me 'little bird' she snorted with some slight annoyance.

Tywin let out a little chuckle at that "Yes Sandor Clegane's arrival in Kings Landing was a surprise, seeing as the last time he was here he left with a ringing 'fuck the king'!"

"He, he said..."

"Hrmmmmm? He said what?"

"He, he said that I had exchanged the bars on my prison for those made out of gold..."

"Did he now? Same foolish, stupid, pig-headed bravery as always then" mumbled Tywin.

"Are, are you...?"

"No, I'm not going to do anything, this time. So long as Clegane behaves himself and guards you to the best of his ability...he is a bannerman of mine, and the heir to his house...and I promised him that he could eat as many chicken wings as he wanted, so long as he stays in the service of House Lannister" Tywin replied to her question, mirth evident in his voice by the end of his answer.

"Sa...Celgane, he, he does certainly like those 'hot wings' of yours Tywin" she replied, still frankly amazed by the whole affair. The Hound had returned to Kings Landing, all scowls and fierce anger, for what reason she could scarce determine, she did not believe his gruff assertions that he had nowhere else to go. She would have thought that based on his rumoured desertion from the service of King Joffrey that he would have avoided Kings Landing like the plague, but no, the Hound had turned up one day, bold as brass and twice as fiercely scowling as she remembered.

It had quickly emerged that he had rescued her sister Arya and delivered her to Winterfell, and for that alone she was thankful for the Hound's service, but when Tywin had proposed that Sandor be her Sworn Sword, now that had taken her aback.

Even more surprising had been Tywin's means of securing the Hounds loyalty – endless chicken wings, legs and thighs baked and smothered in what her husband called 'Franks Hot Sauce'. Who, or what 'Frank' was she did not know, but the pieces of roasted chicken slathered on the sauce were certainly far too hot for her to enjoy. Tywin and the Hound on the other hand seemed to revel in eating veritable buckets of them, and with the sauce the hotter the better. Who would have thought that the ferocious Hound could have been brought to heel with the aid of spicy chicken?

"Sandor is not technically eating chicken though; mostly capons, quail and pearl hens go to satisfy his urges for poultry. And no, I won't be letting anyone know the secret of Franks Sauce either..." he chuckled.

Sansa let the silence stretch out between them, comfortable with it in a cosy, drowsy sort of way, until she decided to ask the questions that had been spinning around her head for days now. She did not fear asking these questions of her husband, the opposite in fact, but she realised she feared the answers more than the questions themselves.

The events of the last few days had been, well, what was it that Tyrion had jokingly referred to them as? Oh yes, grotesque, unbelievable, bizarre and unprecedented! As good a description as any Sansa mused for what had taken place.

The arrival of the contingent from the North, Robb his wife and their infant son Brandon were a joy to see, Cerenna had blossomed into quite the Northern Lady she realised, and both her and Robb seemed content and happy with each other, and Brandon was a delightfully cute baby, blonde of hair and with grey/green eyes. If the party that had visited Kings Landing were confined to these she would have been more than delighted, to enjoy the company of her brother, his wife and their baby son.

But the party from Winterfell had contained many more; her brother Bran was, well he was a stranger to her, his face slack and distant, his eyes flat and emotionless. This was not the Bran she remembered from Winterfell, this, this was a stranger to her, barely even recognisable as her brother.

The Red Priestess, one Mellisandre of Asshai seemed to be taking far too much of an interest in her brother to her liking, and in her husband. A flash of pure jealously stormed through Sansa's mind, the Red Priestess was a woman grown, with a woman's body sheathed in scandalously revealing gowns of crimson. She had not failed to notice this Melisandre's smouldering gaze on her husband, and she was appalled at her sheer gall to presume to look upon Tywin in that regard. And she knew Tywin was spending a lot of time closeted with the Red Priestess and her brother, and her half brother also.

Jon had come south also, but strangely he no longer wore the garb of a brother of the Nights Watch, instead clothing himself in the plain greys and muted browns of the North.

Then there were the Wildlings and Brothers of the Nights Watch, supposedly sworn enemies but they seemed to be agreeable enough towards each other all the same.

She shivered unconsciously as her mind passed over the unveiling of the wight, the thing terrified her almost beyond rational thought, but Tywin, well Tywin seemed, if not terrified, at least only concerned.

"Tywin?"

"Hrmmmm?" he asked, bending his head down to inhale the scent of her hair and plant a feather light kiss on the top of her head.

"That, that thing...you, you are going to show it to Danaerys Targaryen tomorrow aren't you?"

"Of course, ironically without the threat it represents she would burn us all to death in an instant..."

Something clenched inside of her, she was a Lannister now, the two lives growing in her belly were Lannister's, would this daughter of the Mad King see her and her babies dead in revenge? Did she even need to ponder what fate Tywin was likely to suffer should the girl become Queen, through peaceful or violent means?

"And, you think it will be enough Tywin..."

"No, probably not" he replied, a shocking weariness evident in her husband's voice.

Sansa twisted around, breaking the grip of his arms around her, her face flushed and angry in the darkness, her eyes seeking Tywin's. "And you, the Old Lion, the man about whom the 'Rains of Castamere' were penned, are going to let this happen? Let this, this...bitch, destroy you and your line?!"

A bubbling chuckle escaped Tywin's mouth, before it died and she could see his lips thin and set.

"No Sansa, of course not, but you must remember that the only thing that matters, the only thing, is that you survive. You carry the future of my House in your womb, and if I must die to ensure that you and our children will live, then I will pay that price, willingly..."

"No Tywin, please" she gasped, tears beginning to form at the corners of her eyes, a sour lump forming at the back of her throat.

"Sansa, you saw that thing, you know what it represents. The Long Night is real, the Army of the Dead is real, the Night King is real. The Great War is coming Sansa, the only War that matters, the war between the living and the dead. If any of us, any of us are to survive we need to be united and prepared...I...I became aware of this threat to Westeros shortly before the Battle of Blackwater Bay. Everything I have done since then...everything, was to prepare the realms of men for this threat. We must win Sansa, for if we lose, all of mankind will be wiped out, and this time forever."

"Tywin..." she sobbed, tears streaming down her face.

"Sansa, Sansa, I don't plan on letting that Targaryen girl kill me, and I plan on surviving the coming Long Night, which hopefully will be a short one... but, you must be brave, and you must realise that my chances of survival, no matter what, are not good..."

"Please don't say that Tywin, please?"

"Do you want me to delude you Sansa, tell you stories about valiant knights triumphing over evil, returning to wed their fair maidens? You are the Lady of a Great House; the wife of the Hand of the King, such foolishness is unbecoming of you..."

Sansa pivoted away from Tywin and flung herself into the mattress, curling into a ball and softly crying, pulling the thin blanket up over her.

Her husband did not reach out to comfort her; instead he got up out of bed and left their chambers, leaving her to cry her tears alone.

View in Thread

Last edited: Aug 16, 2020

Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!

What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...

Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter

Sbiper, Aug 16, 2020Report#2508Like+ QuoteReply

Andrei_Sokolov, Jiven, RedKing96 and 213 others like this.

Threadmarks: Varys V

View in Thread

Sbiper

Sbiper

Not too sore, are you?

Joined:Feb 6, 2018

Messages:476

Likes Received:49,767

Varys V

"I should have you killed here and now" the Targaryen girl said from where she sat resplendent upon the throne of Dragonstone, the two Lannister brothers standing before her. Dothraki and Unsullied guards ringed the throne room; both Lannister's were unarmed, though how Ser Jamie thought to fight with his right hand missing and the Imp, though brave, was no warrior, of that he was certain.

Ser Barristan Selmy, resplendent in white armour chased with red and black highlights, stood to the queens left, his hands folded before him.

"You could" replied the Imp in a casual manner, Varys pleased to see that Tyrion was keeping his fear in check.

"I could?" replied Daenerys icily "you make it sound like I require permission!"

"You do not" came back Tyrion's reply, as level and deadpan as the self styled Dragon Queen's was hot and angry.

"I could take Kings Landing even now, with my Dragons, my Dothraki and my Unsullied, I could be sitting atop the Iron Throne before the week is out!"

"You could, if you wanted to..." said Tyrion, seemingly unfazed by the girl's tirade "and yet you have not made any move to take Kings Landing, you sit here on Dragonstone, and you accept my father's offer of us" here he gestured to his taller and much handsomer brother standing one pace behind and one pace to the Imp's right.

"I have not accepted anything from your father Imp!" Daenerys hissed.

"Yet." Responded Tyrion evenly, stating the obvious.

Varys mentally prepared himself for the coming execution of the Lannister brothers, no doubt via dragonfire, much like Illyrio, his son and that fool Jon Connington. He had warned the Cheesemonger that the girl was, well how had he put it? Oh yes, 'convinced that the Iron Throne was hers by might and by right', and that she would have to be handled very carefully in regards to her introduction to the so called 'perfect Prince', supposedly Aegon Targaryen but in truth the fruit of Illyrio's own loins and a Blackfyre womb. But no, Illyrio has insisted and instead had turned up with 'Aegon', Jon Connington and a thousand of the Golden Company in tow.

It had gone as he had feared it would, Daenerys had reacted badly to the story that Illyrio had spun, of him becoming aware of the secret mission of Jon Connington, who had been supposedly charged by Rhaegar himself with spiriting his baby son out of Kings Landing. Of the Prince swapped with some smallfolk babe, the leavings of some nameless dragonseed apparently, who suffered to have its head bashed in by the Mountain that rides. Of how Jon Connington and his band of intrepid wayfarers had kept the boy safe, of how they spent their time training and schooling the boy, so that one day he might take back his birthright.

As the tale had gone on Varys had noticed Daenerys become more and more annoyed, more and more agitated with the whole affair. And then Illyrio had broached the subject of marriage, how Aegon and Daenerys should be married, so as to solidify their claim to the Iron Throne.

He had wondered what had possessed the Cheesemonger to make such an elementary mistake, why had his co-conspirator rushed things so? Had they worked together, had Illyrio not introduced the matter of marriage, maybe, then maybe all that was left of the Cheesmonger and his son would not be dragon shit somewhere in Essos.

Daenerys's eyes had blazed with fury at the mention of marriage, and she reminded Illyrio of the last time he was involved in matters pertaining to her hand. The Cheesmonger had deftly tried to deflect her anger and rage, but to no avail. His honeyed words had fallen on deaf ears, as had his increasingly shrill pleas and protestations that he was only ever a loyalist to the cause of the Dragons.

Daenerys had her Unsullised and Dothraki drag the Cheesmonger, Jon Connongton and the boy Aegon outside and her dragons swooped and landed at her side. The largest one, black of body and crimson of wing, who was named Drogon after the Dothraki husband whose funeral pyre had given birth to the dragons shuffled over to sniff at Aegon, the other two dragons also advanced, but kept to either side of Drogons considerable bulk.

Small growls and snorts issued from the beasts, enough to make any man's bowels turn to water, as evidenced by the stains spreading down the leg of Aegon's pants.

With a sudden roar, and a movement so swift that Varys scarce could credit it the three dragons reared backwards and unleashed three jets of liquid flame to bathe the Cheesemonger, his son and Lord Connington. Their terrible, souls searing screams were mercifully short, as they collapsed Drogon dived his great snout forwards and gobbled the three blazing figures in a single mouthful, rearing back up and throwing his head back to the sky, bellowing out a roar once he had swallowed the morsels that had once been father, son and deluded Lord.

"He was no Dragon, this so called 'Aegon'" said Daenerys in a cool, unemotional voice. "the Golden Company can remain in my service should they want, or they can depart, but not before swearing to never take up arms against me or mine."

The commanders of the Golden Company wisely took the knee then and there.

"Is he always this...difficult?" asked Daenerys, tilting her head to make eye contact with him, pulling him out of his reminiscences. The Golden Company was currently not on Dragonstone, it was gathered in Pentos, awaiting instructions to cross over to Westeros.

"Lord Tyrion is an accomplished wordsmith your Grace, and do not let his antics fool you. He is one of the smartest men I know."

Daenerys turned her face away from him, not giving any indication that she had even heard him. "Your father..." she said through gritted teeth "...has offered me the Seven Kingdoms, on the condition that I come to Kings Landing and meet with him and the High Lords of the Realm. If he thinks to convene a Great Council to decide the future ruler of Westeros he is sorely mistaken. What are my House's words Lord Tyrion?"

"Fire and Blood...your Grace" replied Tyrion Lannister, his voice wavering by only the slightest of degree.

"Yes, Fire and Blood, it will be for the best that the Lords of Westeros remember this..."

Varys dragged his mind back to the present, marching with a contingent of ten thousand Unsullied towards a bare field on the outskirts of Kings Landing. Said field was open and untilled, one could see all around for leagues, unobstructed by forest, buildings or undulations in the terrain. Off in the distance Kings Landing shimmered in the heat haze of the late afternoon, its walls indistinct. The great bulk of the Red Keep loomed over it, seeming to squat like a great dragon, lording over the city. No doubt an image planned by its original builders he mused.

Set in the field was a crimson pavilion, its walls absent, only its canopy giving shade and relief from the sun. Despite it being officially autumn the sun rode high in a cloudless sky, the temperature high enough to be slightly uncomfortable for Westeros.

With him marched the two Lannister brothers, slightly sullen and certainly less talkative than was usual, and if he was not mistaken he detected the definite undercurrent of fear in both men.

Probably not surprising given how if things did not go to plan, both would probably be dead by sundown. Though the central question remained – to whose 'plan' exactly did the brothers expect, or fear, would the meeting follow?

Was this a trap set by the Old Lion? His final revenge upon the Targaryen's for the decades of humiliation heaped upon him by Aerys the Mad? But if it was, it did not make sense to him? Why this meeting, in a place where a trap would be visible from leagues around? And what of the girl's three dragons, whom she would be bringing to this meeting, how would one deal with those beasts? Add to this the fact that the Old Lion, his wife, Lord Robb Stark and family, Lord Edmure and his wife, along with a coterie of Westerosi nobles would all be present.

And the Tyrell's – the Queen of Thorns and her granddaughter had apparently been thwarted from leaving Kings Landing by the Hand of the King, and were going to be present.

Speaking of which, he spied banners swaying in the distant heat haze, Dothraki riders approached a few minutes later, had a brief conversation in their guttural language with Greyworm, before wheeling off again, galloping away.

Greyworm nodded to him, all seemed to be in order, their erstwhile hosts were approaching it seemed, and with nothing to cause any concern from the commander of the Unsullied. Small parties of Dothraki fanned out all around their column, ever watchful and alive to the fact that everyone suspected some sort of a trap.

Reaching the pavilion, which was obviously owned by Tywin Lannister he gratefully stepped into the shade offered by its canopy, there were chairs arranged around three of its sides facing inwards, the fourth side was open.

A small number of servants were on hand, they directed them to one side and to be seated. As per the arrangements the Unsullied marched to stand in serried ranks behind were Varys had taken his seat, two dozen assorted Unsullied and Dothraki stood arrayed in the pavilion directly behind them, under instructions to be ready for any treachery, and to kill the two Lannister hostages as an absolute priority should betrayal rear its ugly head.

Despite his best efforts he had been unable to learn much from either Lannister brother, the smaller one was far too clever to reveal anything of use, the handsomer one was too stupid to even realise what Varys was seeking. For he was seeking the real reason for this, well for this mummers farce set in a field several leagues from the walls of Kings Landing, for that was what it was. Both sides were not, could not be ignorant of what the other desired, and that those desires were utterly at odds with one another. And yet...and yet, something tickled at the mind of the Spider, something that he disliked intensely, the simple fact that he did not know exactly what Lord Tywin was up too. His actions on the face of it made little sense, based on everything he knew of the man, but...with the Lady Sansa with child and with Tywin apparently prepared to offer up his life in return for that of his family and a peaceful restoration of Targaryen power? Mayhaps the Old Lion was being pragmatic in the face of insurmountable odds? Or was Tywin Lannister playing another game entirely? One which he frustratingly only had the barest glimmers of? His agents had reported that Lord Robb had brought something in a largish crate with him from the North, the contents of which his agents had not been able to verify. But whose contents had apparently terrified all those who saw it. Varys was greatly troubled by all of this – and he had advised Daenerys show caution in dealing with Lord Tywin, he chuckled at this - 'caution!' Hah! An understatement if ever there was one. That he could offer no more insights into the Old Lion's motives beyond speculation had lessened his usefulness in Daenerys's eyes, of that he was certain.

His musings were broken by the arrival of the party from Kings Landing, a grim faced lot, and that for once was not just the Northerners either.

King Tommen was accompanied by his Grandfather, who in turn was accompanied by his wife, his good brother Robb Stark, his wife and Lord Brandon Stark, obvious by the wheeled chair he was being pushed in, by a rather stern, if sad faced girl. And speaking of stern and sad, Lady Catelyn Stark was also present, looking ill at ease and frankly like she wished to be anywhere but here.

The rest of the northerners consisted of a smattering of what might be Lords, he was unsure due to their style of dress; Black Brothers from the Nights Watch, and what he was sure were Wildlings, of all things. Sandor Celgane, the Hound was present, apparently sworn to the Service of Lady Sansa, an unusual move he had to admit, and one his agents had yet to more fully probe and understand, given the Hound's admitted hostility to the Lannisters.

Lord Edmure, his wife and a coterie of Riverlander Lords was next, then a smattering of Stormlands and Crownlands Lords rounded out the ensemble. Well not quite, a Red Priestess, one Melisandre of Asshai was standing confidently, nay brazenly, towards the front of the group. And skulking at the back, seeming to be part of the contingent of the Nights Watch, though not wearing their garb, was who he assumed to be Jon Snow, Ned Stark's bastard son. Who was supposed to be a Brother of the Nights watch, though Varys was adept enough to notice that the bastard was holding himself apart from those of the Nights Watch. His manner of doing so was subtle enough, but readily apparent to Varys's eyes.

And then there were the Tyrell's, Olenna and Margarey, accompanied by a small contingent of Tyrell guards, among whom were Lady Olenna's personal guards, named 'left' and 'right', and Ser Loras Tyrell. The Tyrell's were keeping their distance from the Lannisters, that much was obvious to him, and that spoke volumes in his mind. The alliance between the two Houses was on rocky ground, or so it appeared...Willas Tyrell was as yet unwed, mayhaps there was an opportunity there, and Daenerys would need a husband would she not? And then who better than the heir of the largest kingdom in the realm? Hopefully she would not burn this particular suitor for her hand...

"Jamie, Tyrion" said Lord Tywin, approaching them, breaking his train of thought, wearing his trademark crimson and black garb, Varys supposed that the fact that the Lannister Lord was not wearing armour could be construed as a good sign, or so he hoped.

"We are well father, thank you so much for asking after our health and wellbeing" replied the littlest Lannister Lord, biting acid evident in his voice.

The Lord Hand did not even spare his youngest son a glance at this outburst, his gold flecked green eyes instead holding his, staring with the Old Lion's usual glaring intensity.

"Lord Varys" the Old Lion growled, dipping his head by the merest fraction.

"My Lord Lannister" he replied, giving a rather deeper bow in response, but not using Tywin's title of Hand of the King deliberately, a small, petty thing, but nonetheless the merest of slights.

"I assume that Daenerys Stormborm will be arriving atop a dragon, with her other two dragons in tow?" the Old Lion asked, his tone of voice indicating little real interest in the answer. Varys nearly smiled at Tywin's lack of use of Daenerys's royal titles, a subtle rejoinder to him not using the Lannister Lord's title as Hand of the King.

"Indeed, my Queen does like to make an entrance" he smiled back at Tywin Lannister, his face split into a grin that did not reach his eyes.

"She's late" replied the Old Lion, before he turned away from him and strode back towards his party.

"What a colossal cunt" he heard Tyrion Lannister whisper under his breath.

View in Thread

Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!

What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...

Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter

Sbiper, Aug 21, 2020Report#2534Like+ QuoteReply

Andrei_Sokolov, RedKing96, cokesmoke23 and 268 others like this.

Threadmarks: Tyrion XVIII

View in Thread

Sbiper

Sbiper

Not too sore, are you?

Joined:Feb 6, 2018

Messages:476

Likes Received:49,767

Tyrion XVIII

"This, this is...strange do you not think father?" he asked, pausing in eating his meal to say what had been on his mind, taking a sip of wine to wet his throat. Just a sip mind you, seeing as how he was living under his father's roof again the Old Lion not only disapproved of his drinking, but actively restricted his access to wine, spirits and beer.

"How so?" asked his father in response, the rather dim candle light in the small dining room casting his father's face into half shadow.

Jamie was not present, as was usual. Despite having been removed from the Kingsguard he showed little inclination to commence his duties as heir to Casterly Rock, and his father seemed equally uninterested in having his first born assume this role. Which was a definitive change in the Old Lion's previous obsession with Jamie as his heir, and which confirmed Tyrion's belief that the Old Lion had indeed cast aside Jamie as his heir. And him also he noted sourly, he was effectively removed from the line of succession by having been named Lord of Rosby, with his wife the Lady of said same seat.

"This...no longer living in the Red Keep, you no longer Hand, all of us under, how did you put it? Oh yes 'House Arrest'?"

"The surroundings are comfortable enough and certainly of sufficient standards for you?" came the usual growl of a reply.

The house where the Lannister clan in Kings Landing now resided was their usual Town House, with the Starks being housed in one of the properties formerly owned by the late Master of Coin, Lord Baelish. The property where the Starks resided was much larger and more luxurious than the property that the Lannister's had owned for nigh on three centuries in Kings Landing, and was actually secretly owned by them following the dismemberment and absorption of Baelish's empire by him, with his father's tacit support. That not all of Baelish's ill gotten gains had been made public had allowed him and his father to siphon off quite a bit of Baelish's wealth. At first Tyrion had not understood why his father had done this, the Lannister's in general and his father in particular were leagues wealthier than Baelish, and had no need of the sums or properties Baelish had accumulated through graft, theft and deceit. But those funds of Baelish were separate from the acknowledged sources of Lannister wealth, and could come in handy in an emergency, such as like now.

He considered his next words, before deciding that it did not really matter one way or the other.

"We sit here, effectively trapped, while our new Queen listens to the words of her Small Council, none of them friendly to the Lannister's, indeed her Hand, Prince Oberyn is actively hostile. How can you be sure that Daenerys will not renege on her words father? Or that Prince Oberyn will not decide that he has had enough of waiting for his vengeance, and don't fob me off with the heads of Lorch and the Mountain; he won't be satisfied until he has your head!"

His father continued eating, seeming to ignore him until he said "tell me again Tyrion what happened in the Great Sept of Baelor two turns of the moon ago?"

"Daenerys of House Targaryen was crowned the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."

"And?"

"And? All present bent the knee to her..."

"Before that Tyrion, what happened before that, what allowed the girl to be crowned Queen, and for her subjects to kneel?"

He noticed the specific emphasis his father put on the word subject. "Daenerys of House Targaryen acknowledged her father's sins and absolved all the Houses involved in Robert's Rebellion from blame..."

"You are leaving out the most important bit Tyrion...I wonder why?" asked the Old Lion, his voice low, yet carrying the menace that his very being seemed to radiate.

"Daenerys instructed that all be bound over to her peace as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. And that none shall break it to settle any slights, oaths or claim vengeance resulting from any acts carried out during the Rebellion."

"Good, you do remember..."

How could he forget he mused, the great and the good assembled in the Great Sept, the smell of incense filling the air, cloyingly sweet, almost gagging so heavy was the air with its scent. All of them watching as a slip of a girl was crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, the sounds of her dragons roaring and screeching in the air above Kings Landing clearly audible inside the vast, cool, echoing, marble clad space of the Great Sept.

Said Dragons had set up shop as it were in Kings Landing; the largest one Drogon had made the lower bailey of the Red Keep its lair, to be near its mistress no doubt. The green hued one, Rhaegal now nested in the ruins of the Dragon pit, its varied previous occupants removed by a combination of the beasts own presence, its dragonfire, and by the Unsullied for the more stubborn, or stupid salubrious former residents of the vast, ruined structure. The third Dragon, Viserion, who had a distinctly blue tinge to his scales and wings, seemed to prefer to roost among the towers and arched rooftops of the Great Sept itself.

Apparently the High Septon was none too pleased with this, but was terrified to say anything, from what Tyrion had gathered the Great Sept appeared to be able to accommodate the beast's weight, at least for now anyway.

And yes, oaths had been spoken, vows had been said, but Tyrion did not trust mere words, even those said in a Sept, before crowds of Lords...But his father seemed to think it was sufficient, and maybe it was. If Daenerys broke her word she would lose the support of many, and with the North, the Riverlands and the Westerlands now tied together by marriage, she should be wary about moving against his father. But she had the Reach and Dorne behind her, a powerful Army in the form of the Unsullied and the Dothraki, both of whom were beholden to her and her alone. And that was before one factored in her Dragons...as he had oft reminded himself, the Blackfyre rebellions only started a generation after the last dragons had died out.

But something was nagging at his mind, something whose shape and meaning remained stubbornly elusive – his father was not, as he was wont to remind people, an 'honourable man', and Tyrion could not see the true course of action his father was taking. He did not believe for one second that his father was taking the words said under oath before the High Septon and the Most Devout on face value, the Old Lion had to assume that these would be broken. As to when they would be broken, by whom and under what extenuating circumstances he could not say – though he had his own strong suspicions on that matter.

And now with Lady Sansa having pupped her twins a mere three weeks ago, his dear father had two more heirs of his body. Small enough things, two boys, strong lunged though, both green of eye, the eldest blonde of hair while the younger sported a darker coloured mop of wispy hair atop his head.

The twins were named Patryk and Brynden, strangely non-Lannister names he mused, but no one had the wit, inclination, or stupidity to remark on this in his father's presence. Lady Sansa had not gone 'into confinement' as some had proposed, including his father's personal Maester, who had been removed from his post as acting Grand Maester even before the Dragon Queen's arrival. Olenna Tyrell had Lord Mace's uncle Gormon Tyrell installed as Grand Maester shortly after the 'Four Wedding's after a Funeral' that some wags referred to the events after Joffrey's death.

But the Old Tyrell hag's victory had been short lived, Grand Maester Gormon had been recalled to the Citadel under mysterious circumstances and Grand Maester Marwyn replaced the Tyrell stooge.

Tyrion liked the new Grand Maester, he was a fine conversationalist and he shared his passion for all things dragon, as well as being quick of phrase and of mind. Unlike Gormon who had seemed terribly dull, and as much a Tyrell lickspittle as Pycelle had been a Lannister one.

The Lady Sansa was still recovering from the ordeal of birthing, but she was up and about and though she had not formally returned to her duties as the Lady of the Westerlands, it was likely that she would do so very soon. Like most new mothers the girl had seemed a little overwhelmed by the whole thing at first, but that hidden steel that the girl had soon came to the fore. Unlike his dammed Frey wife, who seemed to spend her days either crying and shutting herself away or dotting on their son, denying, or at least trying to deny him access to the boy. And with no job to occupy his mind he was bored senseless, though the expectation that they would all be murdered in a spectacularly gruesome way, maybe even by dragonfire, did give him some respite from the boredom.

The army of Red Cloaks that had backed up his father's power as Hand was gone, dispersed back to the Westerlands and replaced by the Unsullied and the newly recreated Gold Cloaks, with Lord Randyl Tarley as their Lord Commander. That was yet another coup for the Reach, already having Garth Hightower as Master of Coin. Varys of course retained his position as Master of Whispers with Adrian Celtiger filling the position of Master of Ships. Barristan the Bold was the Lord Commander of the Queeensguard, though that institution was only three knights strong currently.

At least his father was called to the Red Keep regularly enough, to discuss the preparations for what was being referred to as the 'second war for the dawn', and of course he had his duties as Warden of the West and those of a father to newborns to occupy him.

"And how is my goodmother, the Lady Sansa?"

"She is fine, she is young, healthy and strong, she will be back to fulfil her duties soon."

"And my little half brothers?"

"Doing well also, Sansa insists on feeding them herself, something which I approve of."

"Oh?"

"Wet nurses are an expedient when needed, but the milk of its mother is best for a baby. I don't want the milk of some smallfolk chit being all that nourishes my sons when they are babes."

"Speaking of children...I hear rumours that our new Queen in barren..."

"Do you now?" replied his father, barely condescending to give him the merest glance. Tyrion's mind whirled at this response, did his father give credence to the rumours, or did he have proof he wondered?

When his father said no more on the topic, and looked like he would not be drawn further Tyrion he returned his attention to his plate and finishing the meal before him. Typical Westerlander fare this time, a good, rich porter and beef stew, thickly sauced and filled with hearty vegetables and good chunks of tender beef. Roasted potatoes and freshly baked bread accompanied the meal, along with beer and wine, though so little wine he lamented, the carafe of red was small, barely enough to fill his glass twice, maybe three times.

His father was drinking a pale golden beer, apparently Bealish had owned the largest brewery in Kings Landing and his father, as its new owner had been experimenting with different types of beer. The beer his father was drinking went by the strange name of Urquell pilsner, and it was apparently selling in such quantities that the brewery could not keep up with the demand.

He had sampled the product and it was to his liking, refreshingly tart yet not too bitter and with just a hint of sweetness. The foamy head it displayed upon pouring made it very distinctive, as did the fact that the beer could retain this foamy head much longer than other beers. He had taken a tour of the brewery with his father once, marvelling at how the Old Lion could converse with the Master Brewer on such subjects as decoction mashing, Lautering and other such ridiculous sounding terms that obviously related to brewing.

For desert there was a selection of fresh fruit, peaches, figs, plums and apricots. Tyrion passed up on the fruit, while his father took several of each to consume, eating in that deliberate, slightly fastidious way of his.

"Out with it Tyrion, you are glowering, something troubles you" Tywin said after finishing his fruit and pushing the small plate with the assorted stones and discarded skins.

"You, you are plotting something...I know it..."

"This is the Great Game Tyrion, one is always plotting, if one wants to survive..."

"No, there is...there is something more to this...this time. These, these wights and what you believe is coming..."

..."I don't believe it Tyrion, I know it!" hissed his father, interrupting him.

"Nevertheless, though they complicate things, they do not alter the...fundamentals of the Great Game. There is more to this than I can see. And I hope for your sake, and all our sakes, that our enemies cannot see what is so plainly obvious to you father."

"What drives me Tyrion, what motivates me, above and beyond anything else?" his father asked him, the Old Lion's face neutral and composed looking, but his eyes glared with their usual frightening intensity.

Tyrion decided to be flippant, not knowing why the sudden urge to throw caution to the wind came over him. No, that was untrue; he knew what was making a sour lump of bile sit in the back of his throat. It was the birth of Sansa's twins and what he knew they represented, one of them would inherit Casterly Rock. His hopes were forever dashed by their birth, even though he had been confirmed the Lord of Rosby, and by none other than Queen Daenerys herself, it was not the same.

"To be right all the fucking time, and to make everyfucking body aware of it..."

"Really? I prefer to think of it as putting the interests of House Lannister first, before my own, selfish desires and wants."

Tyrion could not stop his face from twisting into the veneer of a smile that was more a grimace in truth "Only it's easy for you to be utterly devoted to family, when you are making all the decisions!" he retorted, irony and sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"Easy for me, is it?" asked his father, his voice strangely harsh.

"When have you ever done something, anything, which was not in your interest, but solely for the benefit of the family!" he spat back, a reckless courage making him feel slightly light headed.

"The day that you were born!" his father replied, every word harshly bitten off, anger and something Tyrion could not quite recognise harshening and roughening the Old Lion's voice.

"I wanted to carry you into the sea, and let the waves wash you away. Instead, I let you live, to honour your mothers last request that I not kill you. And I did that, I brought you up, because you're a Lannister!"

Tyrion wanted to recoil from the sheer anger and pain projecting from his father, noticing that his eyes were moist, though they lost nothing of the intensity of their customary glare.

He sat there stunned until his father got up from the table and picked up his chair, moving it and setting it down right beside his. Tyrion gulped involuntarily, not knowing what was about to happen, his mind awhirl with terrifying thoughts.

"Let me tell you a tale Tyrion, a tale of a rebellion based on a lie, of a bastard who never was, and of a Prince that was promised" whispered his father.

View in Thread

Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!

What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...

Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter

Sbiper, Aug 28, 2020Report#2560Like+ QuoteReply

Andrei_Sokolov, RedKing96, Pilatypus and 256 others like this.

Threadmarks: Jon II

View in Thread

Sbiper

Sbiper

Not too sore, are you?

Joined:Feb 6, 2018

Messages:476

Likes Received:49,767

Okay - I have a confession to make - this chapter should have been posted before Tyrion XVIII

Apologies, my bad, anyway, here's the chapter;

Jon II

Jon resisted the urge to pull at his collar, sweating in the heat, despite the shade provided by the crimson canopy above him. His new clothes, a gift from his sister Lady Sansa of all people, though light, comfortable and of better quality than anything he had ever owned, made him feel, well, conspicuous. It was not helped by the fact that Ser Loras Tyrell had started making eyes at him, just like Sansa had predicted!

He cast his mind back to yesterday, keen to take his mind off the seemingly interminable wait for this supposed Dragon Queen and her three magical beasts.

After arriving in Kings Landing by sea, and with the unique stench of the city seeming to clog his nose, he had met the notables of the Red Keep, and then swiftly they were shown the wight, along with Lord Tywin explaining his role in its capture.

Afterwards he had been shown to the quarters assigned to him, bigger and more lavishly appointed than anything he had ever experienced before. His awe at the place was broken by the entrance of his sister Sansa, who was accompanied by a gaggle of servants carrying bundles of what appeared to be cloth. The great, scarred bulk of the Hound gave him a look that seemed to indicate pity and a little amusement, before he left and no doubt took up station outside his door.

"Sansa?" he asked, giving her a bow worthy of her station, for she was no longer just his sister anymore, that girl was gone and replaced by what looked to his mind every inch a southron Lady.

"Jon" she replied evenly, her tone cool and formal.

"What can I do for you my Lady?" he asked, suddenly very wary for some unexplained reason.

"None of this 'my Lady' Jon, you are my brother, I am your sister, we are not in public and do not need to maintain the expected norms..." Sansa replied, a mischievous smile suddenly twisting her lips.

"erhhhh, ummmhhh..." was all he could say in reply.

"Now, to business, we cannot have you meeting the Hand of the King looking like that!"

"Like what?" he asked, surprise making his voice rise in pitch and tone.

"This is Kings Landing, you will be at Court while you are here, as a brother of the wife of the Hand of the King, there are certain standards to be maintained..."with this Sansa gestured to the servants, what Jon had originally thought to be bundles of cloth turned out to be clothes instead. And more clothes than Jon reckoned he had ever owned in all his life "Sansa...I cannot..." he said, his voice sounding lame to his own ears.

"You can and you will, I paid for all this from the allowance Tywin gives me, it's the least I can do, and it makes sure that Tywin does not get into one of his moods when he thinks he is being slighted..."

"Tywin..." Jon said, the name strange on his tongue, he looked at Sansa, the query writ upon his face.

His sister quirked up a delicate eyebrow, despite her belly being swollen with child, or with two of them in this case, Sansa still retained enough of the looks of that little girl he had last seen in Winterfell. Robb had told him of all that had happened to her, of her admission of guilt in the matter of his father's death, and of how she had insisted on punishing herself for this, with her marriage to Lord Tywin.

Sansa did not look like she was being punished much to Jon's mind; his sister was dressed in clothes that probably cost more than some whole villages in the North would see in a year of honest work. She was married to arguably the most powerful man in Westeros, carrying his heirs in her womb, no; Sansa had done alright for herself. Maybe it was not the fairytale that she had dreamed of but still...

"Yes Tywin Lannister, the Old Lion...not that old though" she smiled, letting her gaze fall to her pregnant belly, Jon feeling colour rush to his face.

"Anyways, take these clothes in the spirit they are offered, wear them, they will be more practical and comfortable than anything you have now, especially those furs you seem so fond of. It will make you fit in much better at court, and will be sure to set the young maidens tongues a wagging...and to catch the eyes of a certain 'Knight of Flowers!"

"Sansa!" he stuttered in reply, not knowing what to say.

"Hush now Jon...and don't dawdle, the Lord Hand is waiting for you."

"He is?" he asked, his voice coming out as a squeak despite his best efforts.

"Yes, best not to be late, Lord Tywin does not like it when one is late..."

And so he had found himself in the Solar of the Lord Hand, wearing his new clothes, and feeling nervous. As to what he had to be nervous about he did not know, he had faced the Night King, killed wights, wildlings and Others, why did he feel nervous standing before the Old Lion, who was busy writing at his desk.

Looking up Lord Tywin bid him sit, as the Lord Hand finished his missive, he then rose, poured Jon and himself a goblet of well watered wine, before seating himself behind his desk.

Silence stretched between them, Jon feeling the increasing pressure to say something, anything, until finally he cracked "My Lord Hand, on behalf of the Nights Watch I..."

"I've never met a man who rose from the dead before" interjected Lord Tywin, his voice low yet powerful, reducing his rushed babbling to silence, though Jon could not escape seeing something briefly flash across the face of the Old Lion, something strange, wistful even.

"My, my Lord?" he stuttered in reply.

"Lady Melisandre says she did not bring you back, that her god of fire did, but nevertheless, you were dead, killed by your own traitorous brothers, with the scars of your stab wounds under your shirt to prove it...and yet here you are before me..."

"My Lord, I..."

"There is nothing to say young Snow, I know what happened to you, I know of the wights, the Army of the Dead, the Night King, the coming Long Night...I know it all" the Old Lion said, his voice rumbling and powerful, the voice of a man used to command, a man used to having his every word listened to and obeyed.

"Is that...is that why you supported the Nights Watch, sent us supplies?"

"Of course, it's why I ended the stupid war that was tearing Westeros apart as soon as I humanly could, with a cost to me that many fools thought was too high. I am bound to House Stark, as Houses Stark and Tully are bound to me, House Tyrell might even stop its ceaseless plotting for the merest scrap of advantage and also join with House Baratheon. For the Great War is coming Jon Snow, and we will either beat the dead together or lose separately."

Jon nodded his head at this, still amazed that this man believed in things that he had previously not seen, and who he was in debt to, much as it pained him to admit.

"The Red Witch is not the only one gifted with visions of the future young Snow, I was struck down by a vision myself, probably from the Old Gods, as I travelled from Harenhall to Kings Landing to confront Lord Stannis. I saw many things Jon Snow, things from the future, things from the here and now, and things from the past..."

Jon suddenly found himself tensing, the very air in the room seemingly to be charged with something, something of terrible import.

"As my wife is fond of telling me, I am not an honourable man" at this Jon hissed in his breath, noticing that a small smile briefly lit Lord Tywin's face at the mention of Sansa "but what I am is a man who cares for his family, and for what family represents Jon Snow. And I am prepared to do whatever it takes so that my family survives, my sons, my relatives, and my wife, your sister. Understand this young Snow, if you understand nothing else...and so we come to you, and who you are..."

"I'm a bastard..." he replied automatically, almost without thinking.

Lord Tywin moved his head to one side, seeming to consider him; his gold flecked emerald gaze holding him like a lion would hold its prey, staring with an intensity that made Jon want to flee the room.

"What do people say of Lannister's Jon Snow?" he eventually asked, the Old Lion's voice steady and even a little quiet in the silence of his solar.

Jon thought about it for a second or two "that you always pay your debts?"

"Indeed...though I may not be an honourable man I swear on the blood of my unborn children that I will never ask of you anything dishonourable Jon Snow."

He sat there for a second or two, his mind spinning and whirling, unable to make sense of what the Old Lion was saying.

"I have need of you Jon Snow, to work with me, to help us defeat the Night King and his Army of the Dead, to turn back the Long Night. But though I need your strong sword arm and you skill as a warrior, we first have to unite the seven Kingdoms. And for that we will need politics, a skill which you Starks are sadly lacking in. I will need you to do my bidding on several matters, without others knowing that you answer to my command in this respect. And in return, when you have completed your tasks on my behalf I will tell you the name of your mother..."

A distant screech broke Jon's train of thought; another answering screech quickly followed the first, and then a third. He had never heard such a sound before, the crowd gathered under the canopy of the pavilion stirred and shifted in their seats. Outside a shriek of "dragons!" tore at the air, an instant hubbub of voices rapidly soared to a mad scramble to get out from under the tents crimson roof and see for themselves. He spied Lady Olenna Tyrell swiping about her with her walking stick, to clear herself a passage to the open air, others equally undignified in the race to spy the legendary beasts of Old Valyria.

The party of Daenerys Targayren did not move at the sound, likewise the Old Lion stayed seated, not even a muscle moving in response to a new series of bellowing roars as in the distance before the tent three dragons alighted on the ground. Upon landing the three beasts roared out what seemed to Jon like challenges, daring anyone to dispute them the right of being the supreme beasts of war.

In truth Jon near swooned at the sight, real, actual dragons... from the central one, a hulking black and red brute a tiny, silver haired figure dismounted and strode towards them. Behind the girl the three dragons launched themselves back into the air to the accompaniment of deafening roars and screeches, and three gouts of flame, one from each dragon.

As the girl drew closer Jon studied her, she was tiny, petite, yet despite her obviously young age she had the figure of a woman, in near perfect proportions for her stature. The nearer she got the more Jon could see of her features, their almost unearthly perfection, the sculpted planes of her face, her plump, red lips. Large violet eyes blinked as she looked around, her face showing only cool interest, her silver golden hair done up in a complicated braid arrangement. She wore riding leathers that clung to her legs, a long woollen coat that reached to mid thigh covering her torso. Without stopping she took her place among her people, a sash of silver links, looking to Jon's eyes like dragon bones was worn across her chest, from her right shoulder to her left hip, the clasp at the top of the chain that held her dark red cloak was fashioned as three dragon heads.

Servants scurried around with platters of bread and salt, offering everyone to partake in the tradition of guest right, which everyone did.

With this ritual completed the servants beat a hasty retreat, leaving the assembled Lords, Ladies, Knights, King and potential Queen to stare at each other uneasily.

Lord Tywin broke the silence "we have been here for some time" he remarked, his face stony and unreadable.

"My apologies" the Targaryen girl replied, her voice liquid and as beautiful sounding as her face was looking. Jon scolded himself, he was a bastard, best not to let his thoughts fixate on this Daenerys of House Targaryen, but there was something about her that drew his attention, something he could not help but feel. And below this, a snarling, wild rage at the thoughts of this girl being forever denied to him by virtue of his lowly birth.

"We are a group of people who do not like one another, we have suffered at each other's hands, though some more than others I will admit. If all we wanted was more of the same there would be no need for this gathering. Daenerys Targaryen seeks to reclaim the Iron Throne, with three Dragons and almost the same number of troops as her illustrious forbearer, who would dare stand against her? Who would risk their life, their legacy to another 'field of fire'?"

"And yet here we are Lord Tywin, meeting with the supposed intent of settling our differences and all living in harmony afterwards?" asked the Targaryen girl, her voice strained and angry, but at the same time its timbre was strangely appealing to Jon. He knew of what Lord Tywin Lannister did to Princess Elia and her babes, and he would not begrudge the girl her vengeance were he in her place. Even with the promise from Lord Tywin to reveal who his mother was. And on that very point, why was Lord Tywin waiting to tell him, his mother was likely dead, probably some smallfolk lass, or maybe even a whore, why was the Old Lion holding it over him? Before his mind could ponder this more the Lord Hand spoke again.

"This is not about living in harmony; it is just about living. The same thing is coming for all of us. A general you cannot negotiate with, an army that does not need food or shelter, that does not leave corpses behind on the battlefield. This city contains a million souls, give or take a few thousand, and they are about to become a million more soldiers in the Army of the Dead."

"I imagine that for some that might be an improvement?" quipped the dragon girl, her face twisted into a snarl, which made her even more beautiful in Jon Snow's eyes.

"This is serious, I would not be here if it were not serious" growled the Old Lion in reply.

"I don't think this is serious at all, I think this is a trick, some convoluted delaying tactic on your part Lord Tywin. You have asked me here, to discuss matter of state, to have the usurper who currently sits on my throne step down, to allow me to take 'peacefully' what is mine by rights?"

Jon felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise up at this, as the sounds of dragon roars reached his ears. Something in him screamed at him to run, to get away, but he could not, he was rooted to the spot, observing the staring match between the slip of a sliver haired girl and the Old Lion. Neither was willing to break eye contact, both glaring at each other with a hate and anger that seemed to almost be a physical thing.

"There is likely no conversation that could erase the last half decade...but we have something to show you" said the Lannister Lord, who gestured with his hand, his hard gaze never leaving the Targaryen girl's eyes.

At this Jon stepped forwards and out into the space before the assembled High Born of Westeros to play one of his roles as ordained by Lord Tywin.

"And who is this?" asked the girl, eyeing him coolly, her gaze finally averted from Lord Tywin's by his movement.

"This is Jon Stark, perviously Jon Snow and also former Lord Commander of the Nights Watch."

"Former Lord Commander? And how does that work exactly" asked the tiny form of Lady Olenna Tyrell "the vows of the Nights Watch are for life, are they not?"

"During the recent unpleasantness in Westeros Lord Rob Stark, as King in the North and the Riverlands signed a decree that legitimised Jon Snow, absolved him of his vows to the Nights Watch and made him his heir. As Lord Robb is no longer a King and has an infant son the second part of that same decree is now null and void. The first and second parts however still have legal force, and there is precedent from before the time of the Iron Throne whereby a Stark King can revoke the oaths of a Black Brother" replied Lord Tywin to the Queen of Thorns, who looked sour and pinched at the reply she received.

Eight men carried the crate that the wight was imprisoned in into the tent, wildlings and Black brothers, setting it down in the middle before all. Tormund gently slid the restraining bolts back from its lid, before giving it a quick kick to tip it over towards were the Targaryen girl sat.

The wight burst out from its confinement to the shocked gasps and screams of the assembled crowd. Well at least those who were not aware of the things existence. Screching and hissing it launched itself towards Daenerys, Tormund and several Black Brothers grasping at the chains that led back from its sprinting form, pulling it up short with a jerk before it reached the silver haired girl.

Screaming and waling the thing thrashed about in a frenzy, before turning back to rush at the men holding its chains. Tormund drew his axe and as it went to leap at him, hands outstretched like claws he swung his weapon, bisecting the wight. If it had stunk before, the stench as its rotten bowels emptied was simply horrendous, he heard several people gag and retch at the reek emanating from the thing. It still wriggled and thrashed about on the ground, hissing and screeching piteously, trying to drag its torso along towards the nearest living being.

Ser Davos stepped out of the crowd, handing him a burning brand, he took it and set the wights lower torso and legs alight, its limbs burning with a strange fierceness, rapidly consuming the leathery flesh of the wight.

"We can destroy them by burning them, and we can destroy them with Dragon glass" he said, his eyes finding the purple ones of the Targaryen girl, holding them with his gaze, never wanting to tear his eyes away from hers, drowning in their violet depths. "If we don't win this fight, then that" he gestured behind him to where the remains of the wight trashed and hissed "is the fate of every person in the world."

Taking two steps back and to the side he reached down and grabbed the wights arm and lifting its torso up he stabbed it with a dragon glass dagger, instantly cutting of its waling. Dropping the corpse to the ground Jon advanced towards the girl, his eyes once more finding hers and feeling their magnetic pull.

Coming to a stop a mere two feet from Daenerys Targaryen he nodded to her, before saying "There is only one war that matters, one struggle that we should concern ourselves with, The Great War, and it is here."

View in Thread

Last edited: Aug 29, 2020

Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!

What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...

Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter

Sbiper, Aug 29, 2020Report#2583Like+ QuoteReply

Andrei_Sokolov, Jiven, RedKing96 and 243 others like this.

Threadmarks: Sansa XX

View in Thread

Sbiper

Sbiper

Not too sore, are you?

Joined:Feb 6, 2018

Messages:476

Likes Received:49,767

Sansa XX

Sansa glanced over at her husband, noticing his eyes rove back and forth, back and forth, ignoring what was going on around him, his eyes fixed on the sight before them.

Winterfell loomed in the distance, atop the hill that allowed it to dominate the slightly rolling countryside it sat in. Before them in the middle distance Wintertown straggled, its untidy assemblage of rather variegated buildings looking, well, untidy to her eyes. An unexpected feeling of embarrassment crept up from the depths of her mind, at the rather poor look of Wintertown, how it looked ramshackle, its appearance made worse by a sea of Wildling tents and lean-to's that seemed to cover the snowy land around Wintertown.

Beyond this Winterfell proper sat against a slate grey sky, dark and brooding, looking every inch the plain, severe fortress that it was.

Winterfell was no southern keep, for it made little concession to style or ornamentation, it was designed to survive winter and be a defensible home for the Starks, nothing else. It was no fancy statement of wealth or power, no glorified Toll House or barracks to control fertile plains; no Winterfell was something else entirely.

Tywin had been studying the plans of Winterfell on the trip north, often muttering to himself long into the night, pouring over plans, elevations, and maps of the environs of Winterfell. Tywin was a military man and he was obviously making sure he knew the strengths and weaknesses of Winterfell to withstand a siege.

But this had confused Sansa at first, though she was no expert on military matters she understood that what confronted them was not a normal Army, and it was one that had no use for territory as such, and even less for castles or keeps. If they holed up in Winterfell all they would be doing was asking for the Night King and his Army to starve and freeze them to death.

She had voiced this to Tywin one evening in their tent; he had turned to her in the semi darkness and had whispered "how long did it take you to figure that out?"

"Not, not long Tywin. This, this seems like madness, like we are walking into a trap?" she had whispered back, unable to keep fear from her voice, cuddling into Tywin to huddle against his warmth, his bulk.

"We are, walking into a trap that is, but we have our own trap, inside the trap the enemy hopes to set for us..."

Tywin refused to be drawn further on this matter, much to her frustration, so she had dropped the matter entirely. The Stark contingent that had been forced to remain in Kings Landing was also marching north with them, now that she was also a mother her and Cerenna had deepened their friendship further. The former Lannister girl was a no-nonsense, practical young woman, with a lively wit and sharp enough tongue when it suited her. Her brother Robb was obviously content with his southern wife, as was her uncle Edmure, who had joined then in the northern Riverlands, again with his wife and newborn children in tow. His wife had born him twin girls, and Edmure did not seem too disappointed that his wife had yet to provide him with sons and heirs.

Unlike her, for she had provided her Lord husband with two fine heirs, her sons were in the care of their nannies and wetnurses a way back, riding in a carriage and probably fast asleep. She did feed them herself, at least twice a day, and often rode in the carriage with them, but she preferred riding beside Tywin if she was honest. Clad in riding leathers, cloaked in crimson, now lined with fur to ward off the chill of the North, Sansa liked having the chance to spend time with Tywin. She found that as they had journeyed north he had become more talkative, more likely to make 'small talk' and less likely to just talk about matters pertaining to either the Lannister family or the upcoming conflict.

They had been nigh on six weeks on the road now, with Queen Daenerys, her Small Council, her Unsullied and Dothraki, her dragons and an increasing number of the bannermen of various Lords. It was the Army that was to fight the so called 'Army of the Dead' and its numbers seemed to swell every day they marched.

Conspicuously absent were the Lords of the Westerlands and the Red Cloaks, they were either coming by sea or were at least a week behind the main body of the Army. This was on deliberate orders from the Small Council and the Queen, ostensibly to prevent any 'trouble', but Sansa knew it was a slight to House Lannister.

The Tyrell's were absent, ostensibly having gone to raise their banners in the Reach, but she suspected otherwise. Tywin was strangely uncommunicative on the matter of the lack of Tyrell's present. But she knew enough of her husband's moods to know that he was not one bit impressed with their absence.

Also absent were the Dornish levies, they were coming by ship and would land at White Harbour and march to Winterfell from there.

Lord Tywin was accorded a small measure of respect due to the work he had done in preparing the realm for this new and terrible war, not least his provision of dragonglass for their army. Spears, pikes and arrows were having their iron heads replaced with those of dragonglass, simple wooden cudgels with shards of dragonglass embedded in their heads were another weapon being distributed among the troops.

Many scoffed at the idea of exchanging their steel with dragonglass, but the persistence of her husband on this point beginning to pay off, if slowly. The Red Cloaks following behind were exclusively armed with weapons to defeat these so called Others and their Army of the Dead. Before they had left Kings Landing Tywin had demonstrated these new dragonglass weapons, along with improvements to the Red Cloaks armour to make them more durable against the expected hordes of the dead. Also displayed was a 'repeating crossbow' and an attachment for Longbows that Tywin called the 'instant Legolas'.

Many had grumbled in envy when they saw these things, but Tywin had arranged for these to be made available to any who wanted them, at a price of course. The crown had repudiated its debt to House Lannister shortly after Daenerys had assumed the Iron Throne, and though Daenerys and Tywin had exchanged some cross words on this matter, a fair price was quickly agreed upon for any who wished to purchase these new weapons from Lord Tywin's arsenals. Also agreed was that the crown would assume the position of sole supplier of dragonglass when the Lannister's ran out of the supply they had mined from Dragonstone.

The North on the other hand had been gifted enough of these to equip all the Stark Men at Arms who wanted them along with hundreds of sets of a simple partial plate armour for the Stark household guard.

"So that's Winterfell" Tywin eventually said to her, turning his head to look at her, he was wearing his armour this time, with a heavy crimson cloak wrapped around him for additional warmth.

"Yes husband, my childhood home" she replied. They were in company and she had to observe her niceties, though when alone Tywin seemed not to care anymore, something that had become more pronounced the nearer they had come to Winterfell.

Her husband's desires had also increased the further from Kings Landing they rode, not that she objected to them, not one bit, feeling heat come to her cheeks at the memories of their near nightly couplings on the journey North.

They slowed to a halt and waited for the Queen and her procession to assemble for the entrance into Winterfell proper, after a seemingly interminable amount of jostling and settling or precedence they moved off again.

The Lannister contingent was at the very rear of the Queens party that would enter Winterfell, and Sansa bristled at the slight being done her House. She risked a glance at Tywin, noticing the way the muscles of his jaw were tight and clenched. A scant six turns of the moon ago none would dare insult the Old Lion so, but now?

"You know they call you the 'toothless lion' japed Jamie, who was for once riding with them, probably for the express reason to see his father humiliated like this. The relationship between father and elder son was almost completely sundered, the two men barely tolerating the sight of each other. Despite this Sansa felt no malice towards her from Ser Jamie, he seemed to be utterly uninterested in her, or her sons for that matter. The former Kingsguard spent all his time practising with his left arm to regain something of his skill at the sword, and had little interest in conversation or company. If he sought company at all it was with Lord Bronn, the woman Knight Brienne of Tarth, or with his younger brother Tyrion.

From Tyrion Sansa did feel hostility, which seemed to wax and wane to no apparent rhyme or reason, Lord Tyrion had also resumed his usual drinking habits, annoying his father further. When they had lived in the Lannister Manse in Kings Landing Tywin had restricted his younger son's drinking, something which she knew Lord Tyrion resented.

Lord Tyrion's wife and son were also accompanying them north, indeed Sansa could not help but notice that most of Lord Tywin's bloodline, and that of the Stark's and Tully's was accompanying the Dragon Queen North. Jamie was convinced it was so that they could be murdered more conveniently, and was not shy about expressing his opinion on the matter. Her husband did not dismiss his son's concerns out of hand, and this terrified Sansa greatly, for the thoughts of her sons being murdered in their cribs horrified her, along with drawing a raging anger from deep inside her that she did not know she had.

"Lions do not care for the opinion of sheep" replied Lord Tywin, his voice even, almost offhand sounding.

"Do you think consorting with a seer cripple and a Red Priestess will save you?" laughed Jamie, insistent for some reason on carrying on a verbal feud with his father. "You seemed to favour the company of that odd pair in Kings Landing to an extraordinary extent father. Why if I did not know you better I would think that you intended to convert to the Faith of R'hllor!"

"Or that you were having an affair with the Red Witch!" quipped Tyrion, whose face dropped its grin when his father's glare was unleashed upon him.

"I'm only repeating what several wags were saying!" the little Lord replied, his voice meek and slightly scared sounding.

"Tyrion..." his father growled.

"Yes, yes father I know..."

"Even your bannermen, a spineless lot at the best of times, think you have had your claws pulled by this Dragon Queen, and that you are just meekly waiting for the headsmans axe to fall!" interjected Ser Jamie, seemingly keen to draw his father's ire from his younger brother.

Sansa did not know what to make of the comment about Tywin being unfaithful to her, on the one hand she highly doubted it, nothing about him even suggested that he would either do such a thing, or that he did not find her company fulfilling. The Red Priestess was a beautiful woman though, with a full figured woman's body, which she was not shy about displaying in a wanton manner. Before her train of thought on this annoying matter could continue it was broken by Tywin's next words.

"You have seen what is coming Jamie, and yet you still jape and concern yourself with things of little real import. Just like your sister you are too selfish to see beyond your nose...and don't you start either!" he snarled at Lord Tyrion, who was about to say something.

The younger son snapped his mouth shut, and then reconsidering, opened it "Jamie does have a point you know, seeming to be weak...well it can be seen as the same as actually being weak..."

Tywin breathed heavily through clenched teeth for several seconds, before replying "if we live though this, then, then we will see who still thinks the Lions are weak" and with that he spurred his horse on and through the great gatehouse of Winterfell, disappearing into the gathering gloom.

Sansa shivered uncontrollably and turned her mount to follow Tywin into her girlhood home.

View in Thread

Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!

What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...

Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter

Sbiper, Sep 6, 2020Report#2608Like+ QuoteReply

Andrei_Sokolov, RedKing96, HogarthThree and 225 others like this.

Threadmarks: Tywin VIII

View in Thread

Sbiper

Sbiper

Not too sore, are you?

Joined:Feb 6, 2018

Messages:476

Likes Received:49,767

Tywin VIII

Winterfell, he was finally in Winterfell, the home of the Starks and in reality quite similar to that idiotic slapdash 'castle' that the show portrayed with hardly an ounce of irony or historical sense. Tywin thought the place a hovel, though he did approve of the defensive measures that the castle was replete with. Double walls for one, and of a proper height thankfully, heavily reinforced with round towers and with sturdily constructed interior buildings and a welcome and logical arrangement of covered walkways so that access inside the keep could be achieved without going outside. Which made sense given the multi-year winters and severe cold that this place was supposed to suffer from. The Inner keep was a further stronghold of stout walls, round towers and formidable gates. The Godswood was off to one side a la showverse, with but a single ring of walls surrounding it, and it was three acres in extent as I expected and so about one third the size of Winterfell proper. Which made Winterfell a giant among castles back on earth, but apparently only mildly impressive by the standards of Westeros. What however was impressive was the size of the blocks of stone that Winterfell's walls were made from, huge and regularly shaped stones that individually must have weighed hundreds of tons each. Ditto for the Main Keep and some of the other interior buildings, which looked like they had been built only yesterday, obviously the result of whatever magic had built Winterfell in the first place.

We had been studying Winterfell and its defences against the Army of the Dead intensely since almost the moment Tywin and I had been introduced to each other. He had laughed hysterically at the show's portrayal of the defence of Winterfell, but had approved of the Defence in Depth YouTube video criticising the show's portrayal of the Battle of Winterfell. And it was on this very YouTube video that Tywin had come to posit his ideas for the defence of Winterfell, except that the outer defensive works would fully encircle Winterfell and which Robb had already made a start on when we had arrived. More than a start if we were being honest, the other barrier at 250 yards from the walls was almost complete with only the southern bit around Wintertown and the Kings Road needing to be completed. Inside the outer barrier work had started on the inner ditches and the chevron like fortifications. The smallfolk sheltering in Winterfell were hard at work, and had been joined by the Unsullied without complaint, and by the Dothraki with quite a bit of complaint, who took exception to actually, well, working. Eventually the Dothraki had quit their grumbling and the forests in the immediate vicinity of Winterfell rang with the sounds of trees being felled and Dothraki curses and shouts as they used their mounts to pull chopped trees back to Winterfell.

Here the trees were either incorporated into the outer defensive barrier/wall, where smallfolk toiled away sharpening every branch to create an impenetrable, defensive faschine of sorts. Well impenetrable as impenetrable went against ice zombies, its job was to hold up the Army of the Dead and force it to bunch up, where it would hopefully be vulnerable to the trebuchets, scorpions and varied ballistae that were being even now assembled on the walls and in the outer courtyard of Winterfell.

Beyond this the Alchemists were busy burying wildfire 'mines' to act as tripwires to give us warning to the approach of the Army of the Dead. I fully expected them to arrive in the midst of a snowstorm and/or at night, and we could not reply upon dramatic, if poorly though out narrative to warn us if their approach now could we?

Speaking of poorly thought out narrative Bran, or the Three Eyed Raven was sure that he could track the approach of the Night King and his army of Others, zombies and Ice Spiders, yes, because they were apparently a thing. I mean it was not as if we were not already royally fucked now was it? We were betting everything on a gamble, on the word of The Three Eyed raven that the Night King had to come to Winterfell and he had to kill Bran 1st. As to why this was the case, the lad himself was surprisingly reticent, giving only vague hints and frustratingly obtuse explanations, which Mel and Kinvara lapped up, but which irritated Tywin no end. Not that I blamed him, here we were, all in, stakes raised as high as we could, all life in Westeros riding on, well on a hand of fucking jokers...

I pushed down Tywin's rising annoyance and turned my mind back to the additional defences of Winterfell.

Inside the outer barrier was a deep trench at arrow range from the walls, with a tangle of sharpened stakes at its base and then inside that the ring of redan style earthworks. Bristling with crudely fashioned abates and designed to be packed with Unsullied Spearmen backed up with archers these should further breakup the 'wall of zombies' tactics of the Army of the Dead. We would not be allowing our forces to be 'dog-pilled' as they were in the show, not a fucking chance. The wildfire trench was just beyond these earthworks, it would not be filled with the substance until the last moment, the Alchemists guild having accompanied their product north with sufficient care and attention to not blow themselves to kingdom come.

A coterie of Red Priests and their guard, the so called Fiery Hand had arrived in the last few days, that Israeli chick Kinvara at the head of them. Her and Melisandre seemed to be rather cool towards each other but when they had said that they had magical means to enable the wildfire to burn for much longer than normal I was instantly suspicious. Magic in Westeros usually meant blood magic, especially with this lot, and I hoped that this would not be more trouble than it was worth, like I don't know, the Red Priests asking to tie sacrifices to the Weirwood tree and setting it and them alight maybe?

Tons of dragon glass, which was definitely not obsidian, or at least not the obsidian of earth, because it could be smelted and cast...which was pretty much impossible as far as I knew, was being prepared for the coming battle. Knives, spear heads and arrow heads were being produced in their thousands, both at Winterfell itself and on Dragonstone and being shipped to Winterfell. I wanted every spear tip to be dragonglass, ditto for arrowheads, and given a few more days that looked to be achievable. As there was not enough time to smelt and cast all the stuff I was also relying on traditional 'knapping' methods, several hundred women and children were hard at work creating sharpened dragonglass using this method, this was then embedded into the various wooden barriers of the outer defences, and festooned over the multiple interior barriers that were being created in Winterfell itself. A careful examination of the interior of the Keeps and towers showed that the design was heavily biased towards interior strong-points that could control and limit access once an enemy gained entrance to the Keeps or towers.

And finally, nobody was going to shelter in the crypts, instead said crypts exits were blocked with rubble and wooded obstacles reinforced with dragonglass. The civilians who would be inside Winterfell would be assigned to carrying projectile ammunition, assisting the wounded and the rest were armed – nobody would be slacking or hiding, all our asses were on the line here.

Huge stockpiles of oil, the only slightly less famous Dornish Fire and loose stones were being built up, all to strengthen the defences of Winterfell. The gatehouses of Winterfell were formidable defence structures on their own, and should the Army of the Dead breach the outer gates they would find themselves drowned in boiling oil, immolated by Dornish Fire or crushed under a barrage of rocks from the countless murder holes that dominated the space between the outer and inner gates.

The inner and outer courtyards were dominated by the huge trebuchets that were zeroed on the space just beyond the outer barrier, with piles of ammunition growing daily beside them. Both the courtyards were also strewn with faschines and abates, breaking them up into defensive mazes that would hopefully never have to be used. Because if the outer walls were breached then we were all well and truly fucked...

Other smaller siege engines adorned the walls, Winterfell fairly bristled with Scorpions, Ballistae and Ongars, all to make sure that the Army of the Dead was whittled down before it made it to the walls, you know, like military logic would dictate Dan and Dave? You useless pair of cunts...

Despite the fact that there were nearly one hundred thousand troops in Winterfell I still did not give us more than a fifty/fifty chance of winning, while that sounds like a lot of men, given the length of Winterfells walls the actual concentration we could achieve was a tad concerning. We were relying on Smallfolk to provide much of the crews for the ranged weapons, and they also made up the bulk of the defenders of the outer wall. The Dothraki were a mobile reserve whose job it was to react to any breakthroughs of the outer barrier, using speed and mobility to pinch off any breakthroughs. That was the theory at least, the Unsullied were holding the defensive works just inside the wildfire trench, with the Red Cloaks, and the assorted bannermen of various Lords from the Crownlands, Riverlands and the North holding the walls. The walls of the Inner Keep were held by House Stark Men at Arms along with Westerlands bannermen. Two out of every three knights were concentrated into several reserve forces whose job it would be to reinforce threatened points on the walls. The rest of the Knights were either spread out among the defenders or were concentrated as a final, last ditch reserve force, who would also assist with defending the New Keep as needed.

Then there were the assorted 'special forces' as I had christened them, much to Tywin's disdain. The Red Priests were set up in the Courtyard of the Inner Keep, they had built a massive pyre and they would 'pray' around this to sustain the wildfire trench when the time came. Their Firey Hand would guard them and contribute to fighting any wights etc. that made it into the Courtyard of the Inner Keep.

And then there was the 'Gods Wood Squad' – Bran, Melisandre, Jon Snow and a coterie of guards, our 'bait' for the Nights King. The walls of the Godswood were deliberately not as well defended as the rest of Winterfell's, though not overly so; no sense in making our trap too obvious now was there?

And last, but certainly by no means least, were the three dragons and that tiny, feisty little Queen. Despite his obvious fascination with Daenerys and her Dragons there was no way I was letting the secret of 'She's Muh Queen's' heritage out of the bag, well not just yet anyway. So The Mother of Dragons and her winged fire breathing children were our airborne reserve, to be directed against the Army of the Dead as needed. I was fully committed to using them to their fullest extent, straffing the shit outta the zombies as they bunched up against our defences, especially the outer ring of obstacles. Tywin had ironically pointed out that such a strategy risked the Dragons being injured or killed by our own defensive fire, and congratulated me on finally learning the lessons of the Game of Thrones properly. I told the old prick to fuck off, inadvertently killing Daenerys Targaryen was not part of my plan, though should we survive this her death would certainly be advantageous to all concerned, well to us mainly.

And well, let's be honest Melisandre had been dropping enough hints about Azor Ahai, Lightbringer and Nissa Nissa that the tragic demise of our new Queen was not an unforeseen possibility. And of course Tywin had a plan for this all ready and waiting, because we are a cunt.

View in Thread

Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!

What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...

Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter

Sbiper, Sep 18, 2020Report#2628Like+ QuoteReply

Andrei_Sokolov, RedKing96, HogarthThree and 231 others like this.

Threadmarks: Robb X

View in Thread

Sbiper

Sbiper

Not too sore, are you?

Joined:Feb 6, 2018

Messages:476

Likes Received:49,767

Robb X

They were gathered in one of the rooms of the Great Keep, a group of Lords, Ladies, Wildlings, Fire worshiping fanatics and their new Targaryen Queen. Robb wondered if Winterfell in all the millennia it had stood had ever seen a group such as this inside its walls. Or equally as important, had such a group ever assembled to face a threat such as they faced?

They all stood around a large table, upon which was a map of Winterfell and its immediate environs, which was marked with the symbols and notations of their proposed defence of the Castle from the oncoming Army of the Dead.

And coming they were, The Wall had fallen, apparently it had collapsed close to Castle Black, rumours were confused, but the surviving Black Brothers spoke of a haunting sound, like a terrible, mournful horn blowing before the wall had started to crumble.

Everywhere north of Winterfell was being either abandoned or evacuated, with orders for fighting men to assemble at Winterfell and smallfolk to flee as best they could. Those that were close to the coast were being directed to head there and the Royal Fleet and as many merchant ships as could be hired were busy picking up these refugees and shipping them south.

Last Hearth was probably already overrun, though they had no absolute proof of this, instead he was assuming its fall based on the rate of progress that had been agreed that the Army of the Dead could make. After some wrangling and to Robb's mind pointless arguing it had been agreed that they would assume that the Army of the Dead could advance at four times the speed of a normal army, based on their lack of need for sleep or provisions.

Robb wondered about this and hoped they were right about this, otherwise they might find themselves overwhelmed before they were ready. His goodbrother Tywin Lannister had argued that they should ascribe an even faster rate of potential progress to the Army of the Dead, but his opinions had been ignored in the Councils that were held prior to this one.

He dragged his mind back to the present and coughed slightly to hide his nervousness before he started to speak "The Army of the Night King has been confirmed as being at most a week away, mayhaps less even, those preparations that we can still complete in the next few days we will, as many smallfolk as possible that are south of Winterfell have been ordered to head as far south as they can, those in the immediate environs of Winterfell are either already sheltering here or are on their way here. We've done what we can; we are as ready as we can be..."

Robb went on to detail the defensive plans for Wintefell, the role of the outer palisade, the open area between it and the 1st Trench, the function of the redans and the wildfire trench. The additional fortifications inside the walls in the Courtyards and finally the internal defences inside every building, of how windows and internal doors were to be blocked with sharpened wooden stakes tipped and edged with dragonglass.

Outside snow fell in thick blankets, stirred by the odd gusts, according to what they had learned, the wind would grow to howling strength as the Army of the Dead got closer and closer, presaging their assault on Winterfell itself. His guts twisted at the thoughts of what was to come, that they were not ready, that they would never be ready, could never be ready for what was about to break upon them.

Their new Queen had insisted on the families of these Lord Paramount's and Wardens accompany her to Winterfell, many whispered that she did not trust them and that she actually intended to murder than all. Which would be a monumentally stupid thing to do, but then again this was the daughter of the Mad King.

The girl herself was disturbing to Robb, unearthly beautiful but with something disquieting burning in her eyes, something he could not quite discern. On top of this there were the obviously lustful glances that she and his brother Jon were sharing, when they thought nobody was looking. He could scarce contain his mirth at this, his shy bastard brother and the Dragonqueen, even thinking of it now threatened to make a stupid grin break out on his face.

He quashed the smile and set his face to its usual grim visage, the weight of ruling heavy on his shoulders, the knowledge of what was about to happen threatening to turn his insides to ice water and his legs to jelly. How he wished that this was not happening, that this was all a bad dream, one that he would wake up from, maybe with his father still alive and the past several years all nothing but a nightmare.

He thrust these wishful thoughts from his mind, instead bringing his mind back into the room.

"And we are sure that the Night King is coming here?" asked Ser Jorah Mormont, the girl Queen's sworn sword and apparently her advisor on military matters.

"If I understand it correctly, the Army of the Dead needs no food, no rest, no shelter, why would it not just bypass Winterfell and leave us to starve and freeze here?" the Queen added before anyone could reply to Ser Jorah, a rising tone of heat in her voice.

Robb noticed that some of his own bannermen, and the handful of Riverlander Lords also seemed to agree with the Dragon Queen's assessment, if the scowls and worry on their faces indicated such.

The Westerlander Lords kept their faces carefully neutral as always, waiting to see which way their Lord reacted, Tywin he noticed kept his face impassive as usual.

"Because he is coming for me" replied his brother Bran, or The Three Eyed Raven as he preferred to be know as.

"And what would he want with you?" asked the Targaryen girl, one slim silver eyebrow raised in question.

"Stark blood and the magic that is built into the very stones of Winterfell has kept the Night King slumbering and his army quiescent north of The Wall for millennium. This place is a locus of magical power that he cannot ignore, nor can he ignore me and the powers I now command. Through the weirwoods of the North I can not only see him, I can to an extent thwart his plans."

"How so?" blurted out Robb, before he could even think of saying the words they had spilled from his mouth. He dipped his head when the Dragon Queen speared him with a glance that seemed to burn his very soul, feeling his cheeks flush despite his best efforts.

"Yes Lord Bran, how so indeed?" asked Daenerys, her plump lips tugging ever so slightly into the merest ghost of a smile.

"I am not Lord Bran anymore, not really..." replied his brother, before he continued "I can limit the powers of the Night King, limit the range at which he and his White Walkers can control their wights. The number of weirwoods in the North increases my power; the locus of magical power that Winterfell is built upon enhances it further. I can also somewhat limit his ability to raise the dead, not all who he and his army kill will rise at his command, and the further south he travels the weaker his powers will become, unless he kills me first. He must come for me, he will come for me, I have foreseen it."

"Winterfell is a trap your Grace" interjected Lord Tywin smoothly into the silence that threatened to become oppressive after Bran's words.

"But it is not too obvious a trap that the Night King will not fall for it" continued his goodbrother, a title which he still thought of as strange, of Sansa being married to the Old Lion, and the mother of twin boys to boot.

"Then why all the elaborate preparations? Why the toil and effort to strengthen Winterfell, surely that is counterproductive?" asked the girl Queen, he voice slightly heated at having to address Lord Tywin, whom she had plainly little or no time for.

"On the contrary, were we not to prepare, the trap would be so obvious that the Night King would be tempted to avoid Winterfell altogether."

"Lord Tywin is correct" Bran answered the Targaryen Queen's question "The Night King is confident of victory, he thinks he has the numbers and magical strength to defeat us. I will be the bait to make sure he comes..."

"And how exactly will you defeat him?" Daenerys asks of his brother, her voice quick and angry sounding.

"The victory of Azor Ahai is foretold in the flames your Grace" Melisandre replied, the red priestess's voice smooth and silky, seductive in that foreign accent of hers. "But the exact roles we all here have to play are not to be treated lightly, not to be casually talked about. Many will not survive; we the Priests of R'hllor for one know that all our lives are forfeit in the battle to come, as are the lives of our guards, the Fiery Hand."

"I am not comforted by this" snorted the Queen, tossing her head in frustration.

Robb could only silently agree with the Targaryen girl, they were betting the entire fate of the world on what his brother Bran had advised them to do.

He hoped his brother was right.

View in Thread

Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!

What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...

Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter

Sbiper, Oct 2, 2020Report#2660Like+ QuoteReply

Andrei_Sokolov, RedKing96, Nepcotevalley and 198 others like this.

Threadmarks: Jon III

View in Thread

Sbiper

Sbiper

Not too sore, are you?

Joined:Feb 6, 2018

Messages:476

Likes Received:49,767

Jon III

"Lord Tywin, Lord Tyrion" he bowed to each man in turn shutting the door behind him.

"Jon Stark!" announced Tyrion, already more than a little drunk Jon noted, and he could not help but see the look of distaste on Lord Tywin's face at the condition of his younger son.

"Please join us!" Tyrion announced, waving expansively with his arms, encompassing the room in general and the table in particular, upon which a simple meal was laid out. Stew from the looks of it and confirmed by smells emanating from a single large earthenware pot sat in the middle of the table. A plate with boiled potatoes, a largish jug of ale and bread rounded out the food and drink.

Most unlike what Jon expected southern Lords to eat, this was good, simple northern fare and his stomach growled at its enticing scent.

"Sit, eat with us" stated Lord Tywin, a simple enough command but one backed by the power of the Old Lion.

Jon sat, no servants attended them, Lord Tywin serving Jon and then his son with large helpings of the thick stew, before he served himself.

"Eat" the Old Lion commanded "there is no need to stand on ceremony here, and especially now."

"As we all might be dead soon" quipped Lord Tyrion, drawing an ire filled glance from his father.

As Jon ate he wondered why he was here, the two Lannister Lords seemed to be equally as committed to eating in silence as he was.

It had been strange coming back to Winterfell and seeing his old home again, equally strange coming back with the Army of Queen Daenerys he mused. His checks coloured at the thoughts of the silver headed girl, and he quashed the thoughts of her that had been increasingly filling his mind. Dishonourable thoughts, exciting thoughts, crazy thoughts...they seemed to plague him more and more since he first clapped eyes on the girl in Kings Landing.

It helped him not that while in Kings Landing he had drawn the attention of several of the young ladies that had been part of Lady Margaery Tyrell's party. Who were shameless in flirting with him, and who had driven him to hide in his rooms for the last few days before they had left for the North. Such was their persistence in trying to ensnare him, dropping sly and enticing hints as to what they would like to do to him, and what they would like him to do to them...

Jon was no boy, he knew the ways between men and women but though he had been sorely tempted he had refrained for indulging, despite how pleasurable it would likely be. The pain of losing Ygritte was still fresh enough, but that was not the reason he knew, it was those huge violet eyes, seeming to gaze into his very soul that he could not betray.

He snorted in his head 'betray'? She was the Queen and was a bastard, even if he now had the Stark name, something which Lady Catelyn still took every opportunity to harangue Robb about apparently. Which his brother often complained to him about, much to his annoyance it had to be said. Robb was the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, he should tell his mother to cease her grumblings and complaints, Robb had a wife and a son, along with the backing of the Lannister's, what could Catelyn Tully possibly be concerned about?

Dragging his mind away from the sour thoughts of Catelyn Tully he refused to let his mind settle on Daenerys Targaryen, he did not want to become even more distracted and annoyed. There had been much talk of who the Dragon Queen would wed; speculation on this was apparently a favourite topic of discussion among noble and smallfolk alike. The thoughts of the Queen being wed enraged him, drove him into a frenzy of anger and jealously he had scarce imagined it was possible to feel.

"I'm sorry? What did you say?" Jon asked, suddenly realising that he had been asked a question, from a quick glance around the table he realised it was Lord Tyrion who had asked him something.

"You were leagues away Jon" giggled Tyrion "probably thinking about some fair maiden no doubt! In fact I know that there are not a few smallfolk wenches who would eagerly warm you bed should you desire it!"

Lord Tywin gave his son a glare, before turning his cool, but intimidating gaze on him "What my rather drunk son asked you was if when all of this is over have you given any thoughts to marriage?"

"Marriage?" he squeaked, his voice breaking involuntarily.

"You are a Stark, named so by your brother when he was King in the North, you are no longer bound by your vows to the Nights Watch, seeing as how you died. Should you survive what is to come your prospects will be quite good, maybe even better than you think" said the Old Lion.

"My father's wife, your sister, has been nagging my father to play matchmaker!" slurred Tyrion, who received another glare from his father for his trouble.

"Really?"

"It is something women are wont to do, they do not like the thoughts of a handsome and eligible young Lord being unwed, or at least un-betrothed apparently" Lord Tywin replied dryly.

"But, but...I'm no Lord..."

"That can be rectified easily enough" was Lord Tywin's response. "But enough of this frivolous talk, to serious business."

Jon noticed that Lord Tyrion, who suddenly seemed to sober up and his face become rather pinched looking.

"Your brother Bran has shared with you the real plan for the defence of Winterfell?" asked the Old Lion, his voice cold and devoid of any inkling of warmth.

"He, he has...I, I don't...I don't understand it, I don't know why he thinks I am important..."

"You are one of a handful of men to have fought the Others and lived to tell the tale, your brother Bran has seen what is to come, he knows the critical part you will play."

"I don't know..." was all he could say in reply.

"We cannot defeat the Night King and his Army of the Dead by conventional means, all the additional defences, the wildfire, the dragonglass, even the Dragons themselves will not be enough. The numbers are simply not in our favour, the Night King can dog pile us to death in corpses, our only chance is to lead him into a trap and have a select group of warriors, armed with as much Valyrian steel as we can muster, kill the Night King. It does not take any of Bran's powers to know this, anyone who understands anything about strategy knows that the bigger army wins nine times out of ten. How big is the Army of the Dead? One hundred thousand? Half a million? A million?"

Jon shivered despite the pleasant fire heating the room, a small and plain room in the quarters that the Lannister's had been granted. Said quarters were hardly fitting to their station and were in one of the towers in Winterfell's inner wall, a slight which Jon knew was unlikely to be of his brother Robb's making. Yes Winterfell was packed to the rafters with people but this insult was something that one should not do to a House of the Lannister's standing, never mind that the Old Lion was the head of said House. And never mind that the Lannister's were family of the Stark's now, by dint of not one but two marriages.

Princess Myrcella had accompanied her grandfather north also, something which Jon had noticed, remembering the shy girl who had accompanied the fat king to Winterfell to name his father his Hand. Of how she had stolen covert glances at him and Robb when she thought they were not looking, of how she looked like a smaller version of her mother Queen Cersei. Well the girl was on the cusp of womanhood now, and even more beautiful than he remembered, green of eye, blond of hair and lithe of body. The Princess seemed to spend a lot of time with Lady Sansa and with Lady Catelyn, and not in what he thought of as traditional pursuits for a Princess either he had noted. Despite some protests the women of Winterfell were preparing as hard as the men for what was to come, some were training with pikes and spears, others were training with the Scorpions and Trebuchets while still more were assisting in preparing Winterfell for its coming siege. The Princess and the two Ladies fell into the latter category, overseeing the preparation of food supplies and the setting up of places to treat the wounded.

He pushed the thoughts of Lord Tywin's granddaughter from his mind; annoyed at himself for once again letting thoughts of a girl cloud his mind. Before he could think of anything else to say Lord Tywin continued "you have done well so far, you played your part in convincing the Dragon Queen that the threat of the Night King was real."

"She could hardly deny the evidence of her own eyes, it's hard to deny when a wight is right there in your face, screeching and stinking of the grave..."

"You would be surprised what people fool themselves into believing young Stark" replied Lord Tywin coolly. "Do you see the Tyrell's here for instance? Or the former King Tommen Baratheon? The Dornish, for all their talk of loyalty to the new Queen are also strangely absent, no doubt they will blame the inclement weather for delaying them."

At this Jon spared a glance at the single window, thankfully it was paned with glass, outside snow spun in flurries driven by a howling, thin wind.

"The weather is said to be very bad, Lord Manderly has reported that the storms in The Bite and The Narrow Sea are the worst he has ever seen" said Jon in reply to the Old Lions statement.

"How convenient" purred the Old Lion "and the Reach, what of their forces young Stark? They will be marching up the Kings Road, a road designed for military traffic first and foremost, maintained by every Lord whose lands its passes through on pain of Royal censure? Even in the North it is maintained to a passable degree, the only place it is treacherous is when it passes through the Neck?"

Jon had no answer to this so he stayed silent, instead eating his stew.

"Just because the world might be about to end does not mean that the Game of Thrones has ceased, on the contrary" said the Old Lion in a matter of fact tone, his eyes glittering with a barely restrained intensity.

"Then they are fools!" Jon announced, heat colouring his voice with anger at the foolishness of The Reach and Dorne.

"Be that as it may, they still play the great game, for it is all they know. Remember that Jon Stark, so long as a King or Queen sits atop a throne in Westeros, the Game of Thrones is afoot."

"Unfortunately I have to agree with my Lord father" burped Lord Tyrion, who's face flashed embarrassed momentarily, before he continued "the Game of Thrones destroyed your father, nearly destroyed your House, should we survive what is to come, it will continue on, as it always has..."

"I am glad then that I have had no part in this so called 'Game of Thrones', and I am glad I will have no part in it in the future" he replied, turning his gaze to his plate and his attention to finishing his stew.

Thus he missed the wry glances that Lannister father and son shared.

View in Thread

Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!

What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...

Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter

Sbiper, Oct 23, 2020Report#2677Like+ QuoteReply

Andrei_Sokolov, RedKing96, Pilatypus and 221 others like this.

Threadmarks: Sansa XXI

View in Thread

Sbiper

Sbiper

Not too sore, are you?

Joined:Feb 6, 2018

Messages:476

Likes Received:49,767

Sansa XXI

"Tywin?" she paused a moment, giving her husband the common courtesy of a reply that she knew he would not give her.

"Really?" she added after a suitable time had elapsed, just a little bit of frustration leaking into her voice.

Tywin's gaze held hers, her Lord husband was never one for avoiding eye contact, especially when a battle of wills was in the offing. Even with her Tywin was never one to back down or retreat, despite the fact that she knew her husband well and knew how to get her own way when it suited her. The secret was to never confront Tywin Lannister directly, never make any conflict, however small or trivial, about his perception of control.

She would have smiled at this had the situation not been so outrageous, so, so well bizarre!

"I, I simply cannot wear this, I cannot!" she protested, felling like stamping her foot for emphasis.

"You can my Lady and you will" replied Tywin, his voice cool and measured, the slightest sparkle of humour flecking his green-gold eyes.

"Armour? Tywin, really..." she huffed.

"I had it made especially for you Sansa, along with the other garments. You are my wife, we are about to confront an almost numberless army of dead things, like what you saw in Kings Landing. I will not have you unprotected or without the ability to defend yourself."

"I am not my sister Arya, I cannot wield a sword Tywin..."

"Which is why I am giving you a dragonglass dagger and a short spear tipped with the same, in addition to your armour."

"Tywin..."

"I will book no further discussion my Lady; you will wear what I have provided for you. The matter is settled."

Sansa huffed in annoyance at Tywin's words, knowing that he would not be swayed on the matter.

"You will not look like a man, or that wild little sister of yours, do not worry" Tywin said, letting the smallest ghost of a smile pull at his lips. "I have even made it so you can dress yourself easily in the armour and can wear womanly clothes over it if needed."

She looked at the pile of clothes, plate and chain mail distrustfully, not willing as yet to admit defeat totally.

"Now would be a good time to put it on and try it out, I'm sure it will fit, the clothes and armour were made in Kings Landing especially for you to my order."

"Here?"

"Yes here, why not? These are our chambers, we are man and wife, I see no reason for you not to try on the armour and garments that I have prepared for you?"

"You only want to see me naked" she teased, her mouth quirking into a sultry smile. Sansa knew that Tywin desired her, that she held some small amount of power over the Old Lion due to his desire. And this excited her, to know that she was desired, that Tywin Lannister, perhaps the most feared man in all Westeros, desired her above all other women. And her Old Lion, who was not so old as to be unable to perform his duties as a husband, he satisfied needs she scarcely knew that she had, womanly needs that caused her to feel heavy and hot and all wet with desire. Tywin was more than able to satisfy these urgent, wanton desires that blazed searing and demanding across her mind and body. And it was not just her desires either; Tywin seemed to be equally driven to lie with her, to fuck her, to fuck her until she was exhausted and sore, but yet triumphant with his seed warm inside her slick depths.

"I will see you naked this night if you try on this armour or not my Lady" Tywin grinned at her "and I will give you what you so desperately desire..."

"Oh?" she asked, her voice a slight croak as her mouth and throat went dry, while between her legs she got so very wet "and what is it that I desire Lord Tywin?" she asked, cocking her head to one side, letting her eyes widen with curiosity.

"To be fucked long and hard, to scream and moan my name as my cock slams into you, to feel my seed spilling into you" Tywin breathed as he moved closer, until he towered over her.

"You naughty Old Lion" she teased, her breath hitching as Tywin's hands gripped at her hips and his face descended towards hers, Sansa tilting her head up and opening her mouth as she felt her husband's lips on hers, his tongue forcing its way possessively into her mouth.

Needless to say she did not try on her new armour; instead she was stripped by Tywin's frantic hands, her equally frantic hands tugging at his clothes, until they found themselves naked and on their bed. And true to his word Tywin gave her exactly what she wanted, first heating her body to a furnace like temperature with his caresses and his skilled lips and tongue on that little nubbin of flesh above her soaking, aching slit. And then he took her like the wanton she wanted to be taken like, thrusting fast and hard into her, slamming his hips against hers, grabbing her hair in his fists as he grunted and dripped sweat onto her equally sweat slick torso. She hoisted her legs over his back, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, crying out his name, urging him on, urging him deeper into her, to feel him at her very core.

The next morning after she had bathed and broken her fast she had to give into Tywin's orders and try on the so called armour he had bought for her.

First off there were a pair of skin-tight black leather trousers and a plain cotton shirt, over this she put on chain mail trousers, which had wide cloth straps attached to them to support the weight of the chainmail over her shoulders. Over the cotton shirt was a thin, padded gambeson like garment and over this long sleeved chainmail top, the weight of it all was uncomfortable but she found it did not restrict her movements too much. Over all of this she pulled on a long sleeved woollen dress, well made but in a plain, northern style. Leather gloves and good, strong boots completed the outfit.

Sansa was not too displeased with how she looked, the chainmail was hidden by what she wore and she chided herself on being foolish last night and objecting to wearing this. It was practical and if not exactly stylish, it would offer her some protection, but why she needed protection scared her no end.

Winterfell bristled with new defences and was packed with men and women ready to defend it, its storehouses were filled to bursting with supplies, and the three dragons of their new Queen were truly terrifying to behold.

"Well?" she asked Tywin, who had been assisting her dress.

"Looks good my Lady."

"Do, do you think...do you think I will...need it?"

"Hopefully not Sansa, but better to be safe than sorry."

"I, I want to be with Patryk and Brynden, if, if the end...comes..."

"They will be with the children too young to contribute in the New Keep, the rooms they will be in are the best defended in the whole of Winterfell."

"But Tywin, they are our sons..."

"And you shall be with them, to defend them if needs be, like the she wolf that you are."

"And, and you Tywin" she asked, knowing already that she would not like the answer.

"I will fight as and where I am needed my lady, with my personal bodyguard of knights, and Tyrion. He insists on fighting for some reason, apparently his taste for combat in the War of the Five Kings has not left him satiated enough..."

"He, he is a brave man you son. He defended me in Kings Landing when nobody else would."

"He has a sharp mind, but with a heart overly given to sentimentality my Lady. I would prefer if he stayed out of the fight, should anything happen to me he would be a good foster for our sons."

"Tywin...please..."

"I have lived a long life, though not always a happy one...and...and I never thought I would find happiness again in my life. But the Gods are cruel Lady Sansa, we should not ask too much of them, ever."

"Don't, don't say that Tywin, please, please promise me you will come back to me, to our sons?"

"I do not wish to die here my lady, please dissuade yourself of that notion. Nothing more would please me than to lay my bones to rest in Casterly Rock many years from now, with my sons by you grown to fine men and the Lannister name secure."

"Then, then make that wish come true Tywin!" she cried, rushing forwards and crashing into him, heedless of the heavy chainmail she wore.

Tywin let an 'oooofff' of expelled breath escape his mouth as she collided with him, his arms enfolding her in a tight embrace. "Do not worry little wolf, The Three Eyed Raven and the Red Witch promise us victory" he said, burying his head into her hair and inhaling her scent, planting tiny kisses into her hair.

This calmed her somewhat, until she felt she could risk saying "the, the dagger and the spear...I'm...I've not, I've never trained with them..."

"It's very simple, stick them with the pointy end" replied her husband, his voice level and calming.

View in Thread

Last edited: Nov 8, 2020

Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!

What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...

Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter

Sbiper, Nov 8, 2020Report#2704Like+ QuoteReply

Andrei_Sokolov, RedKing96, gentlyAmbiguous and 206 others like this.

Threadmarks: Jamie III

View in Thread

Sbiper

Sbiper

Not too sore, are you?

Joined:Feb 6, 2018

Messages:476

Likes Received:49,767

Jamie III

The Great Hall of Winterfell was surprisingly packed, though the hum of conversation was rather low, the mood after all was hardly celebratory mused Jamie. Assorted Men at Arms, Knights and smallfolk levies from a bewildering array of Houses were chatting and drinking sombrely, most likely glad they were not outside in the howling wind and driving snow, the great fireplaces that lined the hall on both sides roaring with logs piled high to ward off the cold.

Jamie sipped at his ale silently, his immediate companions doing likewise. Even the usually boisterous Wildling Tormund was quiet, or at least quiet by his standards. Jamie idly cast his eyes over the hall, wondering how many would still be alive come morning, not many he mused sourly, given how the latest reports from their scouts of the size of the Army of the Dead were terrifying. He looked at his golden hand; he did not expect to survive either. The warrior he once was, that thing that had defined his whole existence for so long, was gone, he knew his skills with his left hand were only fair to middling. Not that he really cared one way or the other, Cersei was lost to him, apparently she needed help being fed and would void herself with no concern, her face slack jawed and blank as she spent her days staring at nothing. So he had it from the Head Septa of the Septary that she resided in, he had received the Septa's letter just before they had set out for the North.

Joffrey was dead, probably murdered with at the minimum the acquiescence of his father, if not his active connivance with the Tyrell's. Tommen was a deposed ex King, allegedly the Lord paramount of the Stormlands but apparently his new realm was none too pleased to have him foisted on them and his bannermen were in, if not open revolt, were steadfast in ignoring as much of his rule as was possible. Myrcella was back from Dorne and with a broken Betrothal to her name, apparently she had actually liked the Dornish Prince she had been promised to, but of course her feelings had meant nothing to his father, who had arranged for Myrcella's return.

And speaking of the Old Lion, despite him having been dismissed from the Kingsguard and technically being the heir to the Westerlands his father had made little if any effort to actually acknowledge him as such. Little if any effort? He laughed mirthlessly at this, no his father had ignored him completely, seeming to think that he no longer was his son.

This had annoyed him mightily and so he had decided to annoy his father, as had been his habit for much of his life. So his plan had been to ingratiate himself with his father's bannermen, and what better way than to marry one of their daughters? Oh he knew he would not have any feelings for whatever poor girl ended up as his wife, but he cared not, all he needed to be was married and for the girl to get with child as soon as possible. Let's see how his father would deal with that, let's see him ignore him then! But of course his father's bannermen, a spineless lot at the best of times had proved remarkably reluctant to agree to him marrying any of their eligible daughters. One would have thought they would be falling over themselves to offer him every unwed daughter they had, from un-flowered girls to crones.

But alas not, it seems they retained their well found fear of the Old Lion and were loath to do anything not specifically approved of by his father, including it appeared marrying off their daughters to him. He had even tried to see if any particularly grasping merchant Houses in Kings Landing were interested, a daughter of a merchant House would be sure to draw his father's considerable ire and stoke his amusement no end. But again they had proved to be remarkably cautious with their daughter's hands; despite the obvious interest some of said daughters seemed to show him.

A trawl of Crownlands and Stormlands Houses likewise turned up empty; he did not even bother with the Riverlands or the Vale. Dorne he never even considered, the Reach had been considered but rejected by him, even he was not stupid enough to put his cock anywhere near were Olenna Tyrell might have even the faintest possibility of influence.

Now that he found himself in the North there were a few eligible daughters floating around, most of the North's noble Houses, such as they were, seemed to be concentrated in Winterfell. Alys Karstark was available, but was a rather plain looking girl, no great beauty in anybody's eyes. Not to mention he had a certain history with the Karstarks and they were frankly hostile to him. The little Bear, Lyanna Mormont was too young, but her feisty nature would be such a delightful foil for his father's attitude, would it not? He would nearly marry the girl on the spot just for the likely verbal barbs that she and the Old Lion were sure to throw each other's way. Then of course there was Arya Stark, formerly his father's cup bearer in Harenhall, a fact he never missed an opportunity to remind his father of. Lady Arya had reminded his father of this fact the very day they had arrived in Winterfell, and the Old Lion had not been one bit pleased to be forced to face this unpleasant truth.

But alas Arya Stark seemed completely uninterested in anything that did not involve fighting or training for fighting, and it was obvious that she only had eyes for that big smallfolk lad Gendry, who worked in the Winterfell forge.

He had, he realised given little actual thought to wooing any of the girls, of whatever status and House they belonged to, convincing himself that it would be unjust of him to give the girls much hope of a pleasant marriage. But a secret, hidden part of him whispered that he just did not care in the slightest, and that as none were truly worthy of him, so why should he make any effort at all?

Of course the way that Brienne of Tarth looked at him he knew that he would only have to ask the girl and she would likely say yes to marriage, but Jamie found her obvious affection off putting, annoying even.

And so he remained unwed and as much shunned as ever by his father, oh he did not stint in crossing verbal swords with his father whenever the opportunity presented itself, but even the pleasure of this was waning day by day.

His contemplation was broken by Sandor Clegane's growled 'fuck off' at an overly forward serving wench, whose desire for a tumble was going to be fulfilled by Toramund, the big wildling possessively wrapping a beefy hand around the girls arm as he stood up and strolled off with her.

Well at least they would not be subjected to Toramund's endless tales of fighting and fucking any more, something he was grateful for.

Tyrion was also drinking with him, along with Podrick Payne, the aforementioned Brienne of Tarth, Samwell Tarley, ostensibly a Brother of the Nights Watch, but who seemed to be more interested in tupping a comley if rather plump wildling chit called Gilly. The Tarley lad apparently recently arrived from Oldtown and the Citadel, where he had been studying to be a Maester, and who appeared to Jamie to be as craven as he was fat. He had arrived with his family valyrian sword Heartsbane, though why his father Lord Tarley had let the lad have the blade was another matter entirely, for Samwell was no warrior, of that Jamie was certain. Bronn and several of the Lords of the minor Houses sworn to House Swyft rounded out their rather subdued drinking party.

"I fookin' hate the cold" grumbled Brnon, nursing his flagon of ale, taking a long draught from it.

"At least we are not out in it...yet" replied Tyrion, holding out his cup for a rather attractive serving wench for a refill.

Said wench was rather dusky looking for a typical northern lass, mayhaps there was Dornish blood somewhere in her ancestry pondered Jamie, noting with amusement her obvious interest in him and Bronn's obvious annoyance.

"You don't even have to do anything, do ya?" Bronn grumbled, as the wench sashayed off, her head turning over her shoulder to give him a look of frank invitation.

"You just sit there, a rich slab of beef and all the birds come a pecking" continued Bronn, his face as sour as his voice.

"You're welcome to her" he replied, amusement twisting his voice.

"She doesn't want me, she wants your golden fingers up her twat" retorted Bronn, as Tyrion sputtered and coughed up his ale at the exchange.

"Not my type" replied Jamie evenly, taking a sip of his ale.

"Not blonde enough?" asked Bronn, setting Tyrion off on another round of coughing and spluttering.

Brienne of Tarth, whose face had reddened considerably, coughed and asked "Lord Tyrion, I hear you will be donning armour and joining the defence?"

Tyrion took a few seconds to catch his breath and replied "Yes my Lady, I will not have it be said that any son of the Old Lion is a craven" accompanied by him waving his ale mug in a dramatic fashion about him.

"He's got balls, does the little Lannister" quipped Bronn in reply "I've seen him fight; he's handy enough with an axe so he is."

"Lord Bronn is too kind" Tyrion said in reply, before adding "though I will be with my Lord father and the rest of the Lords in the New Keep, directing the fight...should I have to actually become involved things will be, well, rather desperate at that stage."

"And you Ser Jamie, where will you fight?" asked Brienne of him, blushing furiously as they made eye contact.

"The Godswood, guarding Lord Brandon, all I am good for apparently" he quipped, holding up his golden right hand.

View in Thread

Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!

What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...

Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter

Sbiper, Nov 20, 2020Report#2723Like+ QuoteReply

Andrei_Sokolov, RedKing96, gentlyAmbiguous and 184 others like this.

Threadmarks: Tyrion XIX

View in Thread

Sbiper

Sbiper

Not too sore, are you?

Joined:Feb 6, 2018

Messages:476

Likes Received:49,767

Tyrion XIX

Off in the distance, barely heard over the howling of the wind and barely even seen through the swirling snow a small blaze of green light pulsed and then guttered.

"They are getting closer" he observed, the wind cutting across his face like thousands of icy blades.

"It won't be long now before they reach the outer barricade" replied his father, his voice tight and strained sounding. Well at least the gravity of the situation was getting to the Old Lion he mused, this being probably the end of the world and all that.

He, along with his father and his personal bodyguard were huddled together atop one of the towers of the New Keep, along with Lord Robb and his bodyguards. Blazing torches and a collection of trumpets and horns were scattered around, to be used for signalling to the outer walls and towers, and to the collection of trebuchets that packed the courtyard of the outer keep. Runners were also on hand to relay messages back and forth between the various parts of Winterfell, so that they would have some modicum of knowledge of what was happening during the battle.

At least he was not potentially meeting his death with a full pair of stones he thought somewhat wistfully, that pretty, dusky serving wench from the Great Hall had proved to be more than agreeable to a tumble. Even more surprising was the fact that she had refused coin for the pleasure of his company, saying that they might all be dead soon and what use was coin in that case. An admirable, if rather depressing stance to take, but nevertheless it not stopped his enjoyment the wench's skilled mouth, nor the taste and tightness of her cunt.

Death, life... legacy, it was funny sometimes how one's mind would think of these things at the most inopportune of times was it not? His wife and son were here in Winterfell, and he had not visited his husbandly rights upon dear Roslin since the 1st night of their arrival at the Stark's ancient home, much preferring the company of whores and serving wenches. At least they were not sullenly hostile to him, the demeanor that his dear wife had adopted since the birth of their son Tyrone, though Roslin would not deny him his due as her husband. But no matter what he did she would barely whimper or cry as he took her, preferring to just lie there silent and unmoving, usually with her eyes either closed or deliberately looking away from him.

Legacy...he had a son and should Roslin not spite him by taking moon tea he could expect a few more children from her, and he would assure the future of House Lannister of Rosby. It was a decent enough seat; its incomes were good enough to keep him in something of the style he was accustomed to. And its lands had potential enough; it was close enough to Kings Landing that its trade with the capital should be able to bring in more revenue, with some small investments, namely improvements to the docks on the river at Rosby itself, improving trade via Blackwater Bay, and improving the road to Kings Landing.

And had not his father made strenuous efforts to secure his own legacy? The twins pupped by Lady Sansa were evidence enough of that, as were the seemingly endless machinations and manipulations of the Game of Thrones that the Old Lion was involved in.

And on that later note; the 'bastard who never was' and what his father had planned for the poor, innocent lad eh? Jon Snow was as stupidly honorable as the man whom he thought was his father, now as Jon Stark he certainly seemed to have learned little of the Great Game, at least from what he saw. But the lad was playing his part in his father's schemes well enough, for now anyway, but then Jon Stark was blissfully ignorant of the Old Lion's plans for him. And on that Tyrion could not believe what his father was planning, he would not have kept the secret of Jon Snow's parentage a secret, oh no Jaehaerys Targaryen would have been acknowledged the moment he knew of the lad's parentage.

Tyrion could not understand why his father was keeping Westeros in the dark about the boy, though he could understand why he had not told the lad himself as of yet. Jon Stark would no doubt have done something stupidly honorable like renounce his claim or some such foolery.

But he had to admit that his father had likely not told him everything of the terrible secret, the incredible lie that lay at the heart of power in Westeros. His attempts to question his father further on the matter had been met with stony silence and a warning to tell no one about this delicious titbit of information. So that did somewhat complicate his interpretation of his father's actions, though his father seemed to be reckless in this regard, the lad could get himself killed and where would they be then eh?

He idly wondered if Varys knew the secret of Jon Snow's birth. But he dismissed this at once, for if the Spider had known then the lad would be 'in play' in the service of others than his dear father. Or dead he mused; Jon Snow's parentage was far too deadly a secret to be trifled with.

And on the subject of revealing exactly who Jon Stark was his father had proved reticent, evasive even, only committing that who Jon Stark was would be revealed at the 'most opportune time'. Or in other words only when it suited his father's plans best, and to the seven hells with the wants or needs of anyone else, least of all the poor, deluded fool lad who still thought himself a bastard.

Snow danced and dashed all around them, Tyrion's eyes could not focus on it as it was driven in the grip of a terrible wind that had descended upon Winterfell less than an hour ago, reducing visibility to barely a few hundred feet. Tyrion hoped that everyone would remember their orders and remember to play their parts correctly; any chance of controlling or directing the defense of Winterfell was pretty hopeless given the weather conditions.

Tyrion hoped that the three dragons were not too inconvenienced by the storm, seeing as how his father had confided in him that much was riding on their ability to 'strafe' the Army of the Dead. That was a strange word, one which he had never heard before, and he had asked Tywin what it meant. Apparently, it was an Old Ghiscari term for dragons attacking armies from the sky with dragonfire. In all his studies of dragonlore he had to admit he had never heard of such a term, but then again, he had found out that over the last few years was not his father full of surprises?

He brought his attention back to the sights before him, the battlements all packed with troops and archers, the scorpions, bolt throwers and catapults all manned and ready. In the outer courtyard the Trebuchets stood ready; their crews would be directing their projectiles using what his father called 'range tables', seeking to hit targets that they could not see directly. And thus, seeking to have their projectiles land in a specific place as opposed to being aimed to hit a specific target.

Tyrion feared that the near hurricane strength winds would significantly degrade the range and accuracy of all their ranged weapons, from bows and crossbows up to the mighty trebuchets themselves.

"There!" announced someone, pointing excitedly out into the snow laden gloom; he followed the outstretched arm, seeing several wildfire mines bloom.

"That's it!" announced Lord Stark "they have reached the outer palisade, have the trebuchets commence their plan!"

It had been agreed that due to the wind a single trebuchet would fire 1st to gauge the range and accuracy in these conditions. The plan had been to use the Trebuchets to pepper the Army of the Dead as it bunched up against the outer defensive wooden wall, but as they would be using Dornish fire pots it was imperative that they did not burn down their own defenses.

A signaler waved a torch at his counterpart below, who responded with the correct response, or at least Tyrion hoped he did. Because rather than a single Trebuchet losing its flaming projectile all of them let lose.

He watched as the burning fire pots left an arching trail behind them, cutting through the darkness and curving out into the murk, before impacting and splashing fire messily along a good swath outside of the northern part of the palisade.

A swearing match developed behind him, annoyance at the massed trebuchet launch no doubt, but his father announced over the sounds of the wind "It looks accurate enough Lord Stark, we should continue as planned."

Behind him a Scorpion was pointed up into the sky and a flaming blot was released, the signal for Queen Daenerys and her dragons that battle had been joined.

"Let's hope this works" he heard his father say sotto voiced as he returned his attention to the gloom beyond Winterfell's stout walls. Blooms of fire sprouted in the distance, followed by more as the trebuchets reloaded, so far so good he mused. Then the grey gloom was split by the sound of dragon roars and the triple orange bright lances of dragonfire, which scored long burning furrows beyond the outermost defenses.

For several minutes he watched fascinated as this went on, until he spotted hundreds of arcing moving points of light emerge and converge in the snow hazed distance. His heart clutched in fear, the Dothraki moving to intercept a breakthrough. The Red Priests had demonstrated that their magic could light swords aflame, though at the cost of consuming the sword, but by whatever magics he did not know. He had witnessed this power of the Red Priests demonstrated, a normal sword would last for several minutes before it would break, when the flames eventually guttered and died they would leave behind a lumpy and charred mass of metal, full of holes and as brittle as burnt bone.

Few Westerosi were enamored of this and did not want the Red Priest's anywhere near their swords, and nor did the Dothraki either. But his father had discussed this with the Red Priestesses, the Dothraki and Queen Daenerys, apparently the magic of the Red Priests could also set arrowheads aflame, sparing them somewhat the need for dragonglass arrowheads. So instead of having their swords lit aflame the Dothraki would have their iron arrowheads blaze with the magical flame conjured by the Red Priests.

After some experimentation and tests, it was decided that mounted Red Priests, with a handful of Fiery Hand guards would accompany each Zuun of Dothraki. Other Red priests would be stationed on the walls with groups of archers so that they could also shoot fiery iron arrows, preserving their dragonglass supply.

The hundreds of points of light, like swarms of fireflies all moving in the same direction provided an easy way to see the Dothraki as they raced to seal off the breach in the outer defenses.

The pinpricks of light converged on a point that seemed to be enshrouded in utter darkness, said lights being suddenly extinguished as they entered the darkness. Tyrion noticed that the starting points of each fiery arrow were starting to move further and further away from where they had been originally losed from, and he realised with a lurch that the breach in the outer defenses was widening as the hordes of the Night King must be pouring through in an unstoppable wave.

"Not good" he mumbled "not good at all..." his eyes seeing what appeared to be a seething, boiling mass of... of darkness rush forwards towards Winterfell. From its flanks the Dothraki continued to pour blazing arrows into its mass but this seemed to be having little if any effect.

From the battlements the smaller siege weapons started losing their projectiles, fire pots and huge bolts tipped with dragonstone. The trebuchets now shifted their aim under the direction of Lord Robb to the penetration of the outer defenses, continuing their slow rain of Dornish fire, as the orders were given to prepare for lighting the wildfire trench.

Outside of the wildfire trench was another trench, filled with obstacles, which was supposed to slow down the Army of the Dead to allow the siege weapons on the walls of Winterfell to inflict as many casualties as possible.

But he watched with dismay as the dark tide washed over this obstacle without pause and crashed into the defensive chevrons held by the Unsullied. His father had referred to these as 'redans', apparently another old Ghiscari word, and again one he had never heard before. On the wind a terrifying sound reached Tyrion's ears, the massed screeches and screams of the dammed, the bone chilling dread voice of the vast Army of the Dead.

Archers from the two outer walls of Winterfell joined in the fighting, their arrows lighted with the magical flames of the Red Priests raining down in a deluge to support the beleaguered Unsullied. Were it not so terrifying Tyrion would have thought the sight strangely beautiful, the howling wind, the terrible darkness and the rain of points of fire descending from the high walls of Winterfell.

The black tide of the Army of the Dead spread out, spilling left and right along the defensive redans, engulfing them in wave after wave of horrors.

This was not looking good...

View in Thread

Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!

What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...

Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter

Sbiper, Dec 5, 2020Report#2748Like+ QuoteReply

RedKing96, Pezz, Ph34r_n0_3V1L and 178 others like this

Threadmarks: Bronn VIII

View in Thread

Sbiper

Sbiper

Not too sore, are you?

Joined:Feb 6, 2018

Messages:476

Likes Received:49,767

Bronn VIII

"Keep it up lads! And lasses! KEEP IT UP!" Bronn screamed into the howling wind; his face burned raw with the cold but he had no time to worry about that now. He was directing archers from the outer wall of Winterfell to keep up their rain of arrows onto the tide of screaming corpses that was threatening to overwhelm them all.

The Red Priest who had been providing magic to light their arrows had abruptly fallen dead mere moments before, his body a shriveled husk, looking as if it had been burnt in a fire, his skin blackened and split.

This had shocked him something fierce, and unnerved the men and women under his command, but he had refused to let it show, as he urged them on, knowing that their only hope was to keep the tide of dead fuckers away from the walls.

But it was obvious that below him the Unsullied were slowly faltering, the endless numbers of the Army of the Dead were slowly grinding the cock-less slave soldiers down, using their numerical advantage to, what was it Lord Tywin had said? Oh yes, to 'dog pile' the defences. Despite the Unsullied being lodged behind strong, if temporary defences - chevron shaped 'ditch and mound' constructions festooned with impenetrable thickets of stakes, faschine's and Abatis, the Army of the Dead was simply swarming the defences, allowing countless thousands of their numbers to be impaled and forming a pathway over the defences for their comrades to follow them. Two of the redans, as Lord Tywin had called them had already fallen and the Army of the Dead were already starting to pile up against the outer wall, forming a writhing and growing tower against the wall.

Bronn glimpsed oil being poured over the struggling mass and then watched with some satisfaction as the whole lot of them were lit on fire, to scream hideously and collapse away from the wall. His glee was short lived as the wights tried again, and at several more spots as they surged past and over the destroyed redans.

Despite the chaos and terror Bronn was strangely calm inside, he had a job to do and if he was honest with himself, he had had a good run of it so far. Raised to a Knight and then a Lord, with a Castle and a high-born girl as a wife, who was heavy with child, and thankfully far away from Winterfell, for he had sent Joanna back to Cornfield as soon as he had heard that the Targaryen girl was coming to Westeros to claim her throne. Fuck, he would have gone with Joanna also, if the Old Lion had not banned him from leaving Kings Landing. He had been sorely tempted to tell the Old Lion of 'fuck off' and leave anyway, but he had kept his tongue and bowed his head to Lord Tywin's wishes.

Once he has seen the thing that the Stark's had brought back from beyond The Wall Bronn had felt a strange peace come over him, a weird feeling that he was like a murmurer in some play, but that he had no control over the words or deeds he was performing. Case in point, he had not partaken in the flesh of whores or wenches since sending Joanna away, something he thought very strange when he pondered it. On arrival in Winterfell he had thrown himself into the tasks set for him by Lord Tywin barely having time to think of anything else.

Deafening screeches reached his ears, breaking his train of thought, a blaze of triple dragonfire splashing along the horde of dead things as the Dragons made another pass over the battlefield, and was he not so glad that he was not fighting against dragons? But even they were not the total advantage that some had seemed to think, the howling wind and thick curtains of swirling snow lessened their ability to attack the Army of the Dead. The attacks of the dragons were sporadic at best, as they often took several minutes to reappear from the murk after each attack, and said attacks were getting more intermittent to his eyes, though he could not be totally sure on that point.

Giving himself and shake to put these thoughts from his mind as a crawling mass of dead things suddenly reared up over the wall a few hundred feet from him.

"Shit!" he swore as the tidal wave of dead things swarmed out along the section of outer wall, under a rain of fiery arrows from archers on the higher, inner wall.

Without thinking he rallied a squad of Stark guardsmen to follow him and dashed to form a blocking party to prevent the wights advancing further along the wall. A bloom of fire exploded on the wall ahead of him, Dornish fire blossoming red and orange and yellow, consuming most of the wights, a second explosion burst on the lip of the outer wall.

Bronn snarled as he met the first of the wights, swinging the mace tipped with dragonglass about wildly and with a desperation borne of sheer terror, and along with his comrades and the residual fire from the two Dornish fire strikes from the inner wall managed to eliminate the wights on the wall. But a fresh swarm poured over the wall, numberless swarming things scuttled and shambled and staggered onto the wall, overwhelming them despite a rain magic fire arrows, dragon glass tipped arrows and Dornish fire from the inner wall.

Bronn and the defenders of the part of the outer wall he was stationed on fell back, each tower on the wall had a wooden bridge that led back to the inner wall, and it was the only access to and from the outer wall. They had to hold these if they wanted to have any chance, the towers of Winterfell's walls were strong and well defended, veritable mini keeps in their own right, he suddenly wished he was inside one of them and not out on the wall. Fuck that, he wished he was thousands of miles to the south of here, buried up to his stones in Joanna, and not fighting for his life in a freezing gale against dead things.

In the chaos and confusion Bronn realised he had no overall idea of what was going on, being far too busy staying alive, but it was clear that they were in danger of losing this section of the outer wall to the wights. The defenders on the wall were all now locked in a desperate struggle with the tide of wights now pouring over the wall, but it appeared hopeless, the numbers of wights were simply too many.

In the intermittent light provided by blazing arrows, blots and exploding Dornish fire pots Bronn could see that this section of the outer wall was mere seconds from being overrun completely.

"Back to the tower, BACK TO THE TOWER!" he screamed over the howling, snow laden gale, holding off the wights as the retreat to the tower threatened to become a rout. He barely made it back to the heavily fortified door of the tower, which thankfully had an iron portcullis outside a strong, iron hooped wooden door. Just as he passed the portcullis it slammed down, crushing several wights and chopping them into pieces. Pieces which still had fight in them and which he put down with frenzied, smashing strikes of his mace. The swarm of dead things slammed and hammered against the portcullis, screaming and clawing, the door behind it being slammed shut to blot them out.

But there was no time for rest, Bronn sprinted up the two turns of the spiral staircase and up onto the roof of the tower, said tower once supported a tall conical roof, now dismantled and reduced to wood for making scorpions and the tiles piled up as impromptu weapons to be thrown onto the hordes of attacking wights.

Up on the roof the defenders were beginning to grapple with a swarm of wights that were attempting to pile themselves up against the tower and clamber up on top of them. Frantic defence by the troops stationed there, using dragonglass tipped spears to impale any wights that tried to get up on the top of the tower, along with supporting volleys of arrows from the inner walls kept the wights at bay, but it was obvious to Bronn that the battle for the outer wall would soon be lost, great writhing towers of dead were swarming up against the outer walls in several places now, threatening to overwhelm the defences.

"WHY DON'T THEY LIGHT THAT FOOKIN' WILDFIRE! He screamed in frustration into the howling maelstrom of wind and snow that churned around Winterfell.

A deafening scream rent the air, he spun around in time to see a dragon crash into the ground, tumbling over and over in a tangle of wings, legs and tail, smashing and scattering dead and living alike, hurling bodies and parts of several redans into the air.

This was not looking good...

View in Thread

Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!

What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...

Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter

Sbiper, Dec 10, 2020Report#2758Like+ QuoteReply

, RedKing96, Pezz and 166 others like this.

Threadmarks: Robb XII

View in Thread

Sbiper

Sbiper

Not too sore, are you?

Joined:Feb 6, 2018

Messages:476

Likes Received:49,767

Robb XII

"Light the Wildfire! Light the wildfire!" he screeched at the top of his lungs, making sure he was heard over the howling of the icy wind, ignoring the feeling of blades being drawn across his face that the screaming gale of swirling snow produced.

He hoped his orders were going to be heeded in time, and he cursed himself for not anticipating that the chaos and terror of the battle would make trying to command it a lost cause in futility.

He turned his head back and forth, rushing from place to place on the battlements of the tower, his eyes wide and wild, seeing the end of men splashed across the hellish scenes that he beheld before him.

The inner walls had been swarmed and overrun, an unending tide of dead things were streaming over the walls and falling into the outer courtyard of Winterfell, headless of the defences that they had strewn the space with. Waves of dead washed over the barriers and defences, slaughtering as they went, silencing the trebuchets and beginning to lap against the walls of the inner keep.

The defenders of the inner keep rained dragongalss arrows, roof tiles and burning oil down onto the writhing tide of the Night king's army, their shouts of terror and desperation audible above the screaming of the wind.

His gaze was suddenly wrested to the pyre that burned in the courtyard of the inner keep, set by the Red Priests in a cleared space, like the outer courtyards this was also strewn with obstacles and defences to hinder the Army of the Dead. Obstacles which seemed to have been of little merit, as the inexhaustible soldiers of the great enemy just swarmed these obstacles like a tide of ants, flowing over them, leaving hundreds of them impaled but forming a carpet for those that followed after them.

The great pyre had just shrieked and roared higher into the sky, until its flames towered above the New Keep, the sound of its flames shrieking like a living thing being tortured. A distant sound, almost drowned out by the cacophony of the battle, the weather and the screaming, reached his ears. But it was his eyes that caught it; a sudden blaze of green light, which rushed to encircle Winterfell, the wildfire trench had finally been lit.

"Better late than never" he gasped; relief washing over him, at least that should stop the onslaught, if only for a while. The forces of the Night King inside the ring of wildfire were now trapped and they would hopefully be able to dispatch them, and reclaim the outer walls, hopefully.

And do for the next two hours the forces of the living whittled down the forces of thee dead, slowly reclaiming the parts of Winterfell that had been overrun, but at a terrible cost in lives.

And it quickly became apparent that trying to hold the outer walls would be folly, they had suffered far too many casualties to defend them sufficiently and that the dead had shown that they could easily scale them and swarm the defenders.

And close range combat with the endless host of magically animated corpses had proved to be terribly costly in terms of lives expended; their only chance was ranged weapons whittling down their enemy.

After a brief consultation with his assembled Lords and some of the Lords of the other realms Robb had ordered the outer walls abandoned and all forces concentrated on the walls of the inner keep. At least that way they would have enough men and women to man the walls with hopefully enough defenders to prevent the army of the dead using their swarming tactics to build great towers of dead flesh against the walls to scale them.

The two dragons still could be seen and heard attacking the endless swarms of dead things out beyond the ring of wildfire, but Robb knew that their attacks were becoming more and more infrequent. The great fire breathing beasts were obviously tiring, and the death of one of their number had been a terrible blow to their chances of survival he suspected.

He slumped against the walls of the tower, exhaustion pulling at his every fibre, and he had not even fought as of yet. The scene was illuminated by the ever present green glow of the burning wildfire, its flames steady and strong, burning with the power of the magics of the Red Priests, as they had promised. It gave them a much needed respite and a chance to recover, men and women were being cycled off the walls to take shelter, eat and catch some sleep, some of the less seriously injured were being returned to take up stations in preparation for the next assault.

"Get some rest my Lord" he heard a voice say, opening his eyes he saw Lord Tywin Lannister standing over him, looking grim faced.

"I, I need to be here..." he replied lamely, his voice raw in his throat.

"You do not, the dead will wait good brother, go below, get some hot food, keep your strength up for what is to come."

"I...very well" he replied, making his way down several flights of stairs to a chamber that was set with tables and chairs, a pot of strew was set over the hearth, an enticing aroma wafting from it. He accepted a bowl of stew and a hunk of bread from a serving woman, and he sat at a table, pouring himself some ale from a jug into a earthenware cup.

He was so absorbed in eating that he did not notice the Lannister's, father and dwarfish son sit down across from him, likewise with bowls of stew and hunks of bread. Lord Tywin poured his son some ale before he poured for himself; the two Lannister's then set about eating their fill of their food, not bothering to talk.

When they were finished, he felt his good brothers gaze upon him, and he wondered what the Old Lion wanted to say, not that he cared much one way or the other.

When nothing came out of Tywin Lannister's mouth he let the silence stretch out, though in truth the sound of the wind howling outside the tower drowned out the low murmur of conversation around the room. It had filled up with fighting men, unnoticed by him while he had eaten.

Eventually waiting for his good brother to say something became too much of a chore "Well?" he snapped, regretting instantly how petulant and childish he sounded.

"Well?" asked Tywin Lannister "We are doing about as well as can be expected, all things considered my Lord Stark."

"As well as can be considered?" he asked, a bitter laugh biting off his exclamation "half of our men and women are either dead or too injured to fight on; we have had to abandon the outer walls. The Dothraki and the Unsullied are gutted, scattered, or both. Her Grace is down one Dragon, and the numbers of the Army of the Dead seem endless..."

"As I said, about as well as can be expected" replied Tywin Lannister, his icy tone insufferable, making Robb's blood boil.

"Is this, is this some kind of a game to you!" he growled, his voice rising in anger "we are bleeding and dying out there, with no end in sight!"

"Do you think I would be here; do you think I would have brought the majority of my bannermen and their levies, along with the Red Cloaks to this frozen hell just to die Lord Stark? Would I be here if I did not think that we would win, that we would survive this battle? If I did not have absolute faith in victory, I would be currently lying on a shaded porch by a beach in the Summer islands, drinking a nicely cooled alcoholic beverage and with some dusky skinned whores lips around my cock, and to the Seven Hells with all of Westeros!"

His son Lord Tyrion spat out his ale in a fit of coughing and strangled laughter, Robb was too stunned to react to this outrageous admission from the Lord of the Westerlands.

"This" Lord Tywin gestured with his hand, to encompass the tower, Winterfell, the battle with the Army of the Dead "is the most important battle you, I, or anyone present here for that matter will ever fight. Nothing matters more than this, this battle where we will bleed and maybe even die for all humanity. But after we have won? Well, then the Game of Thrones will restart as if nothing has happened, as if our terrible battle with this eldritch horror was of absolutely no consequence. That is the nature of men I'm afraid my Lord."

"So, so all this...when all is said and done, is just one more battle for Lannister power?" Robb hissed, unable to believe his ears.

"When you play the Game of Throne's lad, you either win or you die" was the cold response from the Warden of the West.

"And if we lose?" whispered Robb, afraid of even saying the words.

"Well then the Game of Thrones no longer matters then does it..." Tywin replied with a tight smile.

Before Robb could say anything further a messenger rushed into the room, breathlessly reporting that the wildfire burning in the great defensive ring around Winterfell was 'behaving strangely'.

Robb got up at once and made his way back up onto the roof of the tower, his eyes drawn to the shifting glow of the wildfire as seen through the drifting curtains of snow.

"Look below" a voice said in his ear, his good brother Tywin Lannister standing right behind him.

Robb gazed over the battlements to the great pyre of the Red Priests noticing that it was wavering and stuttering, like a candle caught in the grip of a draught. The ring of Red Priests who had surrounded it, chanting their heathen prayers to their god was gone, only a single Red Priest remained. The robed figure was holding his hands aloft, obviously beseeching his god for magic to feed the wildfire flames, and as Robb watched in horror the figure walked forwards and straight into the flames of the pyre, his body disappearing into a soaring rush of flames that shot up into the night sky.

With a horrible feeling that threatened to bring up the food he had just eaten Robb knew why there had only been a single Red Priest left, they had sacrificed themselves to the flames to feed the great trench of wildfire that had protected them.

Robb tore his gaze away from the pyre below and instead looked at the wildfire in the distance, noticing at once that it seemed to blink and waver, like a great gale was snuffing it out.

He watched in horror as the green flames sputtered and died in the distance.

This was not looking good...

View in Thread

Last edited: Dec 15, 2020

Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!

What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...

Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter

Sbiper, Dec 15, 2020Report#2772Like+ QuoteReply

, RedKing96, U. 000 and 178 others like this.

Threadmarks: Sansa XXII

View in Thread

Sbiper

Sbiper

Not too sore, are you?

Joined:Feb 6, 2018

Messages:476

Likes Received:49,767

Sansa XXII

"My Lady?" Sansa heard, breaking through the terrified half sleep that she had snatched, her semi-conscious mind filled with screams and endless, running dead things.

"What?" she asked, her eyes heavy and raspy with exhaustion, turning her gaze on the woman before her.

"You should eat my lady, something hot, you need your strength" said the kindly faced smallfolk woman, handing her a bowl of soup.

Sansa smiled wanly at the woman and accepted the offering, levering herself upright from where she had slumped, most unladylike, against the corner of the wall.

She was in one of the, what had her husband referred to them as, of yes 'dressing stations' where the more lightly wounded were being patched and bandaged up before being sent back into the fray. In this case the dressing station was in the Great Hall of Winterfell, temporary beds and tables packed the space that in better times had seen feasts and even the odd ball. Wounded packed the beds, some were having to be treated on the floor, the fireplaces were all set with roaring log fires, great pots of boiling water bubbling away, with a few of soup also.

She had insisted on doing her part here, and to be fair Tywin had been of the opinion that only the very young and the very old should be spared some duties in the defence of Winterfell. Like their sons who were confined with most of the very young children and the very old inside the lower levels of the New Keep, safe, or as safe as could be behind iron reinforced doors studded with dragonglass. In truth a part of her had wanted to be there, to be with her sons but she knew that her duty was to do something, and not to hide away, not to cower in fear and dread. When she had told Tywin she had seen a glimmer of approval in his eyes, and she knew that her husband approved of her decision.

But she did not feel confident enough to join any of the several hundred women who were actively fighting outside though, despite her armour. So instead, she lent a hand here, cleaning and bandaging wounds, Unsullied, Dothraki, Stark men at Arms, Westerlanders, Riverlanders, it mattered not in the end she realised. All were human and they stood together against the dead, and the Games of Thrones be dammed.

She bit back a bitter laugh at that, for even here, even now, the Game of Thrones was still being played, despite the threat they faced. So while good northmen and the men of her husband's realm bleed and died to save the entire world, the armies of Dorne and the Reach were little in evidence. Apparently, they were stuck by the bad weather, but Sansa suspected there was more to it than that.

Those two realms would be relatively untouched by this war if they should win here at Winterfell, and no doubt keen to exploit this power in the Game of Thrones that was sure to resume after the Night King was defeated.

For she was sure that this great threat, the Long Night come again, this horror that she and everyone else had assumed to be just stories to scare children, would be defeated. Her husband was not the kind of man to commit himself to a battle without a chance, however slim, of victory. Though he was a realist and had scared and somewhat annoyed her by refusing to promise her the outcome of the battle being waged outside. And should they survive she knew that Tywin was of course planning for the resumption of the Game of Thrones once they had won here at Winterfell.

She sipped at the hot liquid in the bowl, letting its warmth flood her belly, sighing with contentment. Through the thick walls she could hear the winds howling and swirling around Winterfell, but not the sounds of battle, apparently the Wildfire had been lit and the battle was at something of a stalemate.

But she had heard that the dead had swarmed the outer walls and that they had only been beaten back with terrible losses. The wounded of this battle had nearly overwhelmed them, so many men and a few women with injuries from the desperate fighting to reclaim Winterfell's outer walls. And then the news that they were abandoning the outer walls altogether and retreating to the inner keep, the ramifications of that terrified Sansa. They had fought one serious battle with the forces of the Army of the Dead and had been so badly mauled that they had been forced to give up a major part of their defences. It did not bode well, of that Sansa was sure.

With a twist she pulled her mind away from these thoughts, instead her mind alighted on the strange way Arya and her husband were acting around each other. Arya had not been present to greet them when they had arrived in Winterfell, instead she had found her little sister in their quarters, dressed in attire more suitable for a boy than a girl.

Tywin had smiled when he had laid eyes on her sister, saying "ah, I was wondering when I would meet my cupbearer again!"

Sansa had looked at Tywin in shock, her eyes darting to Arya, who smirking replied to Sansa's unsaid question "I was your husband's cup bearer in Harenhall for a while" Arya's face pulling into a satisfied smirk.

"Indeed she was" Tywin laughed "smarter and braver than half my bannermen was your sister, outsmarted me she did, though she did have the services of a Faceless man at the time. So there is that..."

"Your Lord Husband is too kind Lady Sansa" Arya replied in a mocking and slightly sarcastic tone, her face still split by a self-satisfied grin.

"So, am I still on your list little wolf?" Tywin asked Arya, all traces of mirth suddenly absent from his face.

"What, what list?" Sansa had gasped out, before Arya had a chance to reply.

"The list you sister likes to recite to herself before she goes to sleep every night. How does it go again Lady Arya? Oh yes, Joffrey, Cersei, Meryn Trant, Tywin Lannister, Illyan Payne, The Mountain...have I got it right hrmmm?"

"Maybe" replied Arya, her gaze locked with her husbands, a battle of wills underway between the two of them. Sansa quailed at the thoughts of Arya engaging in such a battle with Tywin Lannister, of all people!

"Well, Joffrey is dead, Cersei is mad, Meryn Trant I beheaded myself for the disrespect he showed your sister, Illyan Payne died of natural causes, The Mountain I had executed, and had his head presented to Prince Oberyn. That would seem to leave me, your goodbrother as the only one really left on your list, would it not?"

"It would" Arya eventually replied, her grey eyes locked with Tywin's green ones.

"And?" came the question from the Old Lion, purred low and menacing.

"You are the father of my two nephews, you are married to my sister, I can hardly become a kinslayer now can I?" Arya retorted, her face suddenly splitting into a dangerous looking grin.

"Clever girl" came Tywin's grinning response. "Oh, and I have something for you Lady Arya, a gift, if you please?"

"Oh?"

"Yes, garments much more suitable for a lady of your status than the garb you currently have on" Tywin replied, Sansa noticing the instant change on Arya's face, the way her visage twisted into instant dislike.

Tywin ignored her and went to a trunk and beckoned Arya over, who reluctantly walked over, her face ready to explode with dislike.

When Arya peered inside her face had suddenly lit up with delight, as she dove into the chest and began hoisting out pieces of exquisitely crafted armour.

"Nothing will prevent you from fighting Lady Arya, and seeing as how you so rightly pointed out that we are family now, I could not have you go into battle without proper armour now could I?" Tywin asked Arya, his face a sardonic grin.

Arya ignored him, pulling out the pieces and laying them on the floor and the table, examining and admiring them.

"They were Jamie's when he was younger, I had them reworked and the Lannister Lion replaced by the Stark Direwolf, also I had all the gilding and useless ornamentation removed. Do you like it?"

Arya turned to look at the Old Lion and grinned. "No Lord Tywin, I fucking Love It!"

"ARYA!" she exclaimed, horrified at her sister's language in front of the Warden of the West.

Sansa's mouth quirked into a smile at the memory, and the irony that she was also clad in armour, at her husband's request, well really at his order. It would have been pointless to draw Tywin's ire to refuse to wear armour, and it did come from his desire to protect her, so hence why she had agreed to it.

Finishing up her bowl of soup Sansa stood up and returned to her nursing duties, while outside the unmistakable sounds of battle once more could be heard over the winds. Soon a trickle of wounded began to arrive, then a flood, and then, as her blood turned to ice, a demonic screeching and a blast of air so cold she nearly staggered and fell.

Screams and chaos erupted all around her as things that might once have been men burst into the Great Hall, moving swiftly but jerkily, attacking anything in their path.

Terror gripped Sansa and she wanted to flee, but remained rooted to the spot, as all around her the world dissolved into ear-splitting pandemonium, the shouts and screams and sounds of battle so loud as to hurt her ears.

Something grabbed at her neck with unnatural strength, a dead thing that had once been a Brother of the Nights Watch swinging a rusted, pitted blade towards her. The wight suddenly stopped, jerking and collapsing as if it was a marionette whose strings had been cut, Sansa gasped and saw her dragonglass dagger gripped in her hand, she having no recollection of ever having drawn it, much less stabbing the wight.

Another dead thing jumped at her, Sansa screamed in fright and terror and she swung her knife again, chopping the things arm clean off, unbalancing it and giving her time to punch her knife into its heart through tattered, rotten cloth and mottled, paper thin like skin.

Stumbling backwards Sansa spied a bunch of dragonglass spears, one of many left in the Great Hall against this very possibility; she ran the several steps to the bundle, grabbed one and just had time to swing it as several wrights mobbed her, a raw scream of horror and revulsion torn from her throat.

Hoarsely roaring her defiance Sansa knew the rest of her life was now measured in mere minutes, but she refused to cry, refused to retreat. Despite everything Winterfell was her home, and she would defend it to her last breath, her only regret was that she would never see her children again.

Sansa blinked, she and a handful of survivors had retreated to the dais end of the Great hall and were huddled there, but she had no memory of how she had gotten there. She watched in horror as the wights butchered the wounded who could not flee from them as the Great Hall filled with the shambling and disgusting mass of magically animated corpses.

She and the Hound, along with a few women and some lightly wounded men, all with dragonglass spears or daggers clutched in their trembling hands had retreated to the far end of the Great Hall, ready to sell their lives for as many wights as they could dispatch before they were overwhelmed.

"Sansa!" a voice calls out to her, she whirls around to see Arya, dressed in her new armour, appear from a door behind her.

"Quick, all of you, follow me!" her sister hisses, beckoning them to follow her.

Sansa does not hesitate and dashes after her sister, who leads her and the people following her to a narrow, hidden door "quick, quick! Inside!" Arya gestures frantically as they pile inside, into a narrow space, one of the hidden passages that Arya frequented as a child.

Arya and the Hound closed the stone-faced door to the passageway just in time to deny the frantically scrabbling dead things access. Arya gestured to several wooden beams laid to one side and they all pitched in to use them to shore up the door against the banging and thumping coming from the other side.

"Follow me!" announced Arya, dashing off into the semi darkness of the narrow passageway.

View in Thread

Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!

What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...

Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter

Sbiper, Dec 18, 2020Report#2786Like+ QuoteReply

, RedKing96, U. 000 and 170 others like this.

Threadmarks: Jamie IV

View in Thread

Sbiper

Sbiper

Not too sore, are you?

Joined:Feb 6, 2018

Messages:476

Likes Received:49,767

Jamie IV

Jamie shivered as the icy wind howled and screamed all around the Godswood, snow spraying in shifting curtains, often cutting visibility to a few feet. He was frozen with the cold, his fingers felt numb despite silk and woollen gloves underneath his gauntlets; he shuddered and huddled deeper into his cloak, miserable feelings souring his mind.

He should be fighting, out there on the walls of the Winterfell proper, or now on the inner walls, a runner had informed them of the loss of the outer walls. And yet still no assault on the walls of the Godswood, thinly manned as they were, well thinly manned compared to the walls of the main castle.

Instead, he stood shivering with a handful of Winterfell men at arms, the red priestess, Jon Snow, sorry Jon Stark and his half-brother Bran. Bran, the boy who he had thrown from a window in this very castle a few scant years ago, to protect the secret of his relationship with Cersei. Bran, who no longer seemed to be even human, with his slack face and strange, monotone voice, who appeared to care little if anything for what went on around him. Swaddled in furs the Stark boy sat immobile on his, what was it his father had called it? Oh yes, a 'wheelchair', an odd name, but strangely appropriate.

Bran had said nothing of how he had been crippled, despite telling Jamie that he 'forgave him' for what he did and that everything had happened for a reason. Frankly, it gave Jamie the chills to hear the Stark lad speak; to even be in his presence was unsettling to Jamie, it made a deep part of him want to either run away or stab the lad to death.

The red priestess was little better, her crimson eyes always seemed to be looking at him with a far too knowing gaze, and her full lips always seemed to just shy of pulling into a smirk when she spoke in his company.

At least the Stark bastard was a decent enough lad, not fond of talking though, which suited Jamie fine enough.

Through the snow the sounds of battle were oddly distorted, at times seeming loud and nearby, at others distant and appearing to shift direction in wild, random movements. Runners kept them up to date on what was happening, the loss of the first dragon they had glimpsed through the storm, but after that the wind and snow had cut them off almost completely. Jamie knew that the battle was going badly for them, despite all their preparations and plans, and that strangely his father was pinning almost all of his hopes on the crippled boy, the red witch and the former Stark bastard. His father must have truly lost his mind, as he knew Tyrion suspected, or maybe the lady Sansa had sucked all sense out of his father? And was that not strange, that lady Sansa was now his mother by law? A girl whom he had dismissed as an empty-headed fool the moment he had met her, but who was now neither empty headed nor a girl anymore, despite her tender years.

The loss of the second dragon had been reported to them, with confirmation that only the dragon ridden by Queen Daenerys was still flying, odd gouts of dragonfire sometimes visible through the murk and gloom. The Stark lad seemed relieved that their Targaryen queen was still alive, ah, but he knew the tell-tale signs of a lad pining for a chit, and the former Snow had fallen under the spell of the self-proclaimed Mother of Dragons.

Not that he blamed the lad, she was certainly a beautiful looking girl, but he was sure that the former bastard was in for a great disappointment there, why some part of him even pitied the young fool. He would have toyed with the lad and no doubt humiliated him over his obvious fascination with Daenerys Targaryem, if he had an ounce of care left to devote to such frivolities. But he realised he did not, that all he felt was emptiness, hollowness, and cold of course, cold so intense that it seemed to burn.

An ear-splitting screech nearly sent him and the men around him to the ground as he spun around, as out of the raging snowstorm a giant shadow burst forth, roaring in pain and terrible defiance. The great black dragon smashed into the outer wall, toppling it and skidding through the Godswood, trees and earth flying up all over the place, hurled away from the sliding dragon like bow wave from a monstrous ship.

"Khalessi!" screamed Ser Jorah, another love-struck fool that one, as he stumbled forwards towards the still sliding dragon, the Bear Islander did not get far before an uprooted tree collapsed onto the Knight, crushing him to the ground.

The dragon came to rest just short of the central weirdwood of the Gods wood, a tiny figure still clinging to its back, and Jamie was moving without even thinking, Jon Stark at his side.

Clambering up onto the dragon he noticed several spears, made from what looked like ice protruding from its flank, blood hissing and spluttering from the wounds inflicted. The great beast moaned and coughed, shaking its head as if to try and dislodge him and Jon, but its movements were feeble, slow, and its head collapsed into the ground with nary a sigh.

Between him and Jon they removed Daenerys from the dragons back, noticing that despite being conscious, if barely, her legs seemed to dangle and flail, as if they were unable to support her. Her face was smeared with blood, a nasty gash across her forehead weeping crimson and revealing the pale glimmer of bone.

Half carrying, half stumbling they brought the Targaryen girl to were Bran and the red Priestess were, gently laying the girl down beside the weirwood tree.

"I, I cannot feel my legs..." the girl gasped, her voice rough but weak, her eyes hazing with a strange shadow.

He caught the bastards eyes, both of them sharing a look that said more than any words could, while the red Priestess knelt and said "that is because you were hurt when Drogon crashed my Queen."

"Drogon!" the girl cried out, trying to stand but only succeeding in falling over onto her side, she levered herself up to see the bulk of her dragon a few tens of feet away, broken and bloodied.

"NO! DROGON!" she wailed piteously as Bran Stark said in that emotionless voice of his "He is here, it is time."

"What?" asked Jon Stark, his face a riot of confusion, fear and countless other emotions.

"The Night King is here for me, it is time" replied Bran, his voice still showing no timbre of awareness or sympathy to what was going on around him.

Sounds of fighting reached Jamie's ears, along with bestial screams and grunts, out of the darkness wights exploded towards them, rushing them.

Jamie had no time for any further thoughts as he swung his dragonglass tipped mace at the first of them to reach him, huddling down behind a shield attached to his right arm.

Chaos exploded all around him, but he did not care, his mind was empty of everything except the need to fight and survive, but for what he did not know.

View in Thread

Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!

What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...

Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter

Sbiper, Dec 23, 2020Report#2797Like+ QuoteReply

, RedKing96, U. 000 and 178 others like this.

Threadmarks: Jon V

View in Thread

Sbiper

Sbiper

Not too sore, are you?

Joined:Feb 6, 2018

Messages:476

Likes Received:49,767

New

Jon V

"Arrghhhhh!" Jon screamed, his sword bisecting two scrabbling corpses, felling them to the snow covered floor of the Godswood. He spun around, his breath coming in great, gasping pants, every muscle in his body tense and taut, his eyes wildly searching for more dead things to kill.

But there were none, at least for now, and the battlefield was strangely, eerily silent, he spun around again to make sure before lowering his guard and letting a juddering breath out between his teeth.

They had survived again, how many times was it, six, seven waves of racing, frantic, screeching dead things that had burst from the breached wall of the Godswood, despite the remaining defenders showering the breach with dragonglass arrows. The dark tides of the army of the dead had lapped almost to the spot where Bran sat unconcerned, the red witch standing behind him with seeming equal disdain for the hordes of the dead.

And for every assault that they beat back, their numbers shrank steadily, until it was now only him, Ser Jamie, Toramund and five assorted Stark Men at Arms who stood between the Great Enemy and his brother Bran.

Ser Jamie staggered over to him, looking as exhausted as Jon felt, Heartsbane clutched in his hand. Sam had given his family's ancestral blade to Ser Jorah but as the Bear Islander had been killed by a falling tree Ser Jamie had taken up the Valyrian steel sword after the 1st assault had been beaten back.

Jon did not know how the rest of the fight was going, only that the three Dragons were dead and that the outer walls of Winterfell had been breached and that the wights and the White Walkers were assaulting the walls of the New Keep. Beyond that he knew nothing, for all he knew their pathetic party in the Godswood were the only ones left alive, that their desperate defence had all been for nothing, that Rob and everyone else was dead.

Turning away from Ser Jamie he stumbled over to Bran, kneeling down beside Daenerys Targaryen where she lay behind Bran's wheeled chair, the girl was draped in his cloak, her face deathly pale and white where it was not covered in her blood, her eyes unfocused.

"Your Grace?" he asked, his voice pitched low to be just heard above the fitfully gusting wind, the storm that had raged around Winterfell seemed to be abating.

"There is nothing you can do for her Jon Stark" said the red priestess, before the girl could respond, Jon turning his head to glare at Melisandre of Ashai, a curse forming on his lips.

"SHUT UP!" he snarled "no one is fucking asking you!" spittle foaming at his lips, turning his head back to the broken girl he whispered, his hand gently touching her silver hair "your grace?"

"There is no time" announced Bran, his voice pulling Jon's attention away from Daenerys Targaryen "he is here."

Jon stood up, the wind dropping away to nothing and the snowfall slackening away to nothing.

"The Great Enemy is here Jon Stark, it is time for you to claim your destiny as Azor Ahai!" screamed out the red priestess, her voice shrill edged equally with ecstasy and madness, sending terrified tremor through Jon.

"Wha...what?" he stuttered.

Before the red priestess could reply Jon spied movement in the shadowed woods, as eight tall, milk pale creatures emerging from the darkness to stand silently watching them.

The hair on his arms stood on end and every instinct in Jon bade him run and never stop running, the Others and the Night King, the creatures he had faced at Hardhome.

Seven of the figures advanced, as Jon saw wights shamble into view all around them, well there was no running for him now, even if he had ever even contemplated giving into his fears.

Jamie Lannister surged forwards with several of the surviving men at arms, Toramund a heartsbeat behind them. He went to move but Bran's arm caught his in a vice like grip, his crippled half-brothers hand like a vice on his arm.

"No Jon, this is not your fight, for you do not yet bear Lightbringer."

"What? What are you talking about Bran?" he asked, panic rising in his voice as the men at arms were cut down with contemptuous ease, Jamie Lannister managing to dispatch one of the Others with his Valyrian steel blade, Toramund shattering another with his great two headed dragonglass axe.

"The weapons you and your comrades wield cannot kill the Great Enemy Azor Ahai, only his servants and thralls. To kill him you must wield Lightbringer" interjected Melissandre, taking a step closer to him. "We have no time Azor Ahai, you must forge Lightbringer now, before it is too late!"

"Let me go!" he shouted, "Let me go!" as Jamie and Toramund fought the swarming Others, his heart quailing as he knew his comrades were hopelessly outnumbered and likely had mere seconds to live.

"You must plunge your sword into Daenerys Targaryen and transform it into Lightbringer Jon, it is the only way" said Bran, his voice un-emotionless and seemingly unconcerned by the fight taking place just feet away from him.

"NO!" he screamed "NO!" his denial insistent, his gaze suddenly drawn to the fight, as Jamie Lannister cut down two Others and lunged at the Night King, his blade sliding into the Night Kings side.

Everything seemed to stop for Jon, time itself slowing to a crawl as the Night King gave Jamie a smile and backhanded Heartsbane out of Jamie's grip, before reversing his cut and beheading the Lannister with an almost casual backswipe.

To Jon the scene stuttered and snapped back into motion as Toramund roared "if you are going to do something crow, now would be the time!"

"It is the only way he can be killed Azor Ahai!" screeched the red witch, her voice like nails on his raw nerves. The Others pushed Toramund back, his wildling friend desperately flinging his dragonglass axe around, barely avoiding being skewered on the icy blades of the Others.

A part of him stood outside himself and watched as he turned and took a step back, drawing Longclaw and plunging the blade into the slumped and barely conscious form of Daenerys Targaryen.

The second the valyrian steel pierces the girls flesh the blade ignites with white flames, strangely without any heat. Blinking he found himself holding the blade wreathed in pale fire before him, mesmerised by the play of the fire across its darkly rippled surface, before on some instinct he stepped away from the body of the girl at his feet.

The sword moved as if of its own volition, cutting through an Other with ease, swinging back and forth as his body moved as if it was an extension of the sword and not the other way around, slaying all the Others until he stood before the Night King, fiery blade to icy blade.

View in Thread

Last edited: Dec 26, 2020

Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!

What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...

Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter

Sbiper, Dec 26, 2020Report#2832Like+ QuoteReply

, IG884HIRE, kalistira and 195 others like this.

Threadmarks: Tywin IX

View in Thread

Sbiper

Sbiper

Not too sore, are you?

Joined:Feb 6, 2018

Messages:476

Likes Received:49,767

New

Tywin IX

I tilted my head to look at Tyrion, whose face betrayed his obvious fear and frank terror, things were as they say 'going to hell in a handbasket'. The Great Hall had just been overrun and an unstoppable tidal wave of dead things were pouring over the inner walls of Winterfell, Sansa and my sons were probably dead already and the plan that I had bet everything on was in tatters.

It was I realised with a sour, hard lump in my throat, time to die, and worse than that probably rise as a zombie in the Army of the Night King. Fuck Westeros and fuck whoever had dropped me here in this arsehole of a universe! Tywin laughed darkly in my head, his mirth was fragile, edged with madness, he was terrified also, the Old Lion was shitting himself with fear. But unlike me he was doing a rather better job of suppressing it.

The last defenders of Winterfell, myself, Tyrion, Robb and a handful of lords and knights were drawn up before the doors to the New Keep, we had abandoned our posts in the tower when it had become obvious that it was all over and that we had lost.

There were no recriminations, no wailing or gnashing of teeth, only a grim determination to meet our fate as men, something that had nearly sent me over the edge into hysterical laughter. Thankfully I had enough self-control to not dissolve into a blubbering mess, probably as a result of several years spent merged with Tywin Lannister. At least I had that to be thankful for I mused, laughter very nearly spilling from my lips at this thought.

"Father..." Tyrion said, his words strained sounding.

"There is no need to say it my son; we will die together as men" this being all I could get out before the sounds of the zombies smashing up against the iron reinforced doors drowned out everything.

The dragons, the wildfire, the reaming Giants, the Free Folk, the Unsullied, the Dothraki, all had been in vain in the end. Even that crazy cunt Melisandre and the equally daft 'three eyed crow' had failed, nothing could stop the Night King and his Army, and I'd been the bigger fool to think otherwise. I should have buggered off to the Summer Islands as soon as I had found myself in Westeros, spending my days lounging on a beach drinking cocktails and getting my cock sucked by ebony skinned beauties.

Instead I found myself freezing my balls off and about to be butchered by a horde of dead things, the cosmic unfairness of it all!

Tywin snarled in my head, giving me the equivalent of a sharp slap and a reminder to pull myself together, warning me that he would be driving during the battle as my fighting skills were, and I quote 'pathetic'. Well, I'd not grown up in Westeros and never trained at swordsmanship or anything else even remotely martial, there was that you old cunt!

Again the doors resounded mightily with a terrific impact, splinters shedding from their inner surface and the great ironwood beams buckling and groaning. It would not be long now before we were dog piled to death, but before that, I was going to do one thing.

Cheesy? Fuck yes, useless? Probably, but never let it be said that I would not let my inner nerd have one, last say.

I moved forwards to stand before the remaining defenders of Winterfell, as another impact nearly split the doors open and raised my voice.

"Sons of the North, of the Vale, of the Riverlands, of the Westerlands, my brothers. I see in your eyes the very same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but that day is not today! We face an hour of darkness and despair, when the age of men comes crashing down, but that day is not today! This day we fight! By all that you hold dear on this good Earth, I bid you stand, Men of Westeros!"

And with that, and epic timing the doors were broken, a gap opening up between them through which swarmed the Army of the dead. Hefting my shield and a dragonglass topped mace and braced myself and prepared to die.

Maybe I should have equipped everyone with a Scutum and either a short dragonglass sword like a Gladius, or maybe a short stabbing spear I idly wondered as the remains of the defenders backed up a spiral staircase.

Yes, large, heavy shields and tactics like those of the Roman Legions would have been better when dealing with these fucking dead things. The oval shield and dragonglass tipped mace Tywin was wielding was good, but only because Tywin was clad in good, full plate.

Hysteria gibbered at the edges of my mind as Tywin, Robb, Tyrion and a handful of others desperately fought off the unending horde of dead things that threw themselves at us, rusty blades or even just clawed hands reaching for us to end our lives. The numbers against us were telling, despite the close quarters, despite our good armour and weapons it was going to be only a matter of time. And should the zombies flank us and come at form our rear, it would be all over. Now it was only a matter of how many more minutes we could spend alive, even if our last minutes were filled with terror and fear, exhaustion and desperation.

An impact nearly made me stumble and fall, a fatal outcome as I would be swarmed in seconds by the zombies. Barely keeping our feet Tywin punched with his shield and swung his mace in a short upward arc, decapitating a particularly skeletal zombie.

The characteristic grunts and screams of the zombies erupted from behind us, this was it...

"Father?"

"Father, wake up!"

I mumbled something and opened my eyes, Tyrion standing over me, a look of concern etched on his eyes.

I took a glance around, Robb Stark the Greatjon and a few others were variously slumped on the ground or against the walls of the staircase, exhausted and drained looking.

"What happened?" I asked, levering myself upright, not yet feeling I had the strength to get up from where I lay against the wall.

"Just, just as the zombies attacked us from the rear, you stumbled and fell against the wall, knocking yourself out. Then...they, they all dropped down and went still, none of them have moved since..."

"We won then" I announced, Tywin deciding that it was high time we got off our collective ass and made sure that the Game of Thrones was played to the conclusion we wanted.

"We won?" asked Robb Stark, panting with exhaustion, leaning on Ice to support him.

"Aye, the Night King is dead, most likely killed by Jon Stark..."

"What?" gasped Robb Stark, his face a mass of confusion and surprise.

"I must go and find him, I promised him something of inestimable value and a Lannister always pays his debts."

View in Thread

Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!

What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...

Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter

Sbiper, Jan 4, 2021Report#2868Like+ QuoteReply

BengelHa, Drgnfrst, and 225 others like this.

Threadmarks: Rob XIII

View in Thread

Sbiper

Sbiper

Not too sore, are you?

Joined:Feb 6, 2018

Messages:476

Likes Received:49,767

New

Rob XIII

Wintefell was a shambles, though its gates and walls were mostly intact, what said walls and gates were supposed to protect had been wrecked thoroughly by the assault of the Army of the Dead. The stout walls and defences of Winterfell had proven to be of little or no obstacle to any enemy who could pile thousands upon thousands of magically animated corpses up against walls and pour over them in numberless hordes.

Boiling oil had proven a complete failure against the wights, only fire, the normal kind and the magical wildfire, along with dragonglass had proven anyway effective. And thus the walls of Winterfell had been swarmed and its defences overwhelmed, its defenders hacked down by endless waves of dead things, the self same defenders rising to attack their former comrades within minutes of them falling.

The casualty count had been horrendous, simply unbelievable, seven out of every ten defender was dead, the Unsullied and Dothraki were decimated, mere shadows of their formers numbers remained. Every House that had congregated in Winterfell had been gutted of fighting men, even the Lannisters had been slaughtered, Ser Jamie falling during the fight in the Godswood and Lords Tywin and Tyrion sporting new near matching scars on their faces.

The women and children that they had hidden away in secured rooms in the New and Old Keep had survived, mainly by dint of sealing them away from the fight. Sansa and Arya, decked in armor and looking quite funny to his eyes had also survived, Sansa admitting that Arya saved her life by spiriting her away to the hidden passageways that Arya knew so well from her childhood days in Winterfell.

The sheer number of dead, both their own and the now still corpses of the Night Kings Army littering Winterfell had taken nigh on a week to clear away and burn on giant pyres that had been built outside the walls.

The bodies of two of their former Queens dragons had been found, where the body of the third one was a mystery, rather than be burnt they had been butchered, dragon bone being a valuable commodity.

Robb dragged his mind back to the present; in his Solar were all the Starks, the Lannister's, and the red witch, along with Greatjon Umber and a recently arrived Howland Reed. This meeting had been called at the request of Lord Tywin and seemed to have been prompted by the unusual arrival of Lord Reed.

"We are all here, what is it that you wanted to talk to us about goodbrother?" he asked of Lord Tywin, opening up the floor as it were to the Old Lion.

"This concerns the future of the Seven Kingdoms and who should sit upon the Iron Throne" the Lannister Lord said smoothly, his voice deep and rumbling, no doubt like what the growl of the animal on his Houses' sigil would sound like Rob mused.

"Your grandson has the best claim, I seem to remember he once sat his little bony arse on it!" remarked Greatjon Umber, a grin splitting his face.

Lord Tywin coolly regarded the northern Lord for a second or two before continuing "alas given the return and untimely demise of Queen Daenerys Targaryen the issue of who has the best claim to the Iron Throne is not that simple I'm afraid" remarked lord Tywin. The old lion's his face impassive and unreadable, but the hair on the back of Robb's neck suddenly rose, a shiver uncontrollably passing through him.

"What do you mean?" asked his mother, stating the question that many were no doubt too afraid to voice.

Lord Tywin removed several documents from a leather pouch that he had been holding and placed them on the desk before Robb.

"Your lord father, though honourable to a fault, was also a liar" the Old Lion smoothly purred, his mouth twitching into the smallest of grins, his green gold eyes seeming to shine with strange intent. "These documents" lord Tywin announced, gesturing offhand to them "will prove the truth of your lord fathers' lies."

"WHAT!" Robb stuttered, as a confused babble of voices burst out in the room, Greatjon Umber shaking his fist at lord Tywin and threatening to strangle him for what he had just said.

The Old Lion barely batted an eyelid and waited for the hubbub to die down, before continuing "Honourable Ned Stark came home from Robert's Rebellion with a bastard child in tow, the young man who killed the Night King. The same man who Melisandre of Asshai has proclaimed to be Azor Ahai, the great hero who was destined to kill the Night King and end the reign of the Great Enemy of Mankind. Jon Stark fulfilled this prophesy, he is indeed Azor Ahai, but he is more than that, much more. For Jon Snow was never a bastard, even as Jon Stark he is not a bastard, in fact he is not even a Stark!"

Again a riot of voices erupted at this pronouncement of the old Lion, Robb shouted over them all, demanding silence, his brother Jon sporting a crestfallen look on his face at this announcement. Noticing the Jon was about to say something Tywin Lannister jumped in before him "you are not a Stark lad; you are a Targaryen! Your mother was Lyanna Stark and your father was Rhaegar Targaryen. And he did not steal her away either, no you mother went willingly, and her and Rhaegar were married, after his marriage to Elia Martel was annulled by the High Septon. Those documents on Lord Robb's desk will show the truth of what I say...and Lord Howland can confirm this is true, he was there at the Tower of Joy."

Again chaos broke out, with everyone seeming to start talking or shouting at once, Robb had to scream for silence again, when it settled he asked Lord Reed in a voice that broke and stuttered, despite his best efforts "Is this true?"

"Yes, it's true, Jon is the trueborn son of Lyanna and Rhaegar" replied the little crannog man, his voice soft but he may as well have shouted it at the top of his lungs for the impact it had.

Pandemonium reigned for minutes after this, until Lord Tywin called out, his voice cutting above the noise "I would like to bend the knee to our new King, King Jon of House Targaryen, first of his name."

And with this the Old Lion approached Jon and went to one knee before his brother, reciting his vows as Warden of the West and Lord of the Westerlands.

A part of his mind that Robb credited to his Lannister wife whispered 'Clever, very clever - the first Lord to bend the knee, and what do they say about Lannister's eh? That they always pay their debts...'

Robb wondered what payment Tywin Lannister would extract from the boy who was never his brother and who was now his King, as he stepped up before Jon and knelt, his own vows as Warden of the North falling from his lips.

View in Thread

Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!

What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...

Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter

Sbiper, Jan 12, 2021Report#2890Like+ QuoteReply

Drgnfrst, , IG884HIRE and 214 others like this.

Threadmarks: Tyrion XX

View in Thread

Sbiper

Sbiper

Not too sore, are you?

Joined:Feb 6, 2018

Messages:476

Likes Received:49,767

New

Tyrion XX

"Your Grace."

"Don't..."

"But you are our King, especially..." here Tyrion gestured at the bulk of Rhaegal, the dragon had apparently only been injured during the battle of Winterfell, and it had flown off to lick its wounds.

The beast had returned several weeks ago, wounded and angry, landing outside Winterfell and roaring and belching fire erratically. The creatures timing had been impeccable, eerily so, if he did not know better he would have suspected his father of planning the whole thing, for mere minutes after his father and Robb Stark had bent the knee the plaintive and still far off shriek of Rhaegal had filled the air.

The party in Lord Robb's Solar had rapidly departed and made their way to the walls to view the creatures' approach, it had landed near enough to the walls and in their direct sight, its wails and screeches sounding for all the world like those of some overgrown youngling.

His father had announced dryly "it is wailing for its master your Grace, you should go to it, what better way to show everyone that you are of the blood of the Dragon than by taming the beast."

And so the bastard boy he had known as Jon Snow descended from the walls of Winterfell and strode out the gates of the ancient fortress and approached the hulking beast, who whinnied like a horse when Jon Snow went to pet the giant flying lizard.

"I think that conclusively proves who his Grace is, don't you?" said his father with an annoying smirk plastered on his mouth "enough to convince the soon to arrive Tyrells and Martell's hummmmm?"

"Erh..." mumbled Robb Stark, his gaze fixed on the sight before them, of the giant dragon nuzzling at their new King, seemingly as tame as a cat or a dog, or maybe a particularly well-behaved horse.

In the several weeks that had passed since then Tyrion had much time to think and ponder, and to plot, to let his hatred and anger stoke him to action.

For seeing his father's almost casual dismissal of Jamie's body, badly torn by huge gashes made by the horrible Ice weapons wielded by the Others, that had started him down the path he now trod. He had accompanied his father to the Godswood in the immediate aftermath of the end of the battle, stepping over piles of corpses to reach it, to see the pitiful number of survivors clustered around Jon Stark. Queen Daenerys was dead, he later learned of exactly how she had died, and the bodies of the Others were sprawled about. The creatures looked to be decomposing swiftly, melting even, overhead the skies were clearing and the wind and snow had died down to almost nothing.

His father had come to Jamie's body, gazing down for what to Tyrion seemed to be a mere second or two, before moving on to speak with Jon Stark, Bran and the red Priestess. And at that moment all of Tyrion's hatred, the encompassing rage at how he had been treated for most of his life threatened to explode out of him. It was only with the greatest of self-control that he stayed his hand and did not launch himself against his father.

Instead something pure and terrible crystallised inside his head, and a sour lump constricted his throat, as behind his mismatched eyes his brain churned and roiled at the possibilities, the pathways he might tread. For it looked like Tywin fucking Lannister would once again get everything he ever fucking wanted...Myrcella...but of course, their new young, and rather fetchingly handsome King was sure to be in dire need of a wife, and the sooner he wed the better no doubt. Well better for his father and better still if it was Myrcella, his father would get to try again with his blood on the Iron Throne, just like he was trying again with the fruit of lady Sansa's fertile womb.

Bitterness and bile burned the back of his throat, once again he had to stand by and watch as his father triumphed, pissing on him in the process.

But then again, maybe not he mused, maybe not.

But ironically for all the bile and bitterness filling him, for all the plots and plans that he hatched inside the privacy of his mind, it was an unexpected, but very pleasant side effect of the aftermath of the battle that had nearly stayed his hands.

His wife had emerged terrified from where she and many of the non-combatant women and children had been hiding to confront the scene of devastation. The endless piles of corpses that had once been the Army of the Dead lay everywhere; their stench overwhelming.

He had found Roslin retching and gagging, thin bile hanging from that pretty mouth of hers, holding herself up with one hand against the ancient stones of a building, a bundled Tyrone gripped tightly in her other arm.

His wife was wide eyed and terrified, and as the rest of the days had worn on, she had continued to be terrified by what had happened, a haunted look in her eyes and her nights rent by nightmares. She had endlessly questioned him about the battle and what had happened, a habit that Tyrion had been initially pleased to indulge, but one which had become trying in no short order.

Every night when she woke screaming with nameless terror Roslin had collapsed sobbing into his arms, her body wracked by her fear, and Tyrion had feared that his wife was losing her sanity. But after nigh on ten days of this one early morning, as Roslin had woken trashing and crying her mouth had sought his, just as her arms sought him. The kiss had deepened and become heated, Roslin's hands groping at his night clothes, moans escaping her mouth despite his tongue trashing inside it.

Soon both of them were naked and Roslin spread her legs for him, teasing her folds with the head of his cock as he positioned himself she was sopping wet, unable to resist he plunged into her, hilting himself to shuddering moans from both of them.

And so something of what he suspected was normal for a husband and wife commenced that early morning, Roslin no longer shied away from him, no longer looked upon him with either horror or fear. Every night from then on he and Roslin had enjoyed each other's bodies, his Frey wife as eager as him to join their flesh. And maybe a sibling for Tyrone would be conceived within Winterfell's environs, no doubt his father would be pleased at the thoughts of another Lannister in the world. And he just might name the child Jamie if it was a boy, Ha! He might even name it Cersei if it was a girl! And how about that for a great jape eh?

"He is still not fully healed" muttered Jon Targaryen, stroking the muzzle of Rhaegal, who purred like some giant feline, dragging Tyrion's mind back to the present.

"He seems to like you, if I were not mistaken your presence is making him heal faster your Grace."

Jon turned sharply to look at him as Tyrion took a few steps forwards, the dragon giving him only a cursory glance, and then ignored him. "I read all I could when I was younger about dragons and their lore, admittedly what remains is fragmentary, but dragons seem to prosper when they have a strong bond with their rider."

"I, I have not yet ridden Rhaegal..." muttered the young man who was now King.

"But you will, and soon I would wager. Dragon riding is after all the true mark of a Targaryen King, is it not?"

"I, I still... I don't know what to...to feel, about all that" Jon replied, stumbling over his words, almost embarrassed by what he had to say.

"You will grow into it, do not worry. Many see you as the rightful saviour of all mankind, surely being King of the Seven Kingdoms should be easy?" Tyrion quipped, grinning and trying to lift the lads' solemn mood.

"I don't want it, any of this..." the King replied, a tone of petulance underpinning his words.

"Which is exactly the reason why you should be king your Grace!" Tyrion retorted, taking a step closer until he stood right beside the man who professed to not want to be king.

"And if I am not mistaken, there are moves afoot to secure your hand in marriage, are there not?"

Jon looked at him sharply, but then flushed and returned to stroking the dragon's muzzle, which told Tyrion all he wanted to know.

"While my niece is a sweet girl and no doubt will make a good queen and a dutiful wife, have you given any thought to other options?" Tyrion asked as casually as he could, keeping his gaze fixed on the lad's face, but making sure his scrutiny was not too intense looking, no sense in frightening the boy now was there?

"No, I mean, your father..."

"My father thinks only of what is best for House Lannister first, second and last, he has no room for anything else in either his heart or his head. He is one of your bannermen your Grace, a powerful and loyal one at that, but still..."

"Why, why are you telling me this, you are a Lannister?" asked Jon Targaryen, his voice slightly strained sounding, emotions surging beneath the surface of his words.

"I am, but I do not slavishly follow my father in all things, I am my own man, despite certain, well, realities" here he gestured to his form, bowing his head slightly to take his gaze away from the lads' face.

"You, you said to me once, that, that 'all dwarfs are bastards in their fathers' eyes" Jon said, his voice steadier sounding, though with a slight edge.

"Aye, that we are your Grace, that we are. But while I remain a dwarf, you on the other hand have risen from bastard to king of the Seven Kingdoms. Quite an elevation, you will agree?"

"It, it is, I, I don't want it, any of it. I'd, I would trade it all for just the Stark name and a Holdfast somewhere" the lad said wistfully, turning away from him and the dragon, maybe even to hide tears brimming in his grey eyes.

"That won't bring her back lad, and you would hardly be fit for the Dragon Queen as a mere Stark bannerman now would you?"

The man who was hiss King turned sharply back to him, eyes red rimmed and fury brewing in them, before he could say anything Tyrion said "she was beautiful, strong, she would have made a great queen, but it was not meant to be."

"I killed her Lannister!" Jon spat "I drove my sword right through her!" he screamed, spinning away from him, rage boiling off him.

"You did, and in doing so you forged Lightbringer, without which you would have not killed the Night King. And in doing this you saved us all, every one of us in Winterfell, the North, the Seven Kingdoms and all of Planetos!"

He let his words hang in the air for a few seconds before he told Jon the story of Tysha, the boy's nostrils flaring with anger by the end, his fists clasping and unclasping reflexively.

"Why, why did you tell me this tale Lannister, your father is an evil man, all in Westeros know this, and he committed terrible crimes against House Targaryen, but he is tied by blood to me through Lady Sansa."

"You are a young King, new to your reign, my father is the Old Lion, you must know he seeks to control you, at the minimum by marriage to my niece the Lady Myrcella? Who no doubt would make a doting wife and an excellent Queen, the very opposite of her dreadful mother."

"Aye, I know this, I, I owe your father a debt, he, he did reveal who my mother was, as, as he promised..."

"That he did, but my Lord father knew exactly who you were for moons prior to this and he did nothing. And, as you now can see, knowing who your mother really was has brought with it its own host of problems, has it not?"

"What are you saying Lord Tyrion, speak plainly man!" Jon Targaryen demanded, his face starting to flush in anger.

"What I am saying your Grace is that you don't have to be a pawn of Tywin Lannister, and that no matter what you think of it, you will have to learn to play the Game of Thrones."

"Well then teach me to play the Game of Thrones Lord Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King..."

View in Thread

Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!

What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...

Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter

Sbiper, Jan 14, 2021Report#2971Like+ QuoteReply

Drgnfrst, , IG884HIRE and 188 others like this.

Threadmarks: Sansa XIII

View in Thread

Sbiper

Sbiper

Not too sore, are you?

Joined:Feb 6, 2018

Messages:476

Likes Received:49,767

New

Sansa XIII

"You are looking well Lady Sansa" purred Queen Margaery, her hands, like Sansa's cupping a pregnant belly. Both her and the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms were with child, Margaery with her first born, Sansa with her third child.

"As are you your Grace, impending motherhood seems to agree with you" Sansa replied, her face a pleasant mask, her voice conveying just the right amount of emotion and sincerity.

"His Grace is very happy; he cannot wait to have me give birth. Was he always this impatient?" Margaery laughed light heartedly, seeming to enjoy the innocence of the remark.

"No, if I remember Jon was always a rather patient boy, it must be the joy at being a father that is making him impatient" Sansa replied, smiling at the chestnut-haired beauty who had been crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms for what was technically the second time, or was it the third? And who finally was with child after nigh on a year and a half of marriage.

"You are due soon are you not Lady Sansa?"

"Yes, no more than a moon and a half at most" she replied, resting a hand on her bump, the baby was sleeping now thankfully, it seemed to prefer to move around during the night. And she was getting very little sleep at night as a result.

Tywin had advised her to sleep as much during the day if possible, so as to not exhaust herself, and her husband oft took up her duties with the twins to let her sleep. It was she thought strange, but Tywin had little to actually do, he was not Hand of the King and had no official duties beyond ruling the Westerlands, which seemed to her to take up only a little of his time.

There had been feasts and celebrations when they had returned to Casterly Rock, but said celebrations were tinged by grief at the losses that the armies of the Westerlands had suffered at the hands of the Army of the Dead. Resentment, anger and not a little bit of rebelliousness had bubbled under the surface those first few moons, something which Tywin had stamped down on with his usual ruthlessness. Not that any actual revolt had broken out, the banner men of the Westerlands were far too cowed by her husband for that, but she had realised that should Tywin die before her sons came of age, they might fancy their chances of tugging at the Lions tail as it were.

Tywin had been schooling her in the various houses of the Westerlands, their relative strengths and weaknesses, the personalities of their senior members, in expectation of her ruling one day. With the Red cloaks decimated the military strength of House Lannister was precarious, but with most of the banner men of House Lannister suffering equally grievous losses the balance of power was not that greatly upset in truth.

And with her cousin on the Iron Throne and with marriage links to the North and the Riverlands the overall position of the Westerlands was relatively secure, at least for now.

But still, she did not like to think of Tywin's death, he was still hale and hearty, strong and more that able, but she knew he would most likely die well before her, and that it may fall to her to rule the Westerlands until her sons came of age. While some Lords would no doubt like Lord Kevan to rule as regent Tywin seemed to think that she would make a better regent than his loyal brother.

She let a little smile cross her face as she remembered an incident in Casterly Rock at a feast when talk had turned to the 'Rains of Castamere', and the rebellion against Tywin's rule. Some minor Lord who was sworn directly to Casterly Rock had been making some rather boisterous comments, no doubt fuelled by too much wine and ale. Noticing that she was giving the lord a rather stern look the drunken fool had presumed to assume that she was 'too delicate' to listen to his talk of what had happened during the rebellion.

"On the contrary my lord, I am not 'too delicate' as you assume. I am merely in disagreement with my Lord Husbands actions in flooding the mines of the Reynes" Sansa had said, in a voice strong yet cold.

At this statement all conversation died and heads turned to look at her, horror and fear beginning to chase across some faces, triumph and glee on others, who assumed that she was an empty headed girl.

Waiting a few seconds until she had the full attention of everyone, including Tywin, who was regarding her with what she knew was sight amusement she continued.

"I would not have bothered flooding the keep and mines of Castamere, I would merely have sealed the rebels in and let them starve to death, that way the gold mines would be still useful to us. I'm from the North as you know, we are a practical people, we don't let things go to waste."

With that she lifted her goblet and took a sip of her wine, as conversation started up in stuttering starts and fits, Tywin leaning in to whisper in her ear "clever girl."

She was convinced that the babe now growing in her womb had been conceived that very night, Tywin near ravishing her before they had even made it to their chambers, let alone disrobed properly.

They had been called away to Kings Landing to celebrate the official 1st anniversary of King Jon Targaryen, 1st of his Name's rule, when he had been proclaimed King in the Great Sept of Baelor, and so they had come. Tywin had been grumpy at having her come due to her advanced pregnancy, but she had insisted, Casterly Rock, for all its grandeur and splendour, would be empty without her husband.

Her and Queen Margaery were sitting in the gardens of the upper levels of the Red Keep, the view was out over Blackwater bay, the Maesters had announced that Spring was upon the Seven Kingdoms and the weather was pleasant, strong sunshine moderated by cooling breezes in off the bay.

Sansa and Margaery chatted on, but Sansa's mind drifted back to Winterfell, and the aftermath of the Battle for the Dawn, as that terrible battle with the Night King was being called.

She had survived, as had her sons, her lord husband also emerging only mildly wounded from the battle, when untold thousands had died to the endless hordes of the dead.

She had remembered emerging from hiding to see her former home near destroyed and covered in a carpet of corpses, in many places several deep. That had been traumatic enough, but then the revelations afterwards, of who Jon Snow really was, that, well that had been unbelievable.

And the quick realisation that Tywin had known about Jon's true heritage, that had struck her like a blow from a warhammer. She had confronted her lord husband on this almost as soon as she had cottoned on to the truth, and had that not been a most interesting of conversations?

Her husband was an utterly ruthless, utterly cold man, capable of lows of despicable dishonour, and she realised that this did not make her hate him or despise him. No, the cunning of the Old Lion was something strangely attractive, intoxicating even. But despite everything he had been thwarted in his desire to see Myrcella married to King Jon, and by his own son of all people!

Lord Tyrion had manoeuvred himself into the position of Hand of the King, a role he still filled, and had convinced Jon that he needed to marry Margaery Tyrell to secure his rule. With the army of his deceased aunt destroyed, the military power of the North and the Westerlands broken by the costly defence of Winterfell, Jon needed the power of the Tyrell's to back him. While the boy she had thought of as her bastard brother did have a dragon, that was seemingly all he had. Well, that and his name, with the evidence confirmed by documents that her husband had provided, and by the testimony of Lord Howland Reed.

So when the Martels and the Tyrells had finally arrived at Winterfell the Imp had side-lined his father and handled the negotiations. The Martel's were none too happy about the revelation of Jon's parentage, and even less so by Rhaegar's actions, so their Princess was only reluctantly offered to Jon. No reluctance on the part of the Tyrell's though, Lord Mace had fallen over himself to offer his twice married but yet un-bedded daughter to Jon.

So it was that two moons after the battle they had left Winterfell, heading to White Harbour, and then by sea to Kings Landing. There the Rose of Highgarden waited for her new King, and with frankly unseemly haste Jon and Margaery were wed in the Great Sept of Baelor, even before Jon was officially crowned King no less.

Less than a week later Tywin and her had departed and headed overland to the Westerlands, Sansa never forgetting the first glimpse she had of Casterly Rock as they spied it in the distance.

Seated on a horse beside Tywin she could feel the fierce pride radiating off him as they laid eyes on the ancient seat of the Lannister's, her family now, her blood would rule here in the ages to come.

Sansa smiled at the memory, her husband had taken her on tours of the castle, taking several hours a day after they arrived to show her what was her new domain.

"I hear that Lady Roslin is with child again, and so soon after she gave birth to her second child?"

Margaery's question dragged Sansa back to the present "yes I believe so, but Lord Tyrion has not yet formally announced this joyous news."

"The Lord Hand is kept very busy, he is clearing out fleabottom and finally restoring the drains and sewers in King Landing, hopefully that will get rid of the horrible stench once and for all…."

The elevation pf Tyrion to Hand of the King had shocked Sansa at the time, equally shocking had been the, well, sanguine reaction of her husband to the news. Her husband had been remarkably magnanimous when all was said and done, and when pressed he had been less than forthcoming about his reasons. When she had pushed him in private Tywin had replied that he preferred 'ploughing her to hoeing the fields of the Seven Kingdoms' and that so long as Tyrion made a good go of things, it would reflect well on House Lannister.

"Oh, I saw Lady Myrcella earlier on today, she was with her betrothed, Dikon Tarley" Margaery leaned closer "he's very handsome, but don't tell Jon I said that!" she winked at her mischievously, wrinkling her nose as she said it, to emphasise the playful tone in her voice "my Grandmother once thought I might marry Dikon Tarley you know…"

Sansa said nothing at that, just gave a beaming smile back to the queen in response. Dikon Tarley was a very handsome young Lord, exactly the kind who would have set her heart aflutter when she had been younger, and infinitely stupider.

"Anyway, his Grace is off flying his dragon somewhere over Blackwater bay apparently, he will probably be away for most of the day. Would you care to accompany me? I am visiting an orphanage in the city, to bestow royal patronage."

"I would be delighted to your Grace" Sansa replied smiling, while in reality she would prefer to spend the afternoon with Tywin, he had been continuing his lessons about the Westerlands and how to rule.

Sansa knew he was preparing her to rule in his absence, something that simultaneously thrilled and terrified her.

View in Thread

Think an SI into Ned Stark with a Homo Drakensis twist sounds like fun? Well the Black Wolf [NSFW] is the story for you then!

What would you did if you woke up in Westeros and discovered you had been subjected to an enforced gender change? See the adventures of The Littlest Lioness for all the delightful details...

Ever fancied being Tywin Lannister? Well now you can find out, courtesy of The Lion in Winter

Sbiper, Yesterday at 6:54 AMReport#3016Like+ QuoteReply

Yar, Emperi62, DeepLurker and 183 others like this.