A/N: Hey guys. Hope y'all are doing well ahead of Easter weekend. To all my Christian readers, happy easter.
Couldn't keep you waiting for too long after the last chap ;)
Read and comment!
Chapter 31: Passion
Tongues deep in each other's mouths, Maegor kept enough sense for the both of them in checking the door. Blindly, one hand reaching to drop the latch securely. He sighed into her mouth, much more relieved. "We need to… be quiet…" he murmured, barely audible as his niece was doing her best to devour him whole.
His niece… fuck…
The most beautiful woman in the world. What his kepa undoubtedly thought looking at both of his sisters. The fleeting guilt was just that - fleeting - as Maegor simply lost himself in this.
"Alright, just get this fucking off," Rhaena demanded, desperately trying to loosen the straps on his armor. Her blood was up from the battle and their fight, mind a mush of confused emotions and certain desires. Kessa… Her dreams were playing out before her. Unfortunately, they both had to come up for air. Breaths hard, she stared at her gorgeous uncle with a lustful and possessive gaze. "You're beautiful…"
Maegor snorted. "No, you are."
She wanted to snark back, but her heart did a little catch. He thinks I'm beautiful… A roll of the hips proved his statement, Rhaena feeling all of him. It drove her wild. "All of it, off. Now."
Eyes going black at the lustful, possessive commands, Maegor knew in that moment he would do whatever she wanted. Growling, instead of complying he tore at her own armor and garments. Rhaena gasped, the offending steel, mail, and fabric slithering to the floor. Those gasps turned to lustful moans quickly. Maegor went immediately to his own straps. Piece by piece his armor, leathers, tunic, and belt dropped to the floor.
Smallclothes were all that remained. In an instant, not even that.
By Tessarion, he's breathtaking. From his hungry stare, Rhaena could see no complaints from her uncle. It made her blush without thinking of it. Rhaena sat on the bed, looking up at him with awe and love. Yes, endless love. Please… take me. I love you, Maegor...
She didn't need to wait long. Their lips met in a clash of furious passion as Maegor climbed over her… yet he pulled back. Rhaena didn't have time to grow ire since his mouth began placing wet kisses and nips along her neck… then her breasts, making her moan. "Kessa…"
"Gods be good…" They were round and perfect - large on her frame but not out of place with light pink nipples capping them. Maegor caressed them as his tongue lashed at the tips, drawing the most wondrous sounds from her.
They reminded him of Ceryse's rapture at his touch, yet Rhaena was not her. She was unique, and every little difference Maegor absolutely cherished.
This woman tugged at his soul the way no other could.
Utterly enjoying the lavishing of her breasts, Rhaena didn't notice Maegor between her legs till hot breath teased her cunt. Enough experience with Tyanna knew what was coming next. "Devour me, your Princess demands it."
Smirking, Maegor obliged without a hint of further teasing. Just swiping up the wet slit, then plunging deep inside.
Her eyes rolled back as he feasted on her wildly, fingers weaving into his silver locks. Tyanna had given her the greatest pleasure, but she was more dextrous. Lips softer and tongue more intimate. Her uncle, he dove on her like a dragon - plundering her cunt and channel with the hunger of Balerion. His stubble pricked her smooth thighs… and oh gods, she adored it.
She slowly rolled her hips over his face and he never let up. I cannot give him up… he's a priceless treasure. Born to fight, born to govern, and born to fuck like an animal the perfect Targaryen Prince in her eyes… All thoughts died as he lashed at her clit. "Kessa! KESSA!" Rhaena's whole body shook as she embarrassingly fell over the edge before he could even start.
Maegor pulled back as the last eruption of juice coated his lips. He licked it off, chuckling. "You taste good, niece. Delectable." He licked his lips again, this time for effect.
Rhaena blushed madly, suddenly a bit shy. "Maegor…"
He blinked. "Say my name again."
She met his gaze. "Maegor."
"I like my name on your lips." She usually called him 'uncle,' but this seemed more intimate. A closeness that he used to cherish with Ceryse but was harder to come by. Maegor missed it. An unavoidable question came to mind. "Do we… do you…?"
Understanding, she nodded her head vigorously. "Yes."
Eyes widening, Maegor slowly climbed on top of her. A bulky bear of a man ever so delicate with the strong yet slight flower below him. He stilled as their faces met - eyes searching out her own. "Rhaena…"
Patience running thin, Rhaena was not keen on losing this opportunity. "I'm ready, uncle."
"It'll hurt." Worry was written in his expression. "I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't." She looped her arms round his neck, leaning up to gently kiss him. "I've been waiting for this for three years, Maegor." She took his thick length and brought it to her opening, as if she had done this before. "Please don't make me wait... ñuha jorrāelagon."
Hearing the words of everlasting love on her lips, all hesitance left Maegor. Already lined up, he gently pushed the tip inside her. Drinking her silent gasp and widened eyes like a man dying of thirst. Kissing her, he gingerly pushed and met resistance. Another push and he broke the little flap of skin - entering her channel.
It was only a little prick of pain, one that discomforted Rhaena for but a second… until the pinprick transformed into burning need. She had felt this before, her fingers spearing into Tyanna as she writhed below her, and now Rhaena felt those same sensations on her end. Reluctance faded to passion, desperately writhing as her hips bucked wildly. Frantically kissing him, Rhaena clawed at his back. "Oh, my love," she moaned, voice pleading. "Please… more… I need it." The moan turned into a scream as he thrust stones-deep inside her. "Oh yes… harder…"
It was so good she dissolved into High Valyrian.
Whatever restraint was left simply dissolved in an instant. Maegor's inner dragon roared, urging him to simply rut. Take this woman with all his might and make her his. Rhaena as mine… mine… Mine!
He understood his kepa all the more now. Maegor loved hard before, but with another dragon… pure magic.
Wrapping his arms under and above her shoulders, the Prince redoubled his thrusts. Piercing her again and again with all the force he could muster. Trying undoubtedly to fuck her into the bed, and from her filthy moans Rhaena loved it. Begging him for more as she panted against his ear.
"Fuck… Maegor… Harder! Give me that dragon cock!" Nothing could have prepared her for this. No lesson or session with Tyanna, equally rapturous as that was. His cock rubbed against every sensitive spot she never knew she had, making her roll against him and claw at him in a frenzy. "More… more… more… Gods! I can take it! Fuck!" Wrapping her legs tight around him, Rhaena needed it as her body betrayed her. Collapsing into a torrent of the purest pleasure that rocked her very system to the core.
He was not far behind, grunting. Spilling his seed deep into her womb.
Soon though, the aftershocks began to dissipate into a sensitive warmth. Breathing slackening to something quiet and serene. Rhaena found the silence as one would the moments before an executioner's blade fell upon one's neck. Waiting for the moment where her uncle - her married uncle - would reject her and send her packing from the bed just as he had after their first kiss…
Only for a slight shift from her to make him hold her tighter to him. The warm kiss pressed upon her forehead felt like a divine touch. "Don't go," he murmured.
Rhaena looked up at him, heart soaring. "I… I thought you would want me to."
He smiled sadly at her, reaching out to fix a strand of hair that wafted over your forehead. "I deserve that, don't I?" She couldn't respond, leading him to continue. "Weeks have gone by with my hope you'd listen to my apologies for that.. I suppose it was simply cause I couldn't face the truth with myself."
"What truth?" There was expectance, yet hesitance in Rhaena's voice.
Pausing, Maegor carefully thought. All his life he had been taught to control his emotions, to never give anything away. Brandon Snow, Gawen Corbray, his muna and kepa… seven hells, even Ralla were very taciturn, and yet… Each loved hard and fierce. Passionately in spite of their self-control. Why should he be different from them?
Maegor could almost hear his muna… or even the echoes in his dreams he was sure was his muna Rhaenys scream at him to just let go. To voice his feelings lest he lose someone more vital than any form of pride or false modesty.
He pledged to heed those voices. "That I love you, Rhaena."
Rhaena's eyes widened to the point of saucers, completely shocked. "You… you love me?" A warmth spread through her belly as the seconds ticked by.
Cupping her cheek, Maegor smiled softly. "Damn me to the seven hells, but I do."
Tears filled her eyes. It was everything she had dreamed for the last three years. "I love you too…" Unable to help herself, Rhaena launched up at him. Arms wrapping tightly around his neck and kissing all over his face. Unable to stop lest this be discovered as a nightmare. "Uncle, I love you. If that is something that…" she sniffled. "That merits condemnation on me, I don't fucking care."
"You sound like my muna," Maegor chuckled dryly. "A compliment, trust me."
"Of course a compliment. I wouldn't think any woman better for me to be more than grandmother." Smiling serenely, she snuggled against his chest. Was this what she wanted? No. I could never have wanted something this blissful. Her experience with Maegor, no dream or desire could compare to how good it was. "You're the one."
It was murmured, but Maegor heard it. "One what?"
She looked up at him. "The one man for me. The only man I've ever had or ever want."
While Maegor was smart enough to likely know this, hearing Rhaena confess it to him was heady for the Prince. "I took your maidenhead." He sighed. "You did deserve that to be your husband."
Rhaena snorted. "Firstly, it wasn't my first sexual experience so don't give me that modest shit. Secondly, it was my choice to sleep with you, uncle. I love you, loved you ever since I was a girl and you gave me Dreamfyre, so it was my choice." She kissed his neck. "I don't care if you're married or my uncle. I love you all the same."
Leaning back into the pillow, Maegor asked the forgiveness from… he didn't even know anymore. "I don't deserve your selfless love, but I cannot reject it." He cupped her cheek. "I do not regret you at all, never think that."
She anticipated his argument. "You worry for Aunt Ceryse."
"And you don't?"
Sighing, Rhaena rested her head against his chest again. "She was always a good person, and I hate that she's in pain from all of this."
"I don't blame her for our babes, you must know that," he insisted. "Please don't blame her."
"Gods, I don't." Looking at it as she grew… from discussions with Tyanna, Rhaena viewed it with suspicion but wouldn't voice that. "She is a good woman, but I am not letting you go, my love." Unable to help herself, she kissed him. Rhaena swooned as he kissed her back. Bed barely made for one - a much smaller man than her tall, strapping uncle. "You're mine, my love."
"Aye, I suppose I am," he said through her kisses. Small as the bed was, they rolled in it, laughing together in a carefree joy that came with being perfectly attuned lovers. It was refreshing and wonderful, especially for the Prince given all his pain and anguish. Stoically he wore it and faced it, but hurt all the same.
As their giggles subsided, Rhaena laid underneath him as he cupped her cheek. When Maegor started to smirk, her brow rose. "What?"
"First sexual experience not me?" His smirk widened. "Is there a lucky lady out there I must be jealous of."
Rhaena groaned. "Of course you're a lecher." That earned another kiss and spate of tickles.
Perhaps they were postponing the heady conversation and reckoning, but at the moment neither bothered to care.
Sword tied to her side, no guards were going to stop Nymeria Sand from entering her cousin's council even if they were ordered to. The only difference was that of the mess she would've made had such orders existed - none would die, but that was the only limitation she allowed herself to have. Most liked her within the keep of Sunspear and the adjoining town, but the mustard tunic-coated guards gave her a wide berth as they opened the door to the council chambers.
Several heads, all but one male even in the more egalitarian Dorne, rose as she entered. "Ah, dearest Nym," remarked Prince Mors, a Rhoynish-style crown on his head and a grin on his lips… though the grin didn't reach his ears. "You're late."
Nymeria was not about to give him the satisfaction of planning whatever he was planning without her presence. "Forgive me, I wasn't told of this meeting."
"Not an excuse, but I shall be having a talk with my servants for this glaring oversight." No you won't. She wasn't stupid enough to believe such horseshit, but Mors might have been to think she'd believe it given his relief at her nod.
Lord Malcolm Wyl however… nothing escaped his placid, snakelike face. "Regardless of the reason, we are glad for your presence, Lady Sand." Nymeria eyed him as she pushed herself into a position between Lord Brynden Vaith - an ancient relic of the First Dornish War - and her sometimes lover Ser Lucius Yronwood, young, blonde, and very pretty. Not as beautiful as Clarisse but comely enough for her taste. Both she could read, Wyl not so much. "A warrior of your prowess is rare indeed. Our very own Visenya Targaryen."
She nodded at that, quite the compliment if one was to ignore petty grudges as her grandmother taught Nymeria to do. "Glad to be of service." Even in Dorne, those women that adopted the sword or the spear tended to be overly aggressive to compensate - Lady Annia Fowler came to mind, standing two spaces away from Nymeria. Her glower could kill a man. "Did I miss anything?"
Before Mors could answer, Wyl cut him off. "We were just starting, my Lady." As but a bastard, she was not a Princess. Nymeria was fine with it. "Lord Uller was simply explaining the progress of our preparations."
Coughing, Lord Michel Uller looked rather pompous - fat and arrogant in spite of the hellish desert climate that was Hellholt, usually producing hard, sour men with the constitution of dried corpses. His mother is Myrish, so that explains it. "Aye, we've been moving stores and stockpiles out of the keeps and into the countryside."
Nymeria looked no different, but inwardly she paid rapt attention. War? Seemed likely. "Do we expect another invasion?"
"We're the last of the holdouts till the dragonspawn take all of Westeros in their grubby claws," hissed Mors. "War is always likely, especially if that cruel brute Maegor is able to manipulate his weakling of a brother…"
"What his Grace means," interjected Wyl, ever suave. "Is that the obvious weakness that King Aenys is perceived to have might convince the more bellicose Targaryens and their advisors to seek to unite the Kingdoms by invading us. It is my contention and is also that of the High Septon."
While she took skepticism at that, Nymeria was soon not the only one to think such. "The High Septon is a Gardener bastard," insisted Ser Yronwood. "Why the fuck would he care about us?"
"We are of his flock," replied Lord Vaith, the most pious of the gathered council. "I doubt he wishes for us to burn even at the hands of his sovereign." So naive. Nym knew more than anyone else that the High Septon had his own agenda. A bastard didn't rise so high without one and the wherewithal to match - her last name made her an expert. "So he feels there's a war?"
"Not that I think there will be, but there could be." Wyl pointed to a map before them. "Such is why I've inflamed tensions in the Dornish Marches. If the situation worsens, we can counterattack and prevent the Targaryens from launching an offensive into our lands. They'll use their dragons, but we can handle that."
Nymeria knew exactly what he meant by inflame. The Vulture King. Everyone in Dorne knew this person… or at least knew of him rather. The man fighting in the name of Dorne and the Rhoynish people against the dragons and their Reach Marcher Lord allies. His cause was doomed after the battle outside of Hornhill, dragons annihilating much of his guerilla band - but still he fought.
Of course he fights. Wyl is supplying him. Burnings, killings, rapings, and sabotage. Not enough to take and hold land, but plenty to render land useless for defense.
A smart tactic, but one fraught with risk. Nymeria was at that moment determined to learn everything she needed to know about him and the effort to supply him. And as always, a pretty woman had her ways to delve information.
The next week passing by, Nymeria engaged in her days with the same vigor as she always did. She fought and trained hard, worked with the maester and her household guard captain to properly manage the affairs of Sunspear town - beneath that of Mors but an action that made her loved there - and writing her friends all over Dorne. It was a life she enjoyed, but the tension in her mind and body didn't dissipate till the information she needed finally arrived.
"My Lady." Into her chambers walked the young knight, a hedge knight from the lands around the ruined keep of Vulture's Roost. Poor and bad land that could only raise goats or scrappy rye fields, but it had produced someone competent in Ser Matthias Rone. Competent and very handsome. "I have what you seek."
"Keep your voice down," Nym whispered harshly, silencing him with a little kiss. Their flirting was heavy, but had stayed merely that - flirting. "Tell me."
Ser Rone nodded. "Wyl's men handle the resupply themselves, using donkey convoys through the Red Mountains. Most of the recruits for the Vulture King are from the dungeons around Dorne or those from Myr and Tyrosh."
Her brows rose. The Three Daughters? Lys wasn't advisable since most would look Valyrian, but Myrmen and those of Tyrosh looked close to Dornish. It also pointed to Volantis having some stake in this, since they controlled the Three Daughters. "Which keep is he using for this?"
"That of House Blackmont mostly, I think knowing the risk of operating out of the ruined Vulture's Roost since the dragons would be likely to see it." He worked close enough with Lord Wyl… one of the reasons Nym was planning to transfer him to her service as soon as possible. "I think he may seek Starfall as a jumping off point."
"Starfall, huh?" She couldn't contain her relief. Now Clarisse could help her nip this war in the bud. "You did well, Ser Rone." Smiling, she made her way back to the bed, letting the straps of her dress fall… as did the rest of the fabric. "Come claim your reward."
He didn't need to be asked twice. Nymeria dared to notice he wasn't as bad as most male lovers she had, as what followed was most enjoyable.
There was no better defensive position between the headwaters of the Milkwater River and the Wall itself. Even a rather mediocre military mind such as Princess Rhaenys - her skills more in the realm of aerial combat - could see that of the large rocky outcrop and surrounding hill known by the locals as the 'Fist of the First Men.'
"Was built by the ancient tribes… even before the Long Night in fact," Brandon reminded her as they glimpsed it earlier. He had his arms wrapped around her from behind, kissing her neck. "Much prettier than Dragonstone," he teased.
She replied by turning, smiling at him, and cupping his prominent crotch even under several layers of fur and leather. "Try making love within it alongside a roaring fire." Rhaenys had to admit though, the Fist had its own rugged beauty - perfect for the North.
Beauty had nothing to do with why Lord Commander Hoare, Brandon, Ralla's Wildlings, and Lord Umber selected it. The hill offered commanding views of the Haunted Forest all around, with the slopes at a dangerous angle to the north and west, and only slightly less dangerous to the east. Such would funnel any attack into just a few approaches that could be easily defended. A brook not iced over provided fresh water, and the top of the stone provided a perfect perch for Arrax to nest… at least until the blizzards happened.
No blizzards yet, of which Rhaenys was grateful. Gave a perfect window for the Rangers, bannermen, and allied wildlings to charge up the Milkwater river valley and set up the position dangerously close to the alliance between the various hostile clans.
"They want us here," Ralla warned as she and Rhaenys talked over heated mulled wine. "No ambush? Thenns love ambushes, as do the Frostfangs."
"We surprised them, I think." Rhaenys had learned a lot, but in certain cases truths were universal. "My father didn't expect the Ironborn to attack across the God's Eye yet they did. That was a close run thing, even though he won."
But Ralla shook her head. "Can't underestimate these fucks. They either want to massacre us or seek to trap us here."
A scoff. "Arrax will kill those possibilities."
"Don't count on it." Her eyes were hard. "I tell your idiot brother a lot, those beasts give you strengths no one else can match, but even bigger egoes that can hurt harder than a fuckin' axe to the head."
Such a lesson was hard even for Rhaenys to grasp, even though she tried. "Think they'll try and treat with us?"
Ralla shrugged. "Maybe."
Four days after the camp was set up, a group of warriors on foot approached the stockade. "We seek an audience!" someone yelled at the guards.
Brandon, overall in command, replied. "Let them in!"
While most masons even in the ramshackle Mountain Clans would die of laughter at the pathetic stockade wreathing the Fist of the First Men, against an enemy without horse or siege engines worth a damn the thickly-bound sharpened logs were akin to a ten foot thick stone block as far as Rhaenys was concerned. Gate opening, the trio of Thenns that led the party of the dozen or so other clansmen looked decisively out of their element in such a den of human civilization. It distracted from their fierce appearances.
Brother, you did not lie.
Each had to be over six feet tall, all bald and one with lines of self-mutilation crossing his face. The senior warrior. "Who's in charge?!" he bellowed out in a gutteral version of the Common Tongue. They speak the old tongue here. Rhaenys remembered Ralla speaking it fluently to her brother long before. "Where's the King Crow?!"
"Lord Commander Hoare isn't here," she heard her husband announce. "But as Lord of Winterfell I have his stead to lead men on a ranging."
The Thenn's lips curled into a hyena grin - showing off a row of blackened teeth. And it didn't look like merely rot that discolored them. "I can smell a Stark in my sleep. Prissy cunt playing a tough warrior." Eyes shifted to Ralla's father, who had just came up on Brandon's other side. "Didn't expect you to ever come back."
"Didn't expect you to want to fucking die like your brother," the rival clan leader replied. "Yet here we fucking are, Boiorix."
A snort. "Aye, here we are."
Turning to them, the crowd around Rhaenys and Brandon now including First Ranger Allard Snow and Lord Marlon Umber, Ralla's father cleared his throat. "My Lords, Princess, this is Boiorix, Magnar of the Thenns. Joining him are Bodugnatus of the Ice Rivers, Gelina of the Frostfangs, and Gelimer of the Naviri." The second and fourth were stereotypical wildling brutes, while the third was a striking woman much like Ralla, only with ice blonde rather than fire-red hair. An almost perfect representation of Queen Visenya. Muna would laugh at the coincidence. "They are here to treat with us."
"Treat with us?" Marlon laughed derisively. "A bunch of dung-burning savages. Only treating we'll do to 'em is with our axes."
"Wanna compare axes, southern cunt?" hissed Gelina, hefting a large one of her own.
Clenching her teeth, Rhaenys closed her eyes and sent out a mental call. Moments later, Arrax let out a loud roar that even made one of the Thenns pale - her own men as well, not used were they to dragons. "Forgive me," she replied sweetly. "But my son does not like those that waste the precious time of a Targaryen Princess."
Boiorix alone among them was nonplussed, gazing at her with a gruff indifference. "You're a long way from home, Valyrian." A smug grin. "That's right, we're not all savages 'ere."
Rhaenys ignored his last. "My home is Winterfell, and you threaten the lands sworn to it. A little cold for me and my son… not a bother."
"Fuck you, princess." Eyes went to Gelina, her blue eyes filled with hate. "We're starvin' and you bitch about threats?"
"We are willing to provide food and other trade goods - not arms - if you disband your army and march back to your lands." Brandon gave the terms. "Any crossing of the wall by armed groups will be considered in breach of the treaty."
Stepping forward, guards raised their blades and crossbows as the massive Boiorix looked to intimidate her husband. "Fuck your treaties, southerner." He slammed his fist against his chest. "Might makes right to the true northerners, and we'll see who's stronger."
Narrowing her eyes, Rhaenys took her own step forward, sandwiching herself between Boiorix and her husband. "Fire and blood, Magnar. Fire and blood."
The Thenn Magnar's snarling grin grew even wider. "All fire dies in the blizzard, Valyrian."
Taking a deep breath, Jaehaerys swung the blade. In front of him were imaginary enemies of House Targaryen. Dornish spears, wildling savages, Rhoynish warriors… all fought against Prince Jaehaerys and he would kill them all. 'Swift… use your power and strength, but never leave yourself without a retreat. Forward. Go, go, then back!' Keeping Ser Karstark's lessons in mind, Jae worked at the moves. Each swing of his blade taking out another foe of his house.
So concentrated was he that he didn't hear the approaching footfalls till a twig snapped. He swiveled around to see his sister tripping. Falling to the ground and tumbling down a tiny hill. "Alysanne!"
But it was only a distraction as a brown blur leapt on him, knocking Jae flat on his ass as laughter rang out. Hands tightly gripping his arms. Beaming sweetly, Arya put a little more pressure on Jae's wrists. "Pinned ya."
"Get off!" Jaehaerys cursed, suddenly shooting out a burst of energy that had them rolling around again…
Only for Arya to fall atop him again, legs holding his down and hands back at his wrists. "Pinned ya again, my Prince." Jae opened his mouth to yell at her, only for Arya to kiss his lips in a peck, giggling.
Off to the side, brushing off grass and dead leaves from her dress, Alysanne giggled as well. "She ambushed you, brother."
"Fuck you," he hissed. "And fuck you, awful Arya."
The cursing didn't bother Arya the way it did the sweeter Alysanne. She heard worse from her father's bannermen. The nickname though… "What did you call me, Targaryen?"
"You heard me, awful Arya and her frog face." In that moment he spit in her face, causing Arya to growl and start clawing at him.
Alysanne's eyes widened. "No, no fighting!"
Before it could grow into a brawl, however, the Prince kicked her off and leapt to his feet. He didn't give Arya another glance, instead grabbing his practice sword. As he was storming off, he glared at Alysanne. "Thank you for ruining my concentration, little sister." Above, Vermithor squawked and flapped after his rider as Jae jogged back to their camp - the Royal procession taking a day's rest before continuing the journey to the Eyrie.
Sighing, Alysanne reached out her hand to let Arya up. "Sorry bout him."
Arya wiped a tear from her eye, one she fought to make sure it was her last. "He's a cunt."
The Princess didn't curse. She supposed she was still too young and innocent-minded. "He means well… just been trying to master his swordsplay like our uncle."
"He needs to learn not to be a cunt," Arya replied fiercely. Perhaps a little too fiercely.
Alysanne shrugged. "You did jump him."
"You thought it was hilarious!" But her ire left her quickly. "But it was my idea. Just… he needs to lighten up. It was just some fun."
"Want me to talk to him?"
But Arya shook her head. "No… let's just get back to camp."
Emerging from the little glade, Alysanne and Arya smiled sheepishly at Big Jon, who merely grinned at them. However, not all were as accepting as their gentle giant of a protector. "Princess!"
"Uh oh," murmured Alysanne.
"Where are you, Princess?!" Septa Egnatia's shout wasn't angry, but it was nevertheless loud. "Come back!"
Snorting, Arya looked at her friend. "She is not gonna like seeing you look like that."
Alysanne gazed at her feet. "I know." Biting her lip, she met Arya's gaze. "Go back to your kepa. No sense in her blaming you for this."
"But it is my fault…" Arya looked guilty then. "I just…" She trailed off, looking cagey.
While it made Ally curious, she didn't dwell on it. "I didn't have to join you, but you'll get all the blame. Go."
In her mud-splattered trousers and crannog boots, anyone within court that had the rank above a common servant would've blamed the heir to Greywater Watch for Alysanne's disheveled appearance. While Arya wasn't in any threat of punishment, the Princess didn't want the trouble for House Reed and Arya wasn't about to argue with her. "Good luck," she sighed, leaning in to press a friendly kiss to Ally's cheek as they usually did… quickly booking into the woods.
She was born to run and jump through the woods.
Thus Alysanne was standing alone - Big Jon waiting about fifteen feet off - Septa Egnatia dashed into view. Upon catching sight of the Princess, she gasped. "Princess Alysanne! What on earth happened to you?" While not sour as her childhood Septas were, the pretty young woman was nevertheless overly pious and strict. Nothing got past her, and she didn't give Alysanne a chance to reply. "Look at you, you're filthy. Did you go running in the woods?"
Waiting, Alysanne only spoke when there wasn't a scold coming. "Just playing with Jae."
The mention of her brother didn't help her. "Princes have their own games and Princesses have theirs." Tugging out some of the burrs tangled in her silver hair, Septa Egnatia ignored Alysanne's winces of pain. "Fighting and swinging swords like your elder sister… you are a sweet girl, Princess. You shouldn't waste your time with men's things."
"Yes, Septa." Alysanne wanted to groan, but she accepted it.
"You were late to your embroidery lesson."
"I was on my way…" While it irked Arya, Alysanne actually enjoyed her lessons. Stitching her own dresses with designs of dragons and flowing fire of their house… she could envision her wedding dress as such. Maybe Arya will let me stitch hers.
Another shake of the head. "Tardiness is disdained by the Mother… Seven Above, you tore your dress!" Alysanne gasped and looked down, seeing a tiny tear in her blue gown. I loved this gown… damn you Jae… "That's it! We're going to see his Grace."
King Aenys was in his tent, hunched upon a camp stool as he went over reports. Alysanne's uncle Maegor was fighting in the south with Rhaena, so the ever-present Murmison was advising her kepa… as well as the thin, severe-looking Lucas Harroway. Alysanne didn't like him. She liked his daughter Alys, the sweetest thing. Lord Lucas, not so much, but kepa did apparently.
Seeing the Princess, the Kingsguards bade them entry and Alysanne could hear some of what they were speaking of. "...just concerns me. What business does Volantis have in Pentos?"
"Something of an unpaid loan in regards to military protection from Dothraki raids," Murmison answered her kepa. "At least that's what the Volentines say."
Lucas Harroway snorted. "Volantis probably paid the Dothraki to attack. We should tell them to knock it off."
"If they have little business there, we have even less." Aenys shook his head. "No, I'm more worried of what my sister tells me of the wildlings."
"Pfft, wildlings. They can't get south of the wall… and if they do, the Northmen can take care of it. We gave them a dragon."
Murmison looked uncomfortable. "The First Men aren't under the light of the Seven, but they are civilized - unlike the wildling savages."
Aenys nodded. "Send a raven to Winterfell. Give my goodbrother my leave to assemble his banners. Three houses and the Night's Watch are not enough…" It was then he noticed Alysanne and his entire expression softened. "Dearest daughter!" His arms opened and Alysanne ran into them. "Sweetling, what happened? Did you trip and tumble through a brier patch?"
Alysanne smiled sheepishly. "Something like that, kepa."
"Your Grace." Septa Egnatia was not amused at her attempt to charm her way out of punishment. "The Princess was playing around with her brother, Prince Jaehaerys. Fighting and carousing like a boy when she was scheduled for her embroidery lessons."
Eyes flickering between the two, Aenys patted Alysanne's head. "Daughter, we've had this discussion about punctuality before. You can't be like your older brother and be late to everything - you're a Princess of House Targaryen."
Hanging her head, she nodded. "Kessa, kepa." The things I do for Arya… But Alysanne wasn't about to rat out her friend.
"Good." Kissing her forehead, Aenys looked to the Septa. "Just start her lessons now. I'm sure it shouldn't throw off her schedule too much."
"But… but…" Knowing the King refused to even address the carousing and roughhousing, there was little the Septa could do. "Yes, your Grace." She curtseyed and took the Princess. Leading her away.
Alysanne couldn't believe her luck. Arya, you owe me.
Ser Gawen Corbray, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and wielder of the Valyrian steel sword Lady Forlorn, couldn't help but be impressed with his pupil. He remembered an arrogant, angry youth that passed into his tutelage molded into a powerful fighter when he was sent North for the Starks to beat the brutality out of him. And now…
A powerful victory, himself and the Princess both. The Dragons learned proper battle tactics, luring away nearly a hundred enemy fighters and slaughtering them almost to a man. Typical of partisans, the Vulture King likely had barely a thousand men at most. A hundred butchered or burned was a disaster for them. Well done, my Prince, well done.
Unfortunately, the Vulture King himself hadn't been there. If he was, then this thing would be over. And if I had a cunt, I'd be Lady Corbray. Prayers were for before a fight, not recriminations, so here Ser Gawen was with a reinforcement of fifty light cavalrymen recruited from the Qoherys lands.
And to think Lord Reyne wanted to send heavy knights. He knew nothing about guerilla warfare. Savage Sam Tarly on the other hand… "How long can your men get into patrol on the Torrentine?"
Corbray raised his brow. "Is the path towards the Dornish border clear?" The Red Mountain passes, perfect for ambushes. Reachmen would know intimately for that. "I won't march my men into certain death or be ripped apart by barbed arrows."
"Scouts report that activity has been lessened since the battle. I think the Vulture King is laying low and waiting for his strength to replenish or forces repositioning…"
"Don't bother with that, brother." From conversing with the maester of Horn Hill, Margaery Tarly looked grim. "They attacked a village near Starpike."
Samwell's eyes widened. "All dead?"
Margaery nodded, scowling. "All dead. Men butchered, women and children raped and with their throats slit… at least the women they could find."
Slamming his fist on the table, Samwell cursed under his breath. "Fucking Dornish… I'll draw and quarter every single one of them." Not an idle threat.
Disgusted that he was, Gawen was also nonplussed. War was war, and the young men that fought it had urges primed to explode. Brutality happened, much as he would rather it not. "We can worry about that when we take prisoners."
"No prisoners! No mercy!"
"Alright then, but worry about finding the fucking Vulture King first. Kill him and the rest of the cunts won't have a head guiding them. They'll be easy pickings."
"And how do we do that, Ser Gawen?" Margaery's tone dripped irritation and snark. "His bounty is already at fifty thousand gold dragons. Think we should raise it?"
A snort caught their attention. "Raising it won't work."
The arrival of the Prince and Princess caused conversations to still. The dozen men and women present - Gawen and the Tarlys only dominating the council rather than helming it by themselves - bent the knee to Maegor and Rhaena, a grunt from the former bringing them back upright. "Welcome, your Graces. Forgive us, but urgent news forced us to start without you."
Holding out his hand, Maegor received the dispatch from Margaery and started reading it. Leaning over to share it with Rhaena, their shoulders touching. Most thought nothing of it, but Gawen narrowed his eyes. They were close, too close for uncle and niece. At least for them, since he knew both of his pupils. Intimates since before he was asked to train Rhaena, this was far different. Oh, my Prince. He would say nothing, but this could end very badly.
From how Lady Tarly watched it, she seemed to know as well. While she approved, others just as perceptive might not be as circumspect as she or Gawen. I'm going to have to have a talk with him.
Eventually, he dropped the dispatch to the table, face like iron. But it was Rhaena that answered for the Prince. "Unfortunate. Seems they are shifting operations to the southern Marches."
"We should move our forces to that region, your Grace," advocated Lord Dondarrion, on loan from Maegor's uncle Orys with five hundred of his crack cavalry and infantry. "They're likely holding these hills as their base. Comb through it and smoke them out."
"My infantry can hold the southern coastal plains, eradicate them as they try to flee south towards Starfall."
Glancing down at his niece, Gawen saw Rhaena give an imperceptible nod to the Prince. Maegor cleared his throat. "See it done, but the Tarly mounted archers stay here with Ser Gawen's reinforcements." Before anyone could ask about the dragons, Maegor preempted them. "I'll fly on Balerion while Princess Rhaena remains here."
It seemed only Gawen noticed that the Prince brushed the Princess' finger inconspicuously.
As the meeting dismissed, Gawen approached the royals, in the middle of a hushed conversation. "You should be more careful, pupils."
Maegor eyed him with a raised eyebrow, while Rhaena was impassive. "I'll take your advice into consideration, Lord Commander," she replied. "But thank you for staying."
"Excuse me?" He was confused.
"Your men and my niece are needed for a special assignment, one that could win the war." Maegor reached into his gambeson and drew out another dispatch. This one more… used. "Read this."
The first line Gawen noticed was the signature.
Clarisse Dayne.
Lady of Starfall.
A/N: Of course they have hot sex. Hope you liked ;)
War north of the wall with the wildlings. some interesting characters.
Alysanne is very spirited.
Enjoy and see you next time!