Chapter Nine: Not Just a Cock with a Title (Part Two).
Disclaimer: I own none of the materials written by George R. R. Martin, or HBO, or his publishing company.
OOOO
Theon Greyjoy had learnt much about himself in the prior three years. With help from Andarra's not-so-subtle critiques of course. Despite his initial resistance to the former courtesan's interference so much good had come from it. She wormed her way into his bed, him being little more than a hostage man-child, and broke him. Without much ado Andarra had rebuilt him into something he could find happiness with. 'Your position is what you make of it,' His only consistent lover had said, 'If you are unhappy, fight for what you want.' So he had.
Instead of whoring, drinking, or trying to fight the enigmatic influence Andarra suddenly wielded over his life, Theon instead focused on the future. He did not fret about a father who had not bothered to write him any letters in a decade. Of the mother they whispered had gone half-insane. Nor of the sister widely rumoured to be pirating as a Sell Sail in Essos. No. The Greyjoy heir focused on learning to accept that he would never be a full-blooded Iron Islander like his forefathers. Of course being a Greenlander was not as bad a thing as his brash kin made it out to be.
At Andarra's recommendation they both began to read of the Greyjoy history utilizing Winterfell's library. The Starks had waged many vicious wars with the Ironmen which meant their records were quite comprehensive. He was encouraged to truly analyze the 'great' Lords of Pyke. What he discovered had been that Dalton Greyjoy, a glorious hero of the Iron Islands, amounted to nothing more than a destructive little menace. Contrariwise, Theon's own grandfather Lord Quellon was astonishingly wise. Any major accomplishments had been wiped cleanly away by his father, however, with the ill-fated Greyjoy Rebellion. All of these forays into history simply enlightened Theon to the fact that he wished to be more than a warmongering bastard. Still, King Harmund Hoare's miserable tale taught him that that would not be accomplished by attacking the culture of the Ironmen. No, any change would need to be built off of familiar territory.
The Iron Islands was more than reaving pirates. There were peasants who toiled endlessly upon barren lands whilst their Lords refused to Reap or Sow. Thousands of unofficial thralls from all over the known world suffered even worse fates. He now felt an obligation to bring such stability as he had seen on the continent back to those poor souls. Years of watching the Starks build a grand empire of wealth left him feeling hungry for something other than the Iron Price as well. Constructing such splendorous permanence occupied Theon Greyjoy's thoughts ceaselessly. Often he dreamt of ways to leave a positive mark upon the islands he had not seen for so many years.
Unsurprisingly the first plan to roil through his mind had regarded the matter of reaving. The most successful rulers of Pyke had been men who limited the wildness of their vassals. Of course, such changes never permeated long enough to make any difference before the new Lord reversed all such decisions. Theon could recognize that the entire aristocracy needed to be influenced towards agreeing with such a proposition. Of course, that could never have happened without a significant amount of influence on his part. Influence he entirely lacked given his removal from Pyke. So he and Andarra set about fixing his image the best they could whilst respecting the fact that he was a hostage of House Stark.
First he had exploited his friendship with Robb Stark as much as was possible. The heir of House Stark had gained much favour with his father since Ladies Sansa and Sheira left for the Riverlands. Robb began to assume more influence through successful economic ventures until finally he was trusted enough by Ned Stark to propose a risky idea. Under a heavy Stark garrison Theon was sent north of Winterfell to the border of the New Gift and the Old. Several leagues to the north was the suddenly booming settlement of Queenscrown whilst Last Hearth sat far away in the south-west. He was to build a castle here. One that could house Jon Snow when he returned to Westeros, presumably, a very wealthy man.
Independence came as slowly as construction did. In a clever move he summoned several contingents of Wildlings from Queenscrown to assist in construction. Along with a quarter of their coveted mammoths. In only half-a-year Theon found himself the Castellan of a nearly completed keep. As more of the hundred-something-thousand Wildlings still alive Beyond-the-Wall matriculated through to vassalship he was in a stronger position than ever before. Beneath Theon's directions many of the Wildlings were distributed along the eastern side of the New Gift where they produced many goods easily traded by the new class of Skaggosson merchants. To the east were mountains which had long ago belonged to several of the Mountain Clans before Alysanne Targaryen's forcible redistribution.
With the intention of currying favour from the strongest of the Clans Theon returned these lands to their former holders. Houses Norrey and Flint began to repopulate with a fervor. Sending many of their men and the Valemen immigrants to prospect the unexplored, expansive territory. Quite recently both Houses had uncovered very rich deposits of silver and gold. Nowhere near what was contained in Casterly Rock though still enough that he would soon need to inform Robb. Such wealth that had already been extracted that Winterfell could feed the entire North through winter twice on taxes and rationed imports alone. Furthermore, such a revelation would only stoke the tempestuous fury of House Wull to even greater heights. Especially with both Lords Norrey and Flint planning to build castles as grand as any on the western seaboard of the North.
Beloved as the Greyjoy heir had become by the Wildlings and Mountain Clans he was decidedly disliked by his southerly neighbors. Last Hearth had barred any trade from Mammoth's Den, the name for his keep built alongside the King's Road. They detested a Greyjoy having any power in the North even though he was more a Northman than an Ironborn. Then there were the Boltons and Karstarks who often sent threatening, concerning letters regarding the Wildlings who pressed closer to their lands with each passing day. Of course this meant that Theon was forced to keep an absolute grip over his Wildling population. Any rambunctious behavior had the makings to cause a decided rebellion against House Stark. Right after the keep was completed he had ordered the overwhelmed Night's Watch to send three-quarters of their many hostages to his ever-growing keep.
With so much influence to his name the Greyjoy began the tricky task of corresponding with his uncle, Harlas Harlaw. The Reader was an intelligent man, with a powerful House, and a strong keep. If Theon wished to truly change the Iron Islands one day he would need support from such a close relative. In little time he began to communicate with his mother once again. Some of the letters were comprehensible, others absolute gibberish, and some still a painful mixture of both. Using this newly reforged connection he asked for her to send a Priest of the Drowned God so he could become reacquainted with the Ironmen culture. Much to his immense displeasure the deranged Lady of Pyke had taken it upon herself to personally send Aeron 'Damphair' Greyjoy.
Andarra convinced him to embrace the Drowned Priest's presence. He was, after all, a massively influential member of the Drowned Faith. Where the Harlaws had betrayed through many correspondences their admiration for Theon's sister Asha here was a prominent Greyjoy who, for religious purposes, would only support him. Though the pious zealot was tedious to deal with Theon fought tooth-and-nail to earn his favour. Beside the sprawling Weirwood of Mammoth's Den he constructed the first temple devoted to the Drowned God on Westeros since Harrenhal was destroyed. Within the pools of saltwater kept in this temple he eventually allowed his uncle to resurrect him from drowning.
Damphair wasted no time fleeing back to the Iron Islands almost a year later to preach of Theon Greyjoy's continued devotion to the Drowned God. Furthermore, he spoke of the grand, wealthy keep his nephew had constructed in a 'fortnight'. Theon's relief at being alone in his home once more was short lived, for at Aeron's manipulation five wards arrived from five Iron Islander Lords. Dorren Drumm, youngest son of Lord Drumm, and Joron Blacktyde, heir of House Blacktyde were the most prominent. Teenaged Sam Codd came from a truly detested, ill-reputed House. Though swords were swords, Theon rationalized, and the Codds could easily be persuaded to support him with a bit of kindness shown to their heir. Much further below in stature was the eldest son of Netley, far too new a House to possess any repute, and the fourth son of the Lord of the Lonely Light.
With Lord Stark's permission he allowed them into the North as wards. Finally feeling some sort of support to his claim Theon allowed himself to plot the days away. His study was devoted to research into the economic structure of the Iron Islands. Each of the five wards came from every corner of his father's domain and proved incredibly useful wells of information as well. He had also noticed that Andarra was formulating her own plots though they consisted of unintelligible jumbles when he was graceless enough to snoop. Clearly she was thinking of something ambitious, but he had little idea what that was. Many days passed the couple by as they both grew stronger with each moment in the other's company.
Late in the evening three years later Theon awoke in a sweaty jumble of limbs. Beside him lay Andarra, as beautiful as ever. At their feet was curled a handsome, muscular, and completely naked Wildling lad. Often Andarra and he would spice up their sexual relations by engaging in risque activities. They would pursue men and women who appealed to them only to encourage them into their shared bed. The now twenty-two-year-old Greyjoy had been eyeing his newest, comeliest stablehand for many moons now. At loud knocking he stretched himself upright. With a lechery smack on the younger man's rear he bade him to hide behind Andarra's changing screen.
Pulling a robe on whilst waiting for his lover to dress herself he opened the door to reveal a concerned-looking Sam Codd. At barely eighteen name days he was certainly the eldest of Theon's wards. The handsomest of them all as well. Inky black hair that carried the smell of salt from much time spent in the temple's waters, bulging muscles, as well as a striking scar across his right cheek from an old skirmish with brigands. The Greyjoy heir had every intention of luring the Codd heir into his bed before he was called back to the Iron Islands. "My Lord," He was red-faced and stunk of alcohol. Theon noted how his jerkin looked to have been hastily thrown on. Presumably the young Lord had been taking his pleasure with one of the virginal serving wenches again when important news reached his ear. "The Order of the North has sent a large party of men towards Mammoth's Den. They are asking for your permission to pass on towards Winterfell."
Without waiting Theon followed the tipsy young man through the stone keep. Clutching at his arm was Andarra who had pulled on the silky sleeping gown he bought as a gift for her last Name Day. She was beautiful. Within him the courtesan had awoken so many fervent lusts he hardly could have dreamt of. Deep in his heart the Greyjoy heir already knew that Andarra would one day be a Greyjoy. Despite her humble origins the Lysene would be his Rock Wife. The three of them slipped through the castle. Honestly, however, it was actually more of a collection of interconnected towers. In the likeness of his faint memories of Pyke Theon had tried to replicate his home. Behind a towering curtain wall stood three completed towers, only two were connected with a strong bridge that swayed over the ground below. Two more towers had only partially completed and were hardly sturdy enough to be safely inhabited.
Beyond the walls a large Wildling settlement had begun to thrive as the conniving people grew more involved with trade. Many of them had carted their most luxurious possessions passed the Wall. Now they were growing into a true merchant class profiting from being located on such an opportunity-laden region. Already the more successful of this merchant class were banding together the funds to finish building a sturdy, second outerwall. This all being in accordance with the constant threat of an attack by the Boltons and Karstarks. Eventually they arrived outside of the thriving town to where what looked like an army waited. Bound in very thick chains, attached to herds of mammoths and soldiers were nine giants. Arguing ferociously with his other wards was Rickard Ryswell. His brother had died in a Wildling raid two years earlier.
Since then Rickard had become second only to Marlon Manderly, as well as a notoriously violent fighter. "I have orders to pass on to Winterfell. From Robb Stark himself, Ironborn scum!" He spat nastily at the Blacktyde heir. Theon interjected just before a fistfight broke loose.
"Escort them to their rooms for the rest of the evening," He felt fury scorch in his veins. None of the Ironborn lads seemed quite as interested in mending their poor reputation as he did. "For arguing with the second-in-command of the Order of the North." They were taken away leaving him to exchange strained pleasantries with the Ryswell Lord. "Why was I not sent at least a warning raven of this party marching through our lands? What if these giants were harmful and managed to break-."
"They have surrendered," Rickard Ryswell bit back, "There are three more at the Wall. Those were too dangerous to let pass. Far larger than any giants I have even seen before." He looked ashen-faced, quite weary. "More troubling are the sixteen Skin Changers that were accompanying them. I had to have them locked in encased cages of steel." Theon remembered how the first Wildlings to surrender had been brought to Winterfell to bend the knee for House Stark. Then there was also the fact that Robb had been secretly planning to build two new keeps in the North as well. He had all but proclaimed as much during the last visit to Mammoth's Den. Certainly these Giants could help expedite such a process rapidly.
"Take as many of my Wildling soldiers as you need. It would not do for the Boltons or Karstarks to lose their rage at this turn of events. For they certainly will attack your ranks if they can get away with it." Theon was well aware of his opponent's tactics. Posing as brigands, sending raids into the New Gift at night to terrorize Wildlings into violence. Fortunately, at the least, most Wildling women could fight as well as their menfolk. They waited just long enough to send many a cockless Bolton back to the Dreadfort. "You can take the lot of them, all two-thousand men if needed," He professed earnestly, "The women will be just as capable of dealing with any trouble." This was an important task after all. Robb had many conflicts he would have to deal with alone while his father was gone. With those giants though the Starks would soon have greater influence over any westerly threats. Theon's generosity was not entirely selfless, as it meant a continuous pressure could be placed on Roose Bolton's tedious alliance by Winterfell.
"Thankfully," Rickard Ryswell responded while improperly eyeing Andarra who stood at Theon's side, "I will not have to deal with the politics of battle for much longer." At the Greyjoy's surprised expression he emitted a strained, frosty smile. "I am resigning from the Order to go home. To wait out this fucking winter, and whatever remains of that demon Mance Rayder's army. Only then will I ever consider trying to settle the Old Gift."
"You are resigning your post?" The Lyseni woman stood tall independently of Theon's side. She often saved her cleverness for more advantageous moments. "Do you not think that the Order of the North can defeat Mance Rayder?"
Roger Ryswell eyed her hungrily prior to sending the men behind him further back to begin the process of incorporating Mammoth Den's Wildling soldiers. "Aye, my Lady, I do not. In my last fortnight Beyond-the-Wall Mance Rayder went berserk. Sacrificed five-thousand of his last thirty-thousand men to our incursion to the Frostfangs." A dark pause. "The bastard circled around to harry us all the way back to the Wall. We lost three-thousand men and half of our territory to his psychotic tactics."
"Five-thousand men? Sacrificed?" Andarra reached back to squeeze her lover's arm so he would stay quiet. Theon did not argue with her, for she was quite capable without any interference. "Why would a man, a King, do that to his own people?"
"The most recent batch of Wildlings to come through, that were with this lot," He jerked his head back towards the giants, "Claimed that Mance Rayder's goodsister, who was raising his son since her sister passed in childbirth, was abducted. Apparently the King-Beyond-The-Wall went fucking insane after. Half his generals were executed for conspiracy, his babe's wet nurse was relieved of her tits before being exiled, and anyone who argued was forced into the little decoy of Wildlings we pulverized." Rickard Ryswell spat on the ground. "Either way, evil shit is afoot up there. I am going to learn from my brother's mistake before I wind up dead too." With that he marched away to presumably assist with the settling of so many new soldiers.
Theon took Andarra on his arm again whilst Sam Codd followed closely behind them both. "A man who is willing to sacrifice so many," She hissed at him, "Either he will be turned on by his people, or we do not stand a chance against such ruthlessness. I cannot decide."
"Let us hope that the Order recovers Mance Rayder's precious Princess. She sounds like the hostage to end all hostages," Theon murmured back as they marched through the cold to make up for lots of lost sleep.
OOOO
Robb Stark found himself in a shady little inn on the outskirts of White Harbor. Wondering how Shiera Seastar still managed to keep him so tightly wound about her finger even after all their time apart. He should have refused to leave Winterfell in the first place. Such an encounter was undeniably treasonous given the suspicious manner of her note as well as the recent events in King's Landing. Despite that the man arrived in the specified tavern. Whilst his small entourage of guards hid beyond in the Hornwood lands Robb sat himself down at an empty table in the corner. Only three days earlier had a note from a mute messenger bearing Lady Seastar's colours intercepted him on the way to White Harbor. In his possession had been a litany of strict rules to follow.
Now here he was watching the squire of a hedge knight flirt hopelessly with some blushing serving wench. Rolling both eyes the heir of Winterfell waited until a thin man with a quivering chin approached. "Follow me, young Lord," He whispered, "She awaits." Beginning to grow anxious Robb followed the slender fellow upstairs to what was, presumably, the largest set of chambers offered by the ramshackle tavern. With a mild knock that intimidatingly lovely voice called out for him to enter.
Enter Robb Stark did. The sight was pure ecstasy constrained to the human form. Seated before a round table bearing cyvasse pieces was Shiera Seastar. The open window allowed a sea breeze to blow through, batting playfully at silver locks. A pretty, loose lilac dress billowed about her sumptuous frame. So different from the provocative, though still tasteful, gowns she used to wear to diplomatic matters. "Robb Stark," She slipped to a standing position, he noticed that both of her feet were bare. Dancing across the carpet Lady Shiera stopped with only an improper distance between them. Hands reached up to stroke at the beard which now hung from his nineteen-year-old face. "Fetch me a shaving bowl and a straight razor, Timmon," She called out loudly.
In a shocking turn of events Robb found himself seated near the window whilst Shiera clucked disapprovingly at each tuft of black hair. "Filthy things, beards are," She hummed almost hypnotically in his ear, "I will not abide one on a person so precious to me." Whatever was going on had left the Stark heir with a massive crick in his neck. Where was the Shiera Targaryen of old? The one who trained him in the elementary principles of manipulation? Who had turned Sansa into a woman capable of bartering with Tywin Lannister? He could still sense her there, however, in how easily she barred his face with the razor. Cool, calm, haughty, and extremely talented. Though now there was an almost summery exuberance to her person.
Soon enough he felt her wipe at his face with a soft linen prior to being released. Spinning away she slipped back into her spot at the cyvasse table. Patting disbelievingly at the smoothe skin left behind by her ministrations he followed suit by sitting across from her. Only Shiera could take away something he had been so proud of without a word of protest crossing his lips. Three years ago Robb would not have been able to guess at her intentions. Now was a different story. Without invitation he snatched a dragon from the table by moving one of the trebuchets. "You have learnt to play cyvasse since we last met?" She smiled alluringly.
"Aye," He stared daringly at her, "I have learnt lots of things."
The genial pretense evaporated suddenly as she stared callously at him. "Tell me," Honey became steel, "Have you heard much of the south?"
"I know Jon Arryn was poisoned, that the Lannisters grow wealthier than ever before thanks to low taxes along the Sunset Canal, and that House Tyrell has become quite competitive with House Tully." He responded disinterestedly. "Sansa has our southerly interests handled. I have been focused on dealing with matters here."
"Effectively so, yes," She managed to remove three of his war elephants with a single dragon. All while remaining well clear of his trebuchet line. "But the North can only grow so much so soon. You are woefully ignorant of many happenings below the Neck. Things that pose a great threat to the North's continued prosperity." Mismatched eyes pointed at his own, "More importantly, matters that bode poorly for my own affairs." Without any pause she continued on. "The only people who hate me more than the Tyrells do at this moment are the Lannisters, and the Citadel. Tywin Lannister is presently placated with my humble levies placed on his merchant ships passing through Trident's Gate. The Citadel, however, fears me." A wicked grin revealed sparkling teeth. "For good reason of course, they assigned me a brutish warrior of a Maester. In the dead of night he slunk into my room to assassinate me."
"Why?!" Robb was horrified to learn such a thing.
"Their subservients in all but name, the Tyrells and Hightowers, have lost much fortune due to my position on the Sunset Canal. I have also blocked any attempts they have made to marry into the new Riverine cities with no small amount of blackmail." Fingers clenched on her armrest. "The Citadel mostly detests the fact that a Targaryen, accordingly one of the most dangerous lost to history's pages, has become a central power once more. They despise magic. The vicious rumours which swirl about me, as well as the reminder I serve them of an occult lineage."
"What would you have me do?" Robb sighed forlornly. "I hold no power in the south. You have more influence there than I do."
A swift movement on her part knocked over many of the pieces on the cyvasse table. It hardly mattered, for she had won the game already. "I will gift House Stark with a generous donation," Shiera Seastar gripped his hand tightly, so sensually in her own. "One that shall be used to construct a Northern Citadel. It is only fitting, as well as logical to place it here. You hold twice as much land as the Reach. The North is also far enough away from the influence of the Citadel that we can create a competing orbit."
"Building the home for such a thing is one matter." Robb pulled his hand back, "Actually constructing an order which will hold as successfully as the Citadel has is another entirely." Blue eyes peered out the window at the golden sunset which swirled over the Bite. "Where would we get such a library, or even find so many learned men to fill it?"
"I have many connections in Essos, as does Sansa. We can combine our resources, surely, to obtain an impressive library. Also, there are many learned men across the world who could be persuaded to join such an organization. Not only join, but to shape Westeros in such a powerful way? Supply will never be a problem."
"You will have it," Robb leant back, "The risk belongs to your coffers anyways." He stared speculatively at her in that following moment. "I doubt an army of celibate greybeards are truly the cause of all your troubles. It would be disappointing if such were the case."
Lips tightening she reached for a nearby goblet of wine. He did the same in response. "You must know that there is truth to the rumours surrounding me. Yes?"
"Of course, Lady Seastar," He murmured jestingly in response, "You were born one-hundred-eighty years after Aegon's Conquest. Yet here you sit before me looking as beautif-."
"Beyond your flattery," She stared sternly at him.
"I do," He answered simply enough. Almost reluctantly so. After hearing tales of skinchangers, witches, and giants arriving from Beyond-the-Wall how could he not believe the less outrageous things that were whispered of her.
"My dreams have an uncanny knack of coming true. When I have them, that is." The woman glanced at him before standing. With no warning at all she swept closely over to stand beside the heir of Winterfell. "Many nights ago I was haunted by a terrifying sight. A Crow hungering for someone precious to my heart. A Titan breathing as easily as a man might. A Lion breaking free of its tether. Darkness like nothing seen before." She unlaced the front of her pretty gown. Before he could protest it pooled the floor about her feet. For his hungry gaze was the nude splendor of her body. Breasts like melons perked tightly in the air. Childbearing hips spread enticingly down towards a squeezable bottom. In a fell swoop she straddled his left thigh whilst emitting a pleasured gasp. "The Wolf," Shiera Seastar whispered into his ear, "Will help the Dragon birth the Beauty of the Bleeding Star." Fingers splayed across his cheeks as she leant in to kiss him. What followed was a heavy tangling of tongues. Thick, hot, messy, and oh-so incredibly erotic.
Robb was far less experienced than her, unsurprisingly, finding himself forced to break away first. Panting for breath he fought the urge to reach for the first pair of breasts to have ever been dangled so tauntingly in his handsome face. "I will not fuck you Lady Seastar," He moaned sorrowfully, "Not like this. Not in some ramshackle inn."
"Of course not, Lord Stark," Her talented tongue doubtlessly was in the process of leaving love bites on his neck. "The mating will precede nine knives of iron, sealed with the blood of trees." He was pressed back suddenly by the neck, forced to watch as she started to heave violently atop his thigh with a hand pressed against her shaven, slickened sex. Without much protest Robb observed as she forcibly took her pleasure from him. Gasping loudly she collapsed against his muscular form in a panting, gorgeous mess. Looking quite like the moon had grown tits and legs.
"You have grown handsome, my lad," She stood in a wobbly manner, "Clever enough as well. Much to my pleasure." A wink caused the virginal Lord to blush embarrassedly. He was tugged upwards by the hand. With little protest he found himself stripped down to nothing. "Though this big, thick cock," Lady Shiera guided him backwards towards her bed of woolen sheets, "Will not enter my tight, swollen cunt for some time yet." He lay there, propped on both elbows as she stood above him. Then with a mischievous grin the Great Bastard sunk down to her knees. Robb learnt in that moment, or imagined he did at least, why so many of Shiera Seastar's former lovers committed suicide after being spurned.
He learnt then what it was like to be kissed by the moon.
OOOO
Two Weeks Later
The King's party was only a week away from Winterfell. Catelyn should have been preparing, but she needed a break from such trying matters. Even despite her guilt at lazing about for an hour or two whilst Sansa's troupe of Ladies-in-Waiting, Arya's having left for their respective roles already, worked tirelessly. Leaning against the battlement wall Catelyn peered out over Wintertown. Everything above the earth had grown grander with much trade having erupted around the North's most central point. The proximity of the White Knife had also helped such a development as well. Truthfully, Wintertown's above ground growth paled in comparison to below. Far beneath her feet sprawled a large marketplace, many storehouses, a brothel, more homes, and even a very important recent discovery.
Obsidian and diamonds had been found deep beneath the lands surrounding Winterfell. Only a little further out than Wintertown at most did their luck extend it seemed, however. Sharper than steel, obsidian was, and valuable too despite its fragility. Three-quarters of the newly forged weapons were stored in Winterfell's booming armory whilst the remainder was traded solely to Lys. Where Drazenko Rogare was fitting his growing, personal army for rising tensions. The diamonds were much less valuable, of course. Not specially coloured or desireable as other gems. Still, Catelyn much appreciated that something so beautiful could have been hidden beneath Winterfell for so long. Rickon's tunics were all now embroidered with the stones while the Direwolves wore collars of them. Even now she was preparing something special for her daughters with the help of her Lyseni seamstresses and the underappreciated gems.
"Good morning, mother," Sansa approached as quietly as a huntress, at either side of her were the growing Direwolves. They had been trained with strict compassion by their mistress, and it surely showed. Both of the beasts strayed no further than an arms length away. Dream nuzzled uninvited against Catelyn's gown whilst Phantom remained close by Sansa's side. "What do you think of such wastefulness of resources for a king who struts about Kings Landing in piss-stained breeches?"
"Sansa! Do not whisper such treason. Especially not with our current company!" Many Northern Lords had been invited to the spledorful event. Some of them were not near so friendly to House Stark as would have been preferred.
"I fear not, mother, nor should you," The young beauty smiled genially in response. "What Lords are not loyal have not benefited from our new economic policies. They have grown no stronger than before, whilst those that still remain loyal to us are twice as prosperous." Eyes bluer than the Narrow Sea glimmered at her. "Besides, this resistance staged by the Boltons could easily be crushed by wedding Alys Karstark to our dear Robb." She turned to glance at something in the surging town. "Of course, that may not be a given for much longer."
The Lady of Stark glanced at what her daughter referenced. Deep in the manse of bustling people walked Lady Seastar alongside Cat's firstborn. He had disappeared two weeks earlier on some unspoken mission. Only to return up along the White Knife with the Great Bastard's impressive retinue at hand. They were close. Closer than ever before. "How powerful exactly is your former governess? What of Trident's Gate?"
"She is certainly a better catch than Alys Karstark. Beneath her watch Trident's Gate has been transformed into a truly marvelous structure. Two massive walls of stone circle her position on the confluence. A canal of epic proportions allows merchants on either side of the Trident to pass through the city. Within the second set of walls rests her fortified palace of marble." Sansa nodded mischievously to herself, "They are calling it the newest wonder of Westeros."
Resting both palms on the battlement walls she glanced away from her mother. "Lady Shiera is second only to the Tullys. Nipping closely at her heels are the Freys. They have only grown more prominent thanks to the Neck's strong economy, as well as the merchant's galleys which now travel along the Trident. Houses Cox, Hawick, and even Shawney have become her vassals."
"Robb should wed one of the daughters of our unsettled Bannermen," Catelyn frowned.
"Yes. He should," Sansa affirmed.
"Though wedding him to Lady Seastar is truly advantageous. After all she has done for us." Catelyn was speaking to herself now. "Not to mention that it would lend her much strength in tiding the growing power of House Frey."
"It is not my place to affirm or disagree with such sentiment mother," Sansa answered in response. "Though I can say that marrying Robb to Lady Shiera will lend not only the Starks much influence, but it would perpetuate the rising stability of House Tully as well." She reached over to link arms with her mother. Both of them standing in solidarity with contemplations for the future.
OOOO
Robb had found himself in many uncomfortable situations since Lady Seastar had first returned to the North. There had been their many fevered nights of passion together. Her inviting him into her chambers for more of the same treatment he had received in White Harbor. Marked by that point in the early dawn where he was forced to flee from approaching serving wenches. Then only a week earlier did Shiera bid him to begin returning the same favour. Nowhere was he safe from the blossoming, torrid romance. His study, their chambers, the libraries, and even within the stables during one particularly desperate moment. Only compounding these matters further was that they could not partake in what their bodies truly desired. The actual act itself.
'Not until the knives of iron are within my sight, and we have wedded, my love,' She had chidingly groped him after. Now here the pair of them walked through the bustling tunnels beneath Wintertown. Only three guards escorted them though not for long it seemed. "Visit your favourites," Lady Shiera smiled generously at them all, "At mine own expense." The three men clad in the mismatched dragon of Trident's Gate wasted no time at all entering the underground brothel. With a gentle tug of his sleeve the beautiful Targaryen tugged him along after them all.
Carnality ensued all around the pair though she clearly did not have much interest in it. Further back into the establishment was he pulled until they entered the proprietor's offices. "Wha' interest cou' a Stark 'ave in my business? Especially after all those years you lot ignored me girls," The Madam huffed heatedly at the sight of him.
"We wish to implement a reform starting here at Winterfell," Shiera had slipped into the seat across from the ragged desk in response. Robb followed suit, eager to hide his uncontainable erection. "Northern whores are of an abborhently lower quality than even south of the Neck, let alone Essos. They grow haggard quickly, squeal in the wrong places, and bring in such low profits that Winterfell could never dare to tax them. Such a move would be akin to outlawing the practice entirely."
"What would y' 'ave me do, milady?" Asked the woman in a now intrigued manner. All of her trivial anger from before had disappeared now. "Quality wares 'ome through me doors, 'ut they never las' long!"
"Lord Robb," She gripped his thigh out of sight of the Madam's beady eyes, "Will persuade Maester Luwin to begin seeing your wares every fortnight. Their collective health will surely increase dramatically. That being said, you will retire those that have already grown undesirable. Encourage them to visit Lady Arya at Winterfell for grander employment opportunities." Mismatched eyes gleamed, "Then I will lend you the services of a Volantene courtesan whom I purchased the freedom of. She will train your whores on the proper art of squealing, so long as you treat her well. If the King's men are sufficiently satisfied we will seek to invest in the expansion of your business."
"Lord Stark barely let's us 'perate 'ere as is! 'Ow 'ill 'is cubs persuade 'im otherwise?"
"This will be good for the health of the whores in Wintertown. They will no longer be forced to suffer, and Winterfell will bring in far more taxes for the trouble," Robb retorted sharply. "My father will see reason."
"Begin clearing out your least profitable wares this evening. Recruit new whores immediately," Shiera stood. He followed, "My courtesan has been charged with distributing our first investment towards better decor. Maester Luwin shall visit on the 'morrow." Without another word the woman swept from the room. Robb followed whilst trying not to eye the dozens of pretty maids sweeping about in states of undress. Soon enough he stepped outside only for Shiera to beckon him into the dark shadows surrounding. "Did you like looking at those bouncing whores, my Lord?" She asked whilst reaching down to loosen his breeches.
"Yes," He gasped lowly while worrying that a passerby might happen upon their crevice in the tunnels.
"You have no idea of true pleasure, Robb Stark. None at all." Her dress was easily loosened to reveal those glorious breasts. "In Oldtown, Kings Landing, Lannisport, Seagard, Trident's Gate, and Sunspear they cater to every desire. Virgins, lactating mothers, comely young lads, muscular men, women who can make men erupt with a single touch." She began to stroke him with her soft hands. "The North is far too repressed. I imagine that once we are through with every brothel from the Neck to the Wall you Northmen will become much less aggressive." She withdrew, starting to lace herself up without helping him finish.
"You pretend that you are free of such desires," Robb growled throatily, pressing her back further as he swiftly raised her skirts. "But that must be a lie from one who knows so much of brothels." With little pause he moved beneath. Shiera Seastar's thighs pressed tightly around the young Lord's head as he lapped dutifully at her core of pleasure. Each nip of creamy flesh prompted her mighty bust to smack freely against the loosened laces of the bodice. After all was said and done Robb escaped from beneath her skirts to find a most incredible of sights. The Lady of Trident's Gate glowed from the intensity of her orgasm. Breasts all but free as the laces tightened around the swell of her perky nipples. "I love you, Robb Stark," The beauty yawned tiredly while moving to stand.
Fingers tightening in his black locks as she lifted him into the most passionate kiss they had ever shared.
OOOO
"I need you to do something for me, sister." Robb Stark announced as he strode into Arya's solars unannounced.
"What?" The Lady asked blearily at him. She had been looking at notes from Deepwood Motte where men were starting to construct a keep at Sea Dragon Point. Behind her head the moon rose high in the sky.
"I need you to send several of your prettiest Blue Roses to become whores at the Wintertown brothel as soon as possible." Tully-blue eyes glittered cunningly while he sat down across from her. "Ones with Northern loyalty deeply sunken into their bones."
OOOO