A/N: Hey all. Today is the anniversary of "The Bells." Aka, the utter bullshit that confirmed the destruction of Game of Thrones. A complete ant total piece of shit that wiped out everything involving character development and plot arcs. Fuck Dumb and Dumber and fuck season 8.
House Targaryen and the true House Stark, this chapter's for you!
On the issue of Melisandre's vision in the last chapter, seems the comments have settled on the following guesses for Jon's second bride with Dany: Sansa, Ygritte, a daughter of Ned and Cersei, or one of Jon's younger full sisters. I can confirm that she will be one of those. Feel free to discuss civilly in the comments section.
Enjoy and please comment :D
Chapter 32: Among Salt and Smoke
There was time to wipe the sheen of sweat from her forehead… only just. Lyanna barely missed Benjen's lunge.
"Fuck," mumbled the newest kingsguard. In spite of the Targaryen sigil that swelled his chest with pride, Benjen was still trying to compensate for its added weight - negating the agile moves he learned wearing the boiled leather and chainmail of the North. His muscles were woefully inadequate to endure the steel plate.
Diving back on her heels, Lyanna worried about no such matters clad in mere riding breeches. Twirling her blade in her wrists, the blunt steel crashed against Benjen's. Batting it aside and allowing her to jerk upwards… tip right below his chin. "Yield," she huffed, chest rising up and down.
Dropping his own blade, Benjen ripped off his helm. "Gods, I can't see a fucking thing in this piece of shit."
"Don't… blame the helm, Ben." Grabbing a flagon of water, it felt heavenly on her parched throat. Please, little dragon, don't tire me out. "That makes… one hundred fifty-three spars where I disarmed you."
"I'll get to your level one day, Lya."
"Not sure, Ser Benjen," said Barristan, watching in the corner with his arms crossed. "The Princess is getting to a skillset that many knights haven't reached. Had she came to me with silver locks, I'd have sworn Visenya had been reborn."
Momentarily cupping her still flat stomach, thinking of her Visenya, Lyanna gave the kingsguard a smile. "Flattery will get you many places, Ser Barristan." Sweat dripping down her forehead and muscles aching, she picked up her blade and walked to the center of the courtyard. "Now, your turn."
The knight's smile faded. "But, your Grace… You seem close to collapse."
Lyanna glared. With Benjen still in training and Ser Arthur practically turning into her husband with his brooding, Barristan remained in his position. "Do not refuse the demand of your future Queen. Assume your position." With a sigh, Barristan complied - grabbing a sparring sword, he waited patiently for Lyanna to make her first move.
Swords clashing in a flurry of metallic clangs that filled the courtyard, Lyanna struggled to maintain her fighting edge. Parry, counter, two quick parries… she knew that her miracle would have her out of commission once her stomach swelled. Best polish her skills with a blade while she still could.
Ser Barristan was the perfect teacher, patience and skill drawn from decades of actual combat experience. Feinting to the left with a slash, Barristan attempted to punch at her arm… only for the Princess to weave out of the way. 'Very good, your Grace.'' Lyanna had definitely improved from the beginning, and she was no slouch then. Contests between her and the Kingsguards were growing in length, but she had yet to win. It drove her mad, but never disrespectful. Barristan admired that.
Lyanna darted forward, slashing at Barristan's side. The Bold half-twisted, sword angling downward to catch the attack, breaking off after. The Princess charged impatiently. Swinging hard at her foe.
Barristan saw the thrust coming. An upward sash followed and Lyanna ducked to the left, leaving her side open. But while the knight aggressively attacked in their past spars, he hesitated this time, providing an opening for Lyanna to thrust past Barristan's blade and into his chest. An instant kill.
Breaking apart, Lyanna was quickly handed a flagon of water by Benjen. "You," she gasped as soon as half the flagon disappeared down her throat. "You let me win, Ser Barristan."
"I don't know what you mean, your Grace."
"Bullshit. You hesitated to exploit my impatience."
He hung his head, guilty. "I couldn't be rough with you… not with your… condition."
Benjen's brows furrowed. "What condition? Lya…" His eyes knitted in worry. Lyanna sighed. Knowing she would have to tell him...
Blackfyre strapped to his belt, Rhaegar hoped to run into Ser Barristan at the training yard - practice with a real weapon for once. Spring in his step and itching to further show off his youthful prowess. "You know, I always thought it would be Bran that made me an uncle first." Rhaegar halted in place.
"Gods, don't remind me." Lya's northern lilt was music to his ears. "I think father would still think me too young for this. I'm still his she-pup in his eyes."
"You can't be sure you're the first, sister. Bran might have a bastard out there…"
"O hope not." Rhaegar could almost hear his wife's eye roll at that. "Little Jon or Visenya is trueborn through and through."
It was as if his world stopped. Little Jon or Visenya? Is Lya…?
"I understand Visenya, but Jon?" Benjen asked as Rhaegar tried to stay upright, knees beginning to buckle.
The next voice was Barristan's. "I think the Princess has her reasons, young Stark."
Beaming with delight, Lyanna threw her arms around her brother. "I'm so happy, Ben," she giggled. "Everything I could ever want has come true!" She couldn't wait to tell Rhaegar - her beautiful, strong dragon prince.
Little did she know that said dragon prince was walking back towards his chambers, smile slowly spreading over his face.
"Dacey." The she-bear had the speed of a fleeing jackrabbit, but Arthur's stamina was not one to scoff at. "Dacey! Gods, wait."
Damn! How had she so miscalculated? Over a week spent avoiding Arthur, one week of Ellaria's chiding interference… until Dacey agreed to take up a task for Lyanna that would bring her by the Kingsguard quarters. Arthur wasn't supposed to be there. But he was, and there would have to be a confrontation.
Turning a corner, Arthur nearly broke out into a run. Heart aching as he tried to catch up to his lover. "Dacey!" Fortunately for him, the turn she made found them both in a dead end. "What has gotten into you? Please," he placed a hand on her shoulder. "Can we speak, my Lady?"
Sighing deeply, Dacey knew that her selfish hope to postpone this until she could wrap her way around what was coming… Lyanna's babe would be celebrated in the realm, a new Prince for the Seven Kingdoms to adore. Her babe… a bastard born of a Kingsguard. She didn't even know whether Arthur truly cared for her.
Each second passing interminable, finally the she-Bear turned around. His face falling when she didn't even look up at him. "My Lady, why are you avoiding me?" Arthur asked, dreading the answer. "Have I displeased you in some manner?"
Daring to look up, Dacey's resolve nearly failed at seeing the hurt on his handsome face. "No, Ser Arthur," she murmured. "You've not done anything…" A tear fell from her eye. "You've been perfect."
"Then what is the matter?" He cupped her cheek. "Please tell me. I've been worried for days."
"That wasn't my intention." Whirlwind that their affair was, Dacey realized here that slowly she had fallen hard for this man. Forbidden fruit, bound by oaths to never wed. "I've longed to simply fall into your embrace… but something has happened and I am unable to come to terms with it."
Thumb stroking her cheek, the Sword of the Morning longed to take away her anguish. "Let me take your fear away, my Lady."
If only you could… "I'm with child," she blurted out, bluntly. "Yours."
It took a moment before Arthur processed the words. Confusion, then surprise, then disbelief, and finally a numb shock that washed over him. "It's mine," he breathed. There was no question in his voice.
Biting her lip, Dacey nodded. "I believe your seed quickened me on our first night." Had they been a young married couple deeply in love, such would have been quite romantic. That was her first inclination, buried underneath all the apprehension. "This was not anticipated by either of us."
"Yes." Eyes wide, Arthur collapsed against the wall. Mind whirring. Forbidden to wed, to father children… Much as he would later come to regret, those were his first thoughts. I've broken my oath… He had seen Ned Stark grapple with an obsession honor, but as one who rejected the banal perversion of the Kingsguard oath Arthur found himself as no better.
"Forbidden?" Snapping out of his reverie, Arthur saw Dacey glaring at him. Eyes furious. "Forbidden?! Well Ser Arthur, much as you value your oaths, you broke them. It happened!"
Gods, did I think out loud? Arthur wanted to punch himself. "My Lady, you misunderstand…"
Her apprehension was gone, replaced by a hard glare. "No, I understand perfectly well. While you are content with breaking your oath for your pleasure, your child in my womb brings you nothing but dishonor." She shook her head, almost at the point of a desperate laugh. "I'm glad to have discovered your true feelings before it was too late."
Arthur's head spun, watching as Dacey moved to leave. "I won't leave my child unrecognized!" Already, he felt a surge of protectiveness for her, for the babe… "Please, Dacey." He reached out to grab her shoulder…
Only to pitch back as she slapped him. "Don't touch me nor come near me again. When all is done, I shall retire back to Bear Island with my babe. You won't have to live through your dishonor then."
Watching her storm away, Arthur sat upon the hard ground. Head in his hands. The mighty Sword of the Morning reduced to tears.
There was no chance heir to Winterfell could approach this calmly. "This is unacceptable!"
Rickard winced as his son hurled the dispatches on Jon Connington's desk. The four of them - young Tyrion Lannister among - were crowded into the Tower of the Hand. "I resent your attitude, Lord Brandon," Connington stated evenly.
"And I resent the fucking gall of the Ironborn!" Brandon shouted back. "Reavers assaulting the Stony Shore! Helman Tallhart estimating a hundred dead and dozens of salt wives taken!"
"Enough, Bran. We see your point," Rickard interjected. He fully agreed with the lad's anger, but there was a time for fury and a time for tact.
Forming a tent with his hands, Connington leaned back. "I would think that the North would be used to Ironborn raids." The fact they hadn't built some sort of naval force at Deepwood Motte or Flint's Finger was simply embarrassing. These northerners don't deserve to have one of theirs as Queen.
Before Rickard could respond, Brandon cut in. "I demand that the Crown call its banners and its fleets!"
"Denied!" Connington shouted back. "If you would like, you can go to the North and fight them yourself."
"I just might…" Bran was silenced when his father held up a hand.
"The Ironborn are like a malignancy," Tyrion mused, idly playing with a lock of curly hair on his head. "If we don't lance them now and merely drain it, then they'll pop up twice as horribly next time."
Nodding, Rickard motioned to the door. "Tyrion, you and Bran send a raven to Winterfell. Tell Ned to have the Glovers, Flints, and Mormonts fortify their keeps while we sort this out." Tyrion shrugged and hauled himself off his chair. Brandon wanted to say something, but sensed that his father was in no mood. It was soon just Rickard and Connington. "This complicates matters."
A chuckle. "I don't see how."
"Every bannerman defending against the Ironborn is one that can't support the Prince."
Snorting, Connington leaned forward. "Well… if the Ironborn are actively assaulting your shores, it certainly gives the Warden of the North cause to call his banners early."
It took a moment to sink in. "That does apply, Lord Hand." Inwardly, Rickard was cursing for not seeing it. "I'll see that our banners are called." He stood, making his way out.
"Not yet." Connington's voice halted him. "Wait till the Ironborn attack something more valuable than crab fishing villages. It'll look less suspicious."
Almost nodding and leaving, something came to Rickard's mind. "And why would you assume that the Ironborn would provide the cause that you ask us to wait for?"
There was a tense silence. "As Lord Tyrion said," Connington stated, crossing his arms. "A malignancy. Those cunts just can't help themselves."
"Ah…" Rickard nodded, disbelieving glint in his eye. "I see. Better hope that no one finds any different motivation, though I'm sure no evidence exists there. Unlike your… sick perversion, far easier to hide such." A smirk crossed Rickard's lips at the glimpse of Connington's enraged sneer before he shut the door.
Such ended up being only a temporary high, and Rickard was found wandering the hallways of the Red Keep. Gods, the place felt like a dungeon to him - once the Mad King's hands found their way around Lyanna's throat did he realize the stakes of everything. The rules at play in the game of thrones. Even within Rhaegar's plot did the battlelines draw themselves.
Connington had something to do with the Ironborn, Rickard was sure of it. He didn't yet completely trust Tyrion, and Brandon was in no shape to give him assistance. Rhaella might, but it wasn't Rickard's right to broach the subject. With Jon Arryn still in the Vale, there was only one person Rickard could talk to.
Knocking on the man's door, he still felt it was a mistake even as it opened. "Ah, Lord Rickard. Come on in."
Watching Lord Varys scurry over to a massive chest in the middle of the room, Rickard shut the door and leaned upon it. "I ask that we speak… in confidence."
The eunuch looked upon him. "Ah, confidence. But of course." He mimed sewing his mouth shut. "Lips sealed. Now what's on your mind?"
Many called the Starks simpletons in the art of politics, but Rickard was no fool. He knew that Varys wasn't one to be trifled with. "I came to talk about Connington."
"Well obviously," Varys shrugged. "It was either him or his Grace, and I doubt you'd trust me to voice your opinion of the latter."
"The Ironborn have attacked the North…"
"And you wonder if Connington arranged that because of our little plot. Now I do say that's rather smart of him."
Rickard tightened his lips. "And gets hundreds of my innocent countrymen killed."
A cross look, Varys opening one of the latches. "I doubt he cares about that."
"I want proof of his intentions, and you do have the spies."
"That I do, but no proof, only whispers." He flicked open another latch. "It's simple, Lord Stark. Connington just doesn't like you." Varys' ruddy eyes met Rickard's. "You're the father of the woman that took the heart of the man he loves."
The Lord of Winterfell narrowed. "Lord Varys, nothing in this damn city is that simple. My ancestor Cregan was wise in only staying here one damn day, and now I'm stuck trying to discern the intentions of the slimiest cunts I've ever met. I need answers."
Rising from the last latch, remained closed for now, Varys smiled softly as he approached a bowl of washing water by a small looking glass. "Answers come through influence. Providing something - no matter how banal - in exchange for something else." He sprinkled water atop his hands. "Influence… that is how I rose from the slums of Myr to the small council chambers."
Pulling back, Varys glanced at Rickard, the jovialness gone. Still soft in appearance, the Lord of Winterfell could see a hardness in the man. "You see, Lord Stark. You can get your answers. Cultivate enough influence and it'll come to you. Most will… be of matters that seemingly don't concern you but that you should ingratiate yourself in - build more influence. Others will serve your ends… while the smallest amount will be…" He flipped open the last latch. "Simply satisfying."
As the lid opened, Rickard approached. The smell of shit and piss hit him just as he peered over the ledge to see a man. Beaten to a pulp with his mouth sewn shut. "The sorcerer from the ceremony?" He had fought in enough battles to not be fazed by the stench.
"Yes… that sorcerer. The man that cut off my stick and stones, here he is." The sorcerer tried to scream as Varys closed the chest again, turning to Rickard. "Connington's plots will be exposed and you will have your victory over him, only if you and your family have the stones to defeat him at his own game." Varys patted him on the shoulder. "Good luck."
Now I know why Starks don't fare well in the south.
In a way, Prince Oberyn Martell was glad to be back home in Sunspear. A pleasant warmth even during the dead of winter - especially since his preferred outfit was none at all - while nothing could compare to the beauty of the sparkling ocean waves against the sandy beaches. But sometimes… even the poison of court was leaps and bounds better than what he had to endure here. "Brother, please, listen to reason…"
"I know you value your… interpersonal skills, Oberyn," Prince Doran replied, seated in his chair and unwilling to rise. "But your desires have clouded your judgement."
"And what is that supposed to mean?"
"Don't think I do not know about Lord Uller's bastard? I don't know how it happened, but her claws dug in deep to the point where she was your only lover."
"She has nothing to do with this!" Oberyn was angry, especially at the mention of Ellaria. Even among his friends here… she was a sore subject. "If our sister is fine with Princess Lyanna and I found nothing untoward about her, then why are you dragging your heels?"
His brother… there was something different about him that wasn't shared by their father, Oberyn, or even Elia - if Oberyn's hunch was right about her and Princess Lyanna. From family lore, the rather… libertine attitude of the Martells came from Nymeria, a woman more in tune with the ways of the flesh than even Aegon the Unworthy. Maron Martell, her husband, was actually a rather dour man, and Doran continued in that old tradition.
"You are naive in this instance." Doran tapped his finger on his lips. "If the Starks are too stupid to push then someone against us will in order to curry favor with them."
"Lyanna loves our niece and nephew."
Doran scoffed. "The moment that happens is the moment snow falls in the Water Gardens. Lyanna will seek to usurp Aegon's claim once she has one of her brats." He waved off a response. "Now leave me, I'm very busy trying to counter this mess."
Well, my brother has no chance to join our effort. If anything Doran would just see it as a Stark plot to eliminate what Martell influence remained in court. The best to hope for was a neutrality… and that was at best. Headache consuming him, Oberyn journeyed to the one place that could calm him down.
"Are you ready, my Prince?" came the masculine voice of one of his partners for the evening. Already, the two had stripped off their clothes. Naked as their namedays, the girl's jet black skin delightfully exotic even for the world-traveller that Oberyn was, while the muscular lad bore the familiar handsomeness of Oberyn's native soil. A delightful contrast, familiar and exotic - and both gorgeous. Mouthwateringly delectable…
Only for neither to measure up in his eyes. Both completely beautiful, but ones woefully lacking for some reason. The Prince felt his skilled organ only rise to half-mast..
The girl, her massive breasts bouncing invitingly, crawled upon the bed. "A problem?" Her voice was teasing, yet seductive.
"Umm…" Oberyn flushed red. "This… uh… this has never happened before."
Giggling, the girl leaned up. Breasts mashing against the mattress and trim legs lifting up. "Oh pish. That happens to be Daemon's specialty in fixing."
Rippling musculature almost the polar opposite of the girl, Daemon sauntered closer to Oberyn. Slowly sinking to his knees. "I am going to enjoy this." Oberyn gasped as the man began to bob up and down, slurping the length with his fingers expertly massaged his balls.
Watching the entire scene with riveted eyes, the ebony whore shimmied until her back was against the pillows. Intensifying Oberyn's pleasure as she played with her pink cunt. "My prince, I think your problem is clearing up."
Hands weaving through the man's thick locks, the second son found his cock swelling to full attention. "Yessss…" Oberyn groaned.
Two fingers pushed inside of her. "Mmmmm… Would you rather enjoy the warmth and wetness of my cunt or the fullness of his thick cock?" Her eyes darkened at the sight of the two nude men standing in front of her. "Or we can make things easier by having you enjoy both."
Oberyn suddenly pushed the man aside, earning a whimper. "Please, let me have you first," he begged. "I think you need the relief."
"Good things come to those who wait," Oberyn replied, grinning at his cock also having risen. "Help me with her," he growled, the man's eyes widening with understanding. Wordlessly, Oberyn grabbed the ebony whore by the legs and flipped her around. She yelped when he flipped her onto her stomach, yanking her on her knees so that the man could slide under her. "I'm going to fuck your ass," he growled. "The whore can have your cunt."
"Oh gods... Please me, my Prince." She hissed, sliding onto the man's length. "I need your cock in my ass!"
Oberyn slicked himself up with oil and roughly pushed into her ass, causing her to scream in pleasure. "Take it, whore." Beginning to rock into her, an image flashed behind his closed eyelids. Of a similar scene in the Red Keep. Of the most beautiful woman in the world - sultry and tan. The tightest holes and the most alluring lips…
The Prince could only find his pleasure with her face in his mind and her name on his lips. "Ellaria…"
A babe… my babe… A smile formed on Rhaegar's face, one that hadn't left him since overhearing Lyanna in the training yard. My wife is having my babe… He'd been through this twice before but the third time wasn't any less special. In fact, all three of them finally happy in the relationship made it all the better.
"Jon." The name sounded so strange on his lips… Lyanna picked that name… picked it because she loves me dearly. It was the most precious treasure as a result. "Jon Targaryen." He would grow to love it, Rhaegar knew. "Visenya Targaryen. Princess Visenya. Rhaenys, Aegon, Visenya." Egg always related to the middle. Rhaegar chuckled at the thought. My darling little Visenya. He could just imagine her with silver hair and Lya's grey eyes, a striking Valyrian beauty with the northern stubbornness.
Their child would be a girl, he just knew it. "Gods… thank you." Rhaegar's happiness was complete, regardless of the chaos in the world. He simply wanted to grab Lyanna and twirl her around in complete and utter joy.
"Your Grace." Ser Oswell was staring at him. "There's a visitor from the capitol. She says her name is Melisandre… a priestess from…"
"The Red Temple in Volantis, yes." The woman from my wedding? There was nothing untoward about her, considering how red priests usually acted, but what she had said… It was against his better judgement, but Rhaegar shrugged. "Let her in."
Almost immediately the red woman snaked past the still cautious Kingsguard - Oswell frowning when Rhaegar motioned for him to leave, yet obeying regardless. Still dressed in all red, aside from the same glittering choker round her neck the outfit had looser fabric, hair allowed to flow down in wild tongues of flame. Free and dangerous as the fire she worshipped. "Your Grace," she curtseyed. "I thank you for receiving me."
Rhaegar's eyebrow rose. "It is an… honor to receive the delegation of the Red Temple." There was little much that he could have done. While the Red Priests were known for rituals of blood sacrifice, they hadn't done anything in Westeros proper. He had no reason to bar entry, especially considering her importance to his father.
"This keep… a remnant of Old Valyria, condemned to ruin but one that emerged from near death to roar to establish the greatest dynasty in history." She ran her hands along the dark walls. "Yes, something so shrouded in darkness is really the greatest life."
The Prince had no clue where she was going with this. Riddles and mystery… the cloak in which prophecy clouded itself in. "I wouldn't say life…" Rhaegar said, deciding to probe her. "House Targaryen is on its last legs."
"That's the cycle, my Prince." Brazenly, yet soft and seductive in her movements, Melisandre wedged between Rhaegar and his desk - sitting upon it. "Death is in a struggle with life, only a generation from declaring victory over that which is good and vibrant." She smiled. "But life always counters, for with life comes light."
Melisandre seeming to loosen her dress… exposing the milky globes to his sight. "What are you doing?"
Her smile grew wider, reaching down to take his hand in hers. "The greatest light comes from fire. Dragons are fire made flesh." Before he could do anything, Melisandre pressed his palm to her chest. "The Lord of Light whispered your name to me. You, born among the salt and smoke of Summerhall… together I think we can do great things."
The feel of her soft skin, her warm flesh... such would cause most men to submit. But Rhaegar was a dragon - and his wives were far more beautiful than she was. "I think you should go, Lady Melisandre," he said darkly.
Just as he pulled away, the door opened. "Rhaegar, dear…" Smiling at the thought of surprising her husband alone, Elia saw that he wasn't indeed alone. "Oh… Priestess?" Seems she had a good memory of the wedding night herself. "I thought you were in King's Landing."
Sparing one final smoldering look at the Crown Prince, Melisandre turned. "Circumstances change, Princess. It appears what I was looking for cannot be found on the mainland."
Narrowing her eyes, Elia brushed past Melisandre until she was beside her husband. "And what is it that you seek, Lady Melisandre?" she asked, melding into Rhaegar's side. Resting a head on his shoulder sweetly… innocent eyes masking a possessiveness of what was hers. "My husband's counsel?"
"I seek answers, Princess. Answers to the great questions. Some involve his Grace, the Prince. Others…" A shrug as she looked back at the both of them. "Involve those that I still have no clues towards. Only that they lay here, in your household."
Elia's eyes narrowed slightly. "Well you are welcome to stay here if you like… only know your place." Keep your rivals close.
"A lesson all of those in my position have to learn." Curtseying to both, she made her exit. "Until next time, my Prince. My Princess. Do try to know more than what one thinks."
At the shut of the door, Elia pulled Rhaegar's lips to hers in a savage kiss. Claiming him, marking her territory for all to see. "What was that?" she breathed, only to kiss him again.
Not minding this in the slightest, Rhaegar plundered his slender wife's mouth - pulling her tight body flush against him. "I don't rightly know myself."
Breaking the kiss, she started leaving little bites along his neck and pulse. "Did she make advances?"
Rhaegar couldn't lie. "Yes, but you needn't worry."
"I'll burn her alive if she tries anything," Elia hissed.
"You and Lyanna both… but I'm yours."
Shoving him to his desk, Elia regarded him with hungry eyes. "Oh, that is true." She advanced on him, straddling his hips while hiking her dress. "But I believe his Grace needs a fresh reminder of that." Her hands went directly for the ties of his breeches.
The feeling of a wet warmth made Rhaegar tilt his head. "You planned this."
"Whatever do you mean?" Elia's voice dripped with a deep Dornish accent. Sultry and sexy.
"No smallclothes." He suddenly moaned when Elia gripped his cock in her hands. While not fierce like Lyanna, his Dornish Princess was the perfect seductress.
Elia mewled, slowly sliding onto his cock. Eyes fluttering shut at his thickness stretching her walls. "I don't need a reason to claim my husband." Moving up and down, savoring the delicious feeling, she reached behind her neck. Untying her dress. "Do your duty, my Prince," Elia husked, grabbing his silver locks and pulling him to her now bare breasts. "Devour your Dornish lover…" She moaned when his tongue flicked at one nipple. Drawing it into his mouth as she continued to bounce on his length. "Oh yes…"
"You feel so good, Elia," Rhaegar growled, tongue moving its way up to her neck and sucking on a soft spot there. He hungered for her soft moans, only to gasp as she bit down on his shoulder - riding his cock with abandon. The feeling of her teeth on his skin spurred him to thrust faster. Harder
She dug her nails into his skin, feeling the pleasure run through her body. "My Prince," she gasped. "Fuck me harder. Fuck me like a whore..." The words out of her mouth shocked her, but it made him almost roar so Elia loved it. Gods, she loved it all.
Rhaegar didn't need to be told twice as he rammed up into her cunt, watching her scream. Making her shatter around him. He grunted, spilling rope after rope of seed up into her womb. Wishing he could quicken her as he did Lyanna.
Resting atop him, trembling in his tight embrace, minutes passed before Elia even tried to push off him. Legs shaking. "I've discovered the secret to female happiness," she breathed, shuddering as she felt his seed run down her legs - making her feel like a well-fucked whore. Elia happened to revel in it.
Fixing his trousers, Rhaegar smirked. "And what is that?"
"Marry a Valyrian. Find a way to make him lust for her body." Her smirk matched his. "Perhaps I should dress as Rhaenys Targareyn tonight," Elia said sultrily, smile lusty.
His eyes widened. "You heard that?"
Now she blushed. "Yeah…" Another thought pushed in her mind, all three of them playacting the conquering trio. It made her start to get wet again. "Anything I can help you with, husband?" Elia asked, wanting to save her stamina for the night.
Rubbing the back of his neck, Rhaegar nodded. "Aye, was just planning to review the efforts to persuade the Dornish Lords."
Elia clicked her tongue. "Not exactly something to improve our moods, but I can see why I can help there." He took his seat at his desk, her standing beside him - leaning against him with arms on his shoulders. The intimacy felt amazing even as they discussed the worst sort of politics. "First thing you'll need to do is write off the Salt Dornish at the coasts."
"Unless we convince Doran to back us," he figured.
"We'll have to try, but unfortunately he is a lost cause." Elia knew her family. Only in her most optimistic of moods did she expect Doran to not be hostile to Rhaegar now that Lyanna was in the picture. "I would use some effort for the Ullers and Quorgyles."
"Ellaria's home and Oberyn's friends. Sand Dornish."
She nodded. "They hate the rest of Westeros, but they love Ellaria and Oberyn. If you name them as persons either siding with you or in danger from persons in the Capitol - whomever they may be - you could get them." He did not respond, merely pulling her down for a kiss. Elia chuckled. "I prefer that to a thank you." She ended up sitting in his lap making herself comfortable in her new seat. "This fine?"
Rhaegar nodded. "Never leave." That earned another kiss.
Turning back to the papers, Elia furrowed her brows. "Now the Torrentine houses, they could be easier to sway when the time comes. House Martell has always lacked as strong a connection to them since the Dayne and Yronwood Kings were defeated by Nymeria."
"And you think you can sway them, love?"
"Yes. Ashara Dayne is my closest friend and the Yronwoods would do anything to fuck over my brother." She picked up the map showing Dorne, chuckling. "Imagine, the hatred between our Marcher Lords and the Reach and Stormlands would probably make them jump at the chance…" Elia trailed off, deep in thought.
Rhaegar furrowed his brows. "Think of something, love?" He followed her eyes to the Reach. "Unfortunately I fear Gerold and Garlan will be our only supporters there… unless I sell off Aegon to Mace Tyrell's daughter…"
She shook her head. "No, House Peake."
"House Peake? The rebel house that killed my great-grandfather?"
"They haven't had a peep for the longest time, but I bet they'll want their other two castles back." All knew about that, the three ancestral castles of House Peake, all but Starpike taken away after they supported Daemon Blackfyre. "Castles they'll do anything to get back… even follow someone other than their liege Lord's King…"
Rhaegar looked at her in wonder. "Elia, you are smarter than any archmaester and craftier than Tywin." He beamed and pulled her into a steaming kiss. "Fortune favored me greatly when you were made my bride."
Elia's sultry smile returned, melting at the praise. "I aim to please my Prince." Without warning, he lifted her up, carrying her out of the room. "Rhaegar…"
"Time for me to reward you," he husked, silencing her protests. Oh, she was looking forward to this reward.
A/N: Elia's jealousy... I don't think Rhaegar minds. Plus we got to see an example of her political skills.
Poor Arthur and Dacey... unfortunately, his oath is something to consider here.
Doran, yep, he's he Dornish Tywin. But we got to see Oberyn pine after Ellaria in his own way XD
Next time, Return to King's Landing. If I can get 35 reviews, I will update on Saturday.
Little question for y'all. What actors or actresses do you think would play the original/younger versions of the characters here? The fantasy draft pick choices that I pick will get a shoutout next update :D
