Titus
It was a sight that Titus had missed sorely from his first visit to Dorne.
Lady Coryanne Dalt sat atop him, naked but for the ceremonial cape which she wore in honour of the god and goddess of love, beauty, and fertility. His pale pink manhood was buried deep within her dark-brown sex, his dark red hair meshing with her thick black curls. Her curvy body, dark brown and slick with sweat, moved wildly with every bounce she made. Titus had to shut his eyes to stop himself from losing control as she snarled like a lioness between moans of pleasure.
"Oh Titus," she murmured, even as he reached up and grabbed her large brown breasts, squeezing her nipples so hard that she squealed.
"Have you missed him, darling?"
"Of course, my love," Coryanne answered her husband, giggling as she added "Almost as much as you have."
He stood beside the bed where Titus and Coryanne rutted so fiercely. His copper shaft stood to attention, just a few inches from Titus' face. His musky scent filled Titus' nostrils, until Coryanne leaned forward and smothered Titus with her bosom.
Titus groaned, from pleasure and frustration at how difficult it was to stop himself from climaxing too fast. He had dreamed of being with these two again for so long, and he wanted it to last as long as possible. His mouth was wide open, planting kisses and bites on her warm skin, until one of her nipples filled his mouth. Remembering how she liked it best, he bit down on her nipple while flicking the very tip of it with his tongue. He felt her give another loud cry as she cursed in the Summer Tongue, her body pulsing from pleasure.
As Coryanne straightened herself and resumed her rhythm, Titus turned his head to look at Garrison. The Dornishman stepped forward, until the tip of his manhood pressed on Titus' lips.
Titus opened his mouth obediently, grunting as Garrison took another step forward and began to thrust his hips. One of the Dornishman's hands gripped the back of his head to keep him in place, even as he gasped with pleasure.
He tried to keep his breathing measured, feeling Garrison's manhood push deeper into his mouth, resting on his tongue. He grunted louder, so that the noise in his throat would provide a humming effect, as he'd done before. The Dornish knight was grunting too; from the sounds that he heard, Titus sensed that he was kissing his wife passionately as both made use of "their marcher lord" as they liked to call him.
He could sense the moment before it began. Garrison's thrusts became quicker, his breathing became heavier.
Coryanne matched him breath for breath, "Go on, Titus, give in." She always loved to pit her two men against each other.
The endurance race turned into a sprint for the finish. Garrison won; his manhood quivered and pulsed in Titus' mouth. Titus grunted, nearly gagging as he tried to swallow every salty drop. All the while, Coryanne rode him as if he was one of her sand steeds, urging him to lose control inside her. He had never been able to refuse her.
Coryanne cried aloud as he spurted inside her, grabbing her husband and kissing him again. The smell of sweat was so thick in the air that it was almost suffocating.
The three remained in that position for some time, slumped against each other, struggling to regain their breath. Titus felt both himself and Garrison diminishing, until both slipped free from their positions.
Time lost all meaning to Titus in these moments, when all three of them were making love together harmoniously.
" * " * " * " * " *
Over the course of his twenty-two years, Titus had certainly done his share of exploring. He had only been thirteen when he'd received his first kiss from Priss, the serving girl. Two years later, he had stolen gold from his father and paid her to be his first. Father had discovered the theft, of course, but not its use. Titus preferred to take all the punishment rather than get Priss in trouble alongside him.
Then there had been Orryn Bolt, Ser Lyle's son and heir. He'd served as a page at Blackhaven when they were both still boys. They had been close friends, playing together whenever possible, running across the fields of the marches, wrestling amongst the grass, exploring the godswood. Titus remembered the day when he'd acted on his urge to kiss Orryn, and was surprised when Orryn kissed him back. They'd tried it again a few more times afterwards, and then one day, when they'd both gotten drunk on hippocras, Titus had urged him to try and use him as they'd seen the guards use women. It had been the most incredible feeling of his life, when Orryn had pushed his way inside, and thrust until Titus had felt tears in his eyes from pleasure and pain alike.
Sadly, it hadn't been the same after that first time, for either of them. Orryn had reacted strangely to what they'd done, and he'd grown much shyer than before. When it came time for him to become a squire, he was sent away to serve a knight in service to House Caron, and that had been the end of that. Titus still saw him, occasionally, but now he was married, with two infant children. He was so formal with Titus nowadays that it actually hurt more than if he'd been cruel or mocking.
As for Titus, he had spent months doubting himself, of course; it was not easy to realise such a truth about oneself. After Orryn, he had sought out women again, including (and not without some measure of spite) Orryn's own sister, Gwenys. And so it had remained until his journey to Dorne as part of Prince Baelor and Lord Butterwell's mission.
Although the title "Knight of Lemonwood" was an old one, it had not always been held by House Dalt. In fact, Garrison was only the third generation of his house to hold the town of Lemonwood and its surrounding territory. The previous owners had been wiped out during Daeron I's conquest, and the Dalts had been distant cousins who inherited it through the female line. Garrison's father was also a cousin to the Martells, and this family connection, though flimsy, was enough to make the Dalts far more prominent than they had any reason to be otherwise. Thus, Ser Garrison had been at Prince Maron's side when the peace talks were discussed.
Prince Baelor had encouraged his companions to become more acquainted with the Dornish, in an effort to smooth over the transition where Dorne would join the Seven Kingdoms. Titus had been drawn towards Ser Garrison during the dinners, the tour of Sunspear, the walks along the shore. When Garrison had invited him for an excursion to Lemonwood, Titus had eagerly accepted.
Garrison must have sent word ahead that Titus was coming, for his family was on hand to greet him. Coryanne had bewitched him from the start; she had been so gracious, so sweet, and so alluring. Their six children were curiously intrigued by this marcher, asking him all sorts of questions and making japes to test him. The biggest surprise of all had been when Garrison and Coryanne had invited him to their chamber. He had spent every night in their bed until his return to Sunspear.
Now, they were once again sharing the same chambers, having finally arrived in King's Landing.
" * " * " * " * " *
The journey had taken the Dornish party more than two weeks. The journey had been slow, for Baelor had taken it upon himself to play host in Summerhall, House Targaryen's newest castle. There they had spent several days before the journey had resumed.
Titus had only been to King's Landing a handful of times in his life, and each sight of the vast city took his breath away. He had heard of the capital, and of Oldtown, for most of his life. But nothing could prepare a man for the actual experience of riding across acres of cobblestone, maneuvering a forest of stone buildings and wooden stalls, floundering in a sea of men, women, and children of every hue, size, and shape.
This time, Titus was riding with the king and his heir, so the pathway had been cleared ahead of them. They'd entered the city from the Kingsroad, passing through the River Gate on the city's southern side. From there, the procession went the long way to the Red Keep, travelling along the Blackwater Way towards the centre of the capital. Finally, they made a right turn onto the Gods' Way and rode up to the colossal red castle known as the Red Keep.
For many of the Dornish, it was their first sight of King's Landing; some, like Aliandra Dalt, were amazed. Others, like Lady Wyl and Moriah Fowler, wrinkled their noses and gave suspicious glances.
If Titus was honest with himself, the hostility from these Dornish was heartily returned by many of the smallfolk. Most were apathetic or intrigued by the newcomers, but others had long memories of House Targaryen's relationship with Dorne. For his part, Titus tried to ignore that, preferring to ride with the Dalts and indulge them with whatever meagre knowledge he had.
"Over there is the Great Sept of Baelor." Titus pointed to indicate the great dome which adorned the top of Visenya's Hill. Crystal towers also loomed up around the dome, one for each of the Seven.
Aliandra's eyes widened at the sight, "I thought only the Dornish built with domes! When can we visit it?"
"Any time you wish, no doubt," Titus answered, "Anyone is welcome to pray there."
Aliandra paused, then gave a polite smile, "My thanks, Ser, but I do not worship the Seven."
"No?" Titus was surprised, but not unduly, "Do you follow your mother's faith?"
"Indeed," her smile widened, "I spent many years in the Summer Isles in the court of my cousin, Princess Kojja."
"I have never been to the Summer Isles," Titus answered, "But I have heard a great deal about them."
"I am sure most of it was true," Aliandra answered with a laugh.
"And I thought the city reeked when we were in the Kingswood!"
It was Lady Wyl; she had ridden up behind Titus and Aliandra while they'd slowed to observe the Sept. She was speaking in a voice which an actor might use to 'whisper' something to the audience, only her audience seemed to just three youths who rode alongside her: Moriah Fowler, Sylvenna Blackmont, and Lucifer Yronwood's young heir, Qoren. All three laughed at her jape.
Titus knew he should say something, but he held his tongue. The Wyls of Wyl had a long and bloody history with House Dondarrion, and Titus could sense the hostility from Jayne Wyl. Worse still was the fact that all three of the youths were from houses who, like the Wyls, were direct neighbours with the marcher lords. He was reminded of something that Maester Gerold had once told him. Some wounds cannot heal on their own, but must be staunched with care. Other wounds can only be healed with fire, and must heal slowly through the pain.
Titus and Aliandra caught up with Titus' sister Jena, who was riding with the rest of the party from Blackhaven. The commander was a mature and level-headed knight named Ser Maynard Kellington. Titus had chosen him not just because of his youth, being too young to remember the Conquest of Dorne, but also because he had not grown up in the Dornish Marches, making him less susceptible to prejudice. His second-in-command was Royce the Runt, a seasoned man-at-arms who commanded much respect among those at Blackhaven. Alongside them were the rest of the Dalts: Coryanne and Garrison, as well as their twin sons Edgar and Uthor.
King Daeron Targaryen, the Second of his Name, was not sitting on the Iron Throne when they arrived. Instead, he and his wife, Queen Myriah, awaited the procession before the gates.
One might be forgiven for mistaking Daeron II for a maester rather than a king. The thirty-five year-old was not a warrior, nor did he appear very regal; he was round of shoulder and belly alike, with a plain face that was shrewd and thoughtful rather than imposing or handsome. Yet there was an air of such dignity and wisdom to him that many admired and envied alike. His gaze was full of resolve and quiet authority, softened by the gentle smile on his face as he called to his eldest son.
"Welcome home, Baelor!" He stepped forward as the Crown Prince dismounted, and the two embraced each other.
Queen Myriah, meanwhile, embraced her younger brother Maron. Like the Dornish Prince, Myriah had grey in her hair, but this seemed to only enhance her features rather than diminish them.
After Daeron had embraced his younger sister, Princess Daenerys, he turned to the rest of the entourage, "As King of the Andals, Rhoynar, and the First Men, I welcome you to my city, and my home. You are all my honoured guests!"
A cheer sounded from Maron's guards, and even the most cynical and snide of the party were unwilling to keep silent in front of King and Prince alike.
Titus applauded with the rest before he and Jena dismounted and knelt before Daeron.
"Rise," Daeron urged, "Welcome back to King's Landing, Ser Titus."
"On behalf of House Dondarrion," Titus announced, "I reaffirm our oaths of fealty to the Iron Throne and House Targaryen."
Others did the same, kneeling and greeting the king with words of loyalty. One who did no such thing was Maegor Toyne, which Titus found frustrating, but he did not entirely blame the man. Several of his relatives were slain while defying King Aegon IV, and he had also taken half their lands as further punishment. Mayhaps I should have left him behind instead of Massey.
There were other introductions and reunions to be made, for Daeron's younger sons - Aerys, Rhaegal, and Maekar - accompanied their father. There was also the Hand, Ambrose Butterwell.
"It is good to remake your acquaintance, Titus," Butterwell declared as he and Titus shook hands.
"Likewise," Titus lied. He had never liked the man; he was the only survivor of the late King Aegon IV's small council, going from master of coin to Hand of the King. And for the life of him, he'd never understood why Butterwell had not only endured, but been promoted. He was a witty man on occasion, but mostly inept otherwise.
A far more competent man was Lord Ronnel Penrose, who had replaced Lord Butterwell as master of coin. He was present for the greetings, as was his wife, Elaena. A cousin of King Daeron II, Elaena was just a year shy of forty, with a proud and mature beauty which reminded Titus of Coryanne. Her hair was white, but for a single golden streak, and tied into a long braid.
Other members of Daeron's court were present. Many were Dornish, such as a member of House Manwoody, who greeted his kin. Many were scholarly in appearance, in the image of their king. Amongst them stood members of the Kingsguard, garbed in the finest armour, over which they wore their pristine white cloaks.
As all introductions were made, the part had drifted into the Great Hall. If Titus had ever reckoned them to be a large number of people, they seemed like a small group in a space which could comfortably feast a thousand. The Iron Throne loomed up over them all, a monstrosity of twisted metal, bent and welded together with dragonflame.
The king did not take his seat on the throne, but continued to stand with his guests and courtiers. After a moment, he held up his hand to gain the attention of all in attendance.
"Friends," he called out, "It is my pleasure to announce that we shall be holding a tourney in honour of my sister and goodbrother's visit to our fair capital!"
Cheers erupted from a hundred throats; whatever folk might think about this king or each other, all welcomed the notion of a tourney. Knights could joust in the lists and battle each other in the melee. Archers would compete for their own prize. Nobles would be able to mingle over feasts. It was a chance for fun and glory all around.
When it came to hospitality, King Daeron was true to his word; all of the guests were lavishly accommodated in the Red Keep. Titus and Jena received a room which had two separate bedchambers, in order to accommodate them properly. Their guards were also provided smaller spaces, and their personal servants stayed in the main suite such as Gwenys Bolt and Titus' new squire, Clifford Straw.
"I take it you want to see more of the city, sister?" Titus asked Jena as she stared out of a window.
"I don't know where I want to begin," Jena exclaimed, unable to even look at her brother.
"Wait until they begin the tourney," Titus chuckled, "You will be able to cheer your prince."
That got Jena's attention, "My prince?"
Titus shrugged, smirking, "I have eyes, Jena. And I thought you two might like each other."
"You will not take credit for this," Jena said accusingly, but not without some amusement, "You are not the spider that you think you are."
"Very well," Titus laughed, "Then prove me wrong. Speak not another word to Baelor. Spurn his company."
"If I do continue to see him," Jena retorted, "it will be my choice, and not with your permission."
"Well, you have already saved his life," Titus said, "And thank the gods for that."
"Aye," Jena sighed, "Did you ever discover how that came to be?"
"It was an accident, no? What else is there to say?"
"An evil accident, if it was one. If I had not intervened, he would have been pinned to the tree by his throat!"
"What are you saying?" Titus frowned.
"I'm saying that it was a very well-aimed accident," Jena insisted.
"Well, it is of little concern now," Titus interrupted.
Before Jena could speak, Clifford Straw entered the suite. He was sixteen years old, almost as tall as his father and only a head shorter than Titus. He was neither lean nor fat, strong and swift, but he did not seem to have inherited his father's intellect or practical nature. Still, he was grateful for the chance to become a knight, and he seemed determined to earn it.
"Ser?" he asked in a respectful tone, "Ser Garrison Dalt requests your counsel."
Titus wasted little time with these summons. Luckily, Garrison and Coryanne were given their own personal suite, while their children were sequestered in another.
"At our request," Coryanne said slyly while she walked around the suite naked, "We are entitled to some privacy, no?" Garrison - equally naked - snorted with laughter at that, spitting out a mouthful of Dornish red. Titus smirked and gave Coryanne a kiss on her lips while fondling her breasts.
"Will you be riding in the tourney, Titus?" Garrison asked, "My boys and I will be participating."
Coryanne broke off the kiss with Titus and put her hands on his cheeks, "My sweet marcher lord, please talk sense into that poor man. He is afraid of growing old. Jousting is a young man's sport."
Titus smiled, and turned to face Garrison while he was pouring out more goblets of wine, "Your wife makes a good point, Ser. It may be good sense to sit back and allow your boys a chance at glory."
"Lucifer Yronwood will ride alongside his own son," Garrison retorted, bringing them both goblets full of Dornish red, "I will not have him be the only sour lemon in the lists. But what of you, lightning lord?" He planted a kiss of his own onto Titus' lips.
Titus broke off the embrace and silently toasted husband and wife alike. When he'd taken a gulp of wine, he sighed, "I don't doubt that I will ride, but I have no wish to ride against you in the lists, for how would it look if I crowned your wife as my queen?"
Garrison laughed, "Very bold talk from a man who's been pierced by my lance."
Titus blushed as Coryanne giggled.
"Perhaps you can crown Aliandra?" she suggested, "No doubt she would appreciate the gesture."
Titus paused, unsure of what Coryanne meant by that.
For his part, Garrison seemed to pay little heed to the comment, for he had already drained his cup and had gone out onto the balcony, "I doubt either one of us will win this tourney, Titus, nor will our sons. Baelor Breakspear will ride, and I hear four of the Kingsguard at least will participate as well."
"And what of Blackfyre?" Coryanne asked, no longer amused.
Titus flinched. Daemon Waters was not the only bastard which King Aegon IV had sired, but he had certainly been the king's favourite. Why else would he have knighted Daemon at the mere age of twelve? Why else would he have bequeathed unto him the ancient Targaryen sword called Blackfyre? Not even Daeron had demanded the sword returned to House Targaryen's keeping. Instead, it now belonged to Daemon's cadet branch, named after that bastard sword made of Valyrian steel.
He had been present when Daemon Blackfyre and Prince Baelor had faced each other at the wedding of Princess Daenerys to Prince Maron. It was rumoured that Daemon had desired to marry Daenerys himself, and it was also claimed that Aegon had given his consent to the match. But even if those rumours were true, it counted for naught during Daeron's reign. How fitting, then, that his own son and heir should defeat Daemon - supposedly the greatest knight and warrior of his time - as if to affirm that the old king was truly dead. But one thing which Daeron could not undo was his dying father's decree that all his bastards - including Daemon - were legitimized.
"I suppose he will turn up," Titus said heavily, "We can only hope that Breakspear earns his nickname again."
"Maybe you can unhorse him?" Garrison said in a cheery voice, clearly seeking to trivialise the matter, "What moniker would you like to claim for yourself?"
"Oh, I can think of a few," Coryanne said, even as she put down her wine goblet and began undressing Titus. Garrison joined her side in a moment, running one of his calloused hands through Titus' red hair.
They make it so easy, thought Titus as he took turns kissing them both. But afterwards, as they were slumped together on the bed, exhausted and spent but utterly happy, there was still a worry which gnawed at Titus' mind.