BREAKING NEWS! A young Disclaimer was found dead outside of its home today. Prevailing theory from forensics is that was either torn apart by a polarbear or a mutated landcrawling seabass. Snowy the Snowbear vehenetly proclaimed his innocence while he was brought into custody by a crack team of penguin special forces. More news to follow as we at the Westerosi Herald will do our best to keep our readers updated.

Warning: some relatively nondescriptive sex in the first part of this chapter.

Moat Cailin:

When Jon woke it was with a throbbing headache after the vast amount of alcohol he had consumed the night before and it took him a good minute or two to regain his bearings, and as he did so he panicked ever so slightly as the memories of the most. . .erotic night he had ever experienced, returned to him.

"You might as well open your eyes husband, I know you are awake," came the dry voice of his wife.

Jon sighed, 'might as well get it over with,' he thought as he opened his eyes, only to groan in pain- Alys the sadistic with of a wife of his had opened the drapes just enough to make sure that Jon got a full blast of gleaming sunlight straight into is poor eyes. "For the love of the Gods Alys please, shut those drapes," he moaned.

Even the amused chuckles from his wife was pure torture, though she did take pity on him as she closed the drapes again and Jon could finally see properly. Truth be told she didn't look much better than he did. Her hair was wild and tangled, numerous hickeys dotter her neck and her makeup was well and truly smudged, she looked well and truly fucked.

"Alys," Jon said hesitantly as he looked about the room, "Last night.."

"Yes," Alys replied with a teasing lilt to her voice.

"I wasn't dreaming was I?" he asked, hoping that mayhap it was a dream, while also fervently begging the Gods that it wasn't just his imagination at work.

"That depends husband," Alys said as she seated herself beside him so that she could teasingly run her hand over his chest and stomach. "If you talk about the fact that you fucked two of our guests in our own bed, then no, it wasn't a dream."

Jon swore. . .loudly, "You're gonna smack the shit out of me now aren't you," he asked as he tried in vain to get out of the tangled sheets before his wife could use her long nails, or even worse, the knife on the nightstand to deadly effect.

"That. . .would be a bit premature," Alys said with a blush. "I was. . .a more than eager participant last night after all."

Jon's eyes lit up as he grinned. "Did my dear wife enjoy herself last night?" Jon asked as he finally untangled himself enough that he could lean close and whisper into her ear, enjoying how she shuddered at his suggestive tone. "You liked having another woman's tongue between your legs didn't you?" he continued, "such a bad girl you are my love."

Sadly it seemed that Alys had more control than Jon hoped as she rejected his advances and playfully pushed him back down on the bed. "Gods be damned Jon," Alys bemoaned. "I was a respectable young Lady of noble birth before I met you, stop grinning DAMN YOU," she shouted the last two words while trying desperately to keep her serious mien, though from how her lips were twitching, eager to turn upwards Jon knew that she wasn't angry.

"Aye you were," he admitted. "But do you really believe you would have even half as much fun as Daryn Hornwoods wife, as you've had with me?"

Alys finally cracked up. "You have a strange way of defining fun husband," she admitted. "What you consider fun, is enough to make your Lord uncle go grey before his time, not to mention that you make me worried or angry as well."

Jon shrugged. "Uncle needs me to bring a bit of chaos into his life," he said, skilfully ignoring Alys' look of disbelief. "He far too serious all the time, and as for you," Jon continued, slowly encircling her in his arms. "I like it when you get angry."

"Really," Alys asked sceptically.

"Oh aye," Jon agreed. "Makes the fucking all that much sweeter when I grovel for your forgiveness."

"Pig," Alys snorted as she slapped his arm lightly, but still let herself be lowered to the bed, and she did nothing to refuse Jon's kisses or try to stop his hands as he slowly pushed her skirts up towards her waist.

"Still true," Jon replied as he nibbled on her earlobe, his left hand already inside Alys' smallclothes to stroke her lower lips, and from how wet she was he knew that he had succeeded.

Alys bit her lip to try and keep quiet, only to lose the fight when Jon suddenly inserted one of his fingers into her passage, hitting a spot that made her squirm with pleasure. "Fuck me, you're good at that," she wheezed.

Jon grinned victoriously against her neck. "You still haven't told me," he whispered to her. "Did you enjoy having another woman's tongue in your cunt?"

"J-Jon," she protested weakly. "I-it's not proper."

"Says who?" Jon asked as he finally managed to unbutton her shirt.

"I. . ." she was at a loss for words.

"Who have the rights to say what is and isn't proper in our bed except for the two of us?" he asked as he tore off her smallclothes. "Who are they to say how I please my wife?"

Alys cooed when he finally sheathed himself inside her, both of them enjoying the slow sensuous pace he set. "So we should just keep bringing women into our bed should we?" she asked him while her eyes were narrowed slightly.

Jon kissed her, his tongue eagerly caressing her own, while he used his hands to lock her legs behind his back. "I would never take another woman into our bed without you," he told her gently. "Would I like if we continued taking other women into our bed? Certainly," he said. "But if you told me you'd never want me touching another woman again, then I wouldn't. . .I love you," he said, almost as surprised as Alys seemed, at the very real and sudden realization that he did in fact love her.

What wasn't to love? She was beautiful, funny, smart, she loved their children, both of them, even though Lyarra wasn't from her own womb.

"You-you love me?" she asked weakly, her eyes suspiciously moist.

"Yes," he nodded. "I lov-mmmph," he was cut off as Alys hungrily claimed his lips and tongue in a heated kiss while at the same time reversing their position, eagerly riding him faster and faster until both of them slumped over as their bodies finally got their release. "If I knew telling you that I love you would get that kind of reaction I'd have told you long ago," he mumbled as she snuggled against him, grunting slightly as she punched him in the ribs.

"Arianne should get into art," Alys mumbled approvingly, as she lightly caressed the latticework of scratches that Arianne had left on his chest and back the night before.

"Where are those two Dornish wenches?" Jon asked curiously.

"I. . . sent them away earlier when we woke up, you were still sleeping like a rock."

Jon looked at Alys who was avoiding her eyes and blushing that lovely red shade once again. "What aren't you telling me?" he asked suspiciously as he tilted her head towards him, only to watch in fascination as she blushed deeper, though there was something very. . .smug about her look as well.

"You. Little. Wench!" he exclaimed. "You fucked them again didn't you?" he asked as he did his best to seem scandalized, though in all actuality he was aroused and impressed. "Right next to where your poor husband was sleeping unawares."

They held their mask for perhaps a few seconds before both of them broke out into laughter. "M'lord and Lady Stark," the voice from one of their maidservants sounded through the door. "Your bath has been drawn up."

Thanking the maid both Jon and Alys regretfully made their way out of the bed to get started on the day. Bathing and dressing. Alys went to check up on the children while Jon checked to see if any messages had arrived during the night or early morning.

There was little of any consequence at least. A letter from Walder Frey asking for him to betroth his son to one of Walder's girls or grandchildren or whatever, that letter was gleefully put into the basket where he kept all his other correspondence from Old Walder. Come winter it could be used as kindling, or he could always donate it to the smallfolk to wipe their arses with, he knew most would gladly wipe their arse with the paper that a Lord had written on.

Another letter from the Watch asked for men to take the Black, and if Jon's suspicions were correct there'd probably be a few men who would be most eager to take the Black after last night's revelry, rather than lose a hand or cock or even his head. Big big celebrations and copious amounts of alcohol always resulted in someone doing something that they weren't supposed to.

Resolving to check later if there were anyone who were keen on taking the Black, Jon penned a quick letter to his uncle, not only to apologize for the. . . incident in the south with Gregor Clegane, but also to perhaps warn him about the sudden influx of Dornishmen in the North.

As he walked down to the great hall to get some food Jon felt a large amount of pity for the servants who would no doubt be kept busy all day as a result of the previous evening. Mugs, cutlery and even clothes were scattered here and there in the hallway, as were people it seemed, a great number of the Dornish nobles had apparently passed out in the hallways rather than try to seek lodgings. As had Northmen apparently Jon noted with no small amount of amusement when he came across the Smalljon who was down to his smallclothes, and hugging the small doll made from silk with gems for eyes to his chest.

For that matter Jon wasn't the only one who had noted the Smalljon's rather peculiar sleeping spot in the middle of the hallway, as more than one had done his or most likely her part in decorating his shivering flesh with all sorts of makeup so that he now more resembled a rainbow than a fearsome Northern Lord who would become the Umber of Last Hearth one day.

The hall itself was still relatively empty, most of his guests still abed, trying in vain to get rid of their hangovers, but a few people were already awake, with the exception of the servants who were already scurrying back and forth to try and clean and tidy everything up, while others came out with trays of eggs, fish and bacon, cheese fruits and bread.

Of Jon's immediate friends only Robar was already awake. Technically one could say that both Edric and Gendry were awake where they say in a corner on one of the lower tables, but from how green the two boys looked to be, Jon realized that trying to engage either of them would be at best and exercise in futility and at worst would result in a spray of vomit.

Seeing that Alys still hadn't come down Jon decided to break his fast alone, though not without company. Oberyn, Ellaria, Arianne and all his daughters were already seated, along with Robar who was discussing proper lance technique with Prince Oberyn.

"Prince, Princess, ladies," Jon greeted as he sat down and started to shovel eggs and sausages onto a plate. "Princess," Jon said suddenly, "No need to remain standing, take a seat," because the Princess was indeed standing, and sending the occasional glare towards Nymeria who looked fit to burst.

"I'll. . . stand My Lord," Arianne said slowly as she studied the cup of tea she was just handed by a red faced maid, and like her cousin Nymeria who had also gotten one both of the Dornish women seemed to be bracing themselves in preparation to drink it.

"What my dear cousin means," Nymeria started with a grin. "Is that she might have pulled something last night," she finished as Arianne gave her a look the promised murder. As soon as the Dornish Princess looked away however Nymeria gave her a swift slap on the rump causing Arianne to angrily throw her cup of scalding tea straight in Nymeria's face.

"YOU BITCH!" both of them roared as they tried to physically assault one another, only to be snatched back in the nick of time by the rest of their family.

"I wouldn't worry about it," Oberyn explained with an amused grin. "They do this every month or so."

Jon shook his head, just as amused as Oberyn. "Sounds like I would've had a lot of fun if I'd grown up in Dorne."

Ellaria giggled. "I'm not sure Dorne could fit the ego and chaos of both Oberyn Martell and Jon Stark," she teased.

"I'll get you for that my dear," Oberyn murmured as he kissed his way all over her neckline.

A sudden roar of fury, or humiliation; Jon always had trouble identifying which signalled that Smalljon Stagsbane had woken up and discovered his present state. "Now it begins," Jon murmured to Oberyn.

Indeed it had begun. Stagsbane had stormed into the great hall in a rage and started to demand to know who had violated him so, though with him standing there naked save for his smallclothes, bedecked in a myriad of colours and still holding a small doll had not done anything to calm him down as the majority of the inhabitants in the hall had just laughed harder the more furious the big man got.

It took Jon twenty minutes of trying to calm him down to no avail, only for ALys to do it in less than a minute, though the fashion in which she did so was the dirtiest form of cheating Jon had seen to date. Rather than try to reason with the big man who was glaring and threatening everyone who appeared before his eyes Alys simply pushed baby Torrhen into his arms and told him to sit down and shut up, that Torrhen had chosen that exact moment to open his eyes and giggle at the sight of the Smalljon's face just proved Jon's suspicions that it had been planned by Alys from the start as the Smalljon took one look at the cherubic face of Jon's youngest? Son and melted. The rest of the breakfast had been spent with Jon throwing dirty looks at Alys who simply oozed smugness from where she daintily ate her own meal, at least entertainment was had with the near naked Stagsbane cooing and making all sorts of funny sounds and faces at Torrhen and Lyarra, both of whom were delighted at their newest 'toy'.

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"Gods' fucking damnit Edd," Jon snarled as an out of breath Edd came storming into the hall a good six hours or so later. Jon had spent all day trying to come to grips with how much food and drink had been consumed the day before, and he thanked his lucky stars that they had such a well stocked larder after all the gifts they'd received so far, as they had consumed more food in one night than they normally did in weeks. He had also forked out near four hundred gold dragons to the various inns and taphouses in the small city in and around the Moat, whom he had told to serve food and drink for free the previous night and day.

Furthermore it had become evident that mixing thousands of Dornishmen with thousands of Northmen and a few hundred Valemen was a recipe to either a really great party, or a catastrophe waiting to happen. Half a dozen honour duels had been fought, a drunken horserace had been arranged, though the most impressive and confusing incident was of the man who brought a jackass and a honeycomb into a brothel, no one, not even the man in question knew how or why he'd done it. Another man who Jon was determined to award had mistakenly stumbled across an entrance to a set of very old catacombs that ran inside the large hill the fortress proper stood on, and from the size of the tunnels they had been dug by the children of the forest thousands of years ago.

All in all, he was amazed that no one had been killed, and that every building was still standing, though Maester Rolland would be liable to start a murder tally with the amount of people who were crowding him for treatment.

"A raven from Winterfell Jon," Edd said after he caught his breath. "The King rides for Winterfell, he'll be here soon enough."

Jon frowned, what on earth could bring the King up north again so soon? "Does it say anything else?" he asked Edd who started to explain as much as he could. The death of Jon Arryn, and subsequent death of Lysa and Robert Arryn was quite a shock, and considering the timing there could be only one thing the King was after.

"The King means to make your uncle the next Hand," Oberyn said a nearly a week later as he and Jon were walking along the battlements, Sandor being the only person with them, walking faithfully a few steps behind.

Jon had at first been somewhat hesitant to have Sandor in the same room as Oberyn, the Prince himself had not seemed pleased when he met Sandor. Sandor had just sneered, 'My brother was a fucking cunt who murdered my sister so we have that in common little Prince' after that Oberyn seemed to have warmed towards the imposing man. Jon doubted they would ever be friends or even like each other, but so long as Oberyn didn't try to kill Sandor, Jon couldn't really give a fuck. Good help after all was generally not easy to find.

"Aye you have the right of it," Jon agreed. "And I have a bad feeling about it all."

Oberyn smiled grimly. "Neither of our Houses have had much joy come from getting tangled up in King's Landing."

Grunting noncommittedly Jon narrowed his eyes as he looked down the causeway of the neck where a small party closed in. A dozen horses or so, along with two large carts, the closest one was steered by a fat man with a very small man seated beside him.

"Looks like the Imp of Casterly Rock," Oberyn mused as he spotted the small party, no doubt having noticed the Lannister cloaks on a few of the riders. "And the rest of them look to be wearing the livery of House Tarly of Horn Hill."

Jon blinked, the Imp, here? He hadn't seen that one coming. "I expected a few men from House Tarly, Lord Randyll promised me two carts of wheat, grain and barley but fuck me if I know why the Imp is here."

Oberyn laughed bitterly. "If the rumours are true you've made a friend for a lifetime."

Jon looked askance at the Dornish Prince, awaiting an answer.

"Anything that makes his father or sister angry is something he supports, and you've made a mockery of House Lannister lately."

Jon took an exaggerated step away from Oberyn. "Careful my Prince," he japed. "I'll fear for my virtue if you continue to flatter me so."

Jon had done his best to ever forget the kiss that Oberyn gave him. Not that he judged Oberyn, nor any other man for that matter who enjoyed the company of the same sex, but fucking men wasn't exactly his mug of ale.

Oberyn for his part just laughed as he waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "You shouldn't throw something before you've tried it, I'm sure that after a night with me and Ellaria we could change your mind."

Jon snorted slightly. "I'm sure you could," he said doubtfully, "But I am more than pleased with my love life already."

"I should think so," Oberyn laughed. "Why both my niece as well as Nymeria and Tyene seems to have enjoyed both you and your wife on more than one night."

Jon gulped ever so slightly, Oberyn after all had a reputation.

"Oh do not fret," he laughed. "My niece and daughters are perfectly capable of fucking whom they well please."

It was true he supposed. Both Nymeria and Tyene had both said that their father wouldn't care, yet Jon had tried his best to keep it quiet, though from the amount of knowing looks he got he suspected that most, if not all knew that he and his wife had taken other women into their bed. He had kept true to his vow to not bed anyone else unless his wife was the one to bring them. Alys had lasted two full days until Tyene and Arianne had managed to talk her into a new romp, the first for Tyene, and second one for Arianne. How they managed to make his wife cave in he never did find out, then again, he supposed that he never thought that hard about it either, as all three of them had already been at it for some time when he found them in his bed, and he had been far more concerned about joining in than questioning how or why.

"How long have you known?" Jon asked nervously.

"Since the morning after our arrival," Oberyn grinned. "From the way Arianne was refusing to sit, it was quite easy to work out."

Jon grinned too as he thought back on it. Arianne's arse was a work of art, and the Dornish Princess had proven in their later tumbles that she enjoyed having a cock up her arse, same as there were few things Tyene like better than to have a tongue slithering between her folds while she sucked greedily on a cock. Nymeria on the other hand enjoyed those things of course, but her true weakness was her teats, the nipples in particular. If one knew what to do with one's lips or tongue or even fingers one could easily reduce the Dornish bastard to a quivering screaming wreck with nothing more than careful or sometimes rough treatment of her nipples.

"Was it your first time?" Oberyn asked suddenly, almost causing Jon to swallow a mouthful of wine down the wrong pipe.

"My first time what?" he asked.

"Your first time taking someone in the rear?" at Jon's nod Oberyn sighed and threw an arm across Jon's somewhat confused shoulders.

"I remember my first time quite vividly," he started "I was three and ten and entered the finest brothel in Sunspear." Oberyn took a sip of his own wine as he get a slightly faraway look in his eyes. "I fucked my first man that day, though I must confess I thought him a girl at the moment of entry."

Jon snickered, and from the choked laughter behind him he knew that Sandor had heard it too. "What do you think Sandor?" Jon asked the tall brute. "That Prince Oberyn couldn't tell arse from quim?" he japed, narrowly avoiding a half-hearted slap from said Prince.

The Hound grinned, a somewhat disturbing image when taking his ruined face into account, but somehow comforting at the same time, that such a monstrous man could do something like an honest grin. "I hear many Dornish have that same problem," he stated, causing Oberyn to laugh.

"We're not so restricted in Dorne," he defended himself. "There are far too many joys to be found in the art of fucking to limit oneself to just one sex."

"Good try Prince Oberyn," Jon said, "but I'm afraid that you are no nearer to find your way into my bed."

"Ah, it was worth a try," Oberyn said with a shrug. "And the best part is that I'll keep trying just for the fun of it."

"Fucking randy Dornishmen," Jon grumbled as they started to walk back to the courtyard. "Out of curiosity," Jon said suddenly. "How long are you Dornishmen planning to stay?"

"Bored of us already Lord Stark?" Oberyn asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Hardly," Jon said. "However with the King coming north, I do expect to follow him to Winterfell, he'll most likely demand it at any rate."

Oberyn stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Perhaps we'll stay to meet the King, if only to see him and his family squirm," he said while grinning. "But after that I suspect most will return south to Dorne."

"Most?" Jon questioned.

"I've travelled all over the world," Oberyn said. "But I never visited the North before, and since I am here I might as well see if Winterfell is as grand as they say, not to mention the Wall, the greatest structure ever built some say."

"You are welcome to stay of course," Jon told him. "But you should try to eat as little as possible during mealtimes."

"Oh?" Oberyn asked, curiosity apparent on his face.

"Oh yes," Jon said with a grin. "The Queen and her fucking spawn of a son have wished me dead and called for my head more than once. So I fully intend to serve nothing more than bread and our cheapest ale during meals, we're obviously saving our limited larder for winter."

Oberyn laughed uproariously. "Be as discourteous as possible while still being accommodating, I like it," he said.

"Yes well, at least they'll have food from my table which is more than I can say for the Prince, he'll have to find himself lodgings in a tavern."

"You think the King will accept that?" Oberyn asked.

Jon nodded. "When I tell him that he sent Sandor here after me to take my head I think the King will be more than understanding when I refuse the Prince guest right or accommodations."

"Hah," Oberyn laughed. "Truly you must have been born in Dorne," he exclaimed.

"Yes," Jon agreed. "But I have the distinct advantage of being in the King's good graces, so I have that going for me."

By this point they had entered the courtyard, and the party of Westermen and Reach men were passing through the gates. As Oberyn said it was the Lannister Imp who had ridden on one of the carts, and he looked around curiously.

Small, with a forehead that was too large for his face, one eye black as the night and another one that was the typical Lannister green, and blond hair that switched from golden to almost white.

"Lord Stark," he said as he bowed slightly. "I am Tyrion Lannister."

"Lord Tyrion," Jon said politely. "Might I enquire as to why you are here?"

"To congratulate and thank you of course," The Imp said without missing a beat. "Never in my whole life have I seen my father so furious as when he learned that you had killed one Clegane and lured the other one into your service."

"And so you felt it was only natural to come and visit?" Jon questioned.

"Naturally," Tyrion agreed with a smile. "Besides, I always wanted to see the world like my uncles did when they became men, instead my father set me to task with managing all the cisterns in Casterly Rock."

Jon looked curiously at the Imp, was he serious about that?

"A most highborn plumber," Oberyn japed.

"Shit never flowed better," Tyrion said imperiously. "However seeing as my father told me to leave his sight I figured that it meant that I could leave Casterly Rock and discover the world."

A bit of a stretch Jon supposed, but there were many ways to interpret 'Leave my sight' he should know, having done the same thing often enough, though never to the point of leaving the North. "And so you came North."

Tyrion nodded. "I intend to stand on the edge of the Wall and piss of the edge of it, then I suppose I'll make my way south or across the sea to Essos."

Jon studied the little lion further, sinking deeper into that 'animalistic' side of him, that so easily let him warg into animals, and even gave him some of their instincts, one such instinct was the ability to 'sense' to some degree if a person was trustworthy, and he could feel no deception, no tingling on the back of his neck to indicate that Tyrion had any malevolent designs by coming here. "Very well," Jon said at least, enjoying how Tyrion's eyes widened in surprise and interest at seeing Jon's eyes turn to amber. "I welcome you to Moat Cailin, Lord Tyrion. Guest Right will be yours."

"Thank you Lord Stark," Tyrion said with a bow. "I would love to continue to stay out here to continue to chat, but alas it has been a long journey and I would welcome the chance to eat and drink before a blazing hearth."

"Sandor will take care of it," Jon said as he looked at Sandor to see if he had any objections.

Sandor just nodded and walked towards Tyrion. "Come here little man," he said gruffly as he guided Tyrion into the castle.

"And who might you be?" Jon asked the one who had ridden beside Tyrion on the cart.

"Sa-Samwell T-Tarly."

"Son of Randyll Tarly?" Oberyn asked.

"The s-same my P-Prince," he stuttered, obviously familiar enough with Dornish Houses to recognize Oberyn.

"Don't get me wrong," Jon said. "I'm honoured that Lord Tarly would send me his son to deliver his promised gifts, but I must ask why he would do so."

Sam winced slightly. "He t-told me to ask if you m-might not take me under your wing and make a man out of me, either that or I'd go and t-take the Black."

Jon frowned. "Making a man out of you should be easy enough. There are more than enough whores here, Prince Oberyn can probably supply you with greater detail on the subject."

Sam blushed scarlet. "I-that isn't- what I mean is. . ."

"I think," Oberyn said as he cut off the stuttering young man. "That what young Tarly means is that his father wants you to make him into a proper man rather than a frightened boy."

"Is this true?" Jon asked.

"Ye-yes," Sam stuttered. "I'm a craven, a-always have been."

"Hmm," Jon mused as he thought hard on what to do. "I think I might enjoy this challenge, mayhap you'll agree to help me Prince Oberyn?"

Oberyn too seemed to be somewhat intrigued. "I think I will, getting the boy started on whores should be a good start I think."

Sam once again tried as best he could to stutter his denials only for them to be waved away by Jon and Oberyn. "Your father doesn't like whores does he?" Oberyn asked, causing Sam to nod vehemently in agreement.

"And do you like your father?"

"Pr-Prince Oberyn," Sam asked with wide eyes.

"Simple question boy," Oberyn asked. "DO you like your father? Who apparently told you to either go up north and become a man or join the Watch."

Sam looked around desperately to see if any of the guards his father had sent with him were listening, but all of them were already busy loading off the carts with the help of some on Jon's own men.

"No," Sam finally said. "He's always looked down on me, shouted at me, beat me, mocked my interests, always told me I wasn't worthy of him. . ."

Jon felt a pang of sympathy as Sam seemed to literally pour out years upon years of anger, frustration and pain. "Well," Jon said when Sam finally seemed to be done. "Best way to build up some faith in yourself is to do exactly what your father wouldn't want you to do."

"I agree," Oberyn said. "If your father don't like whore that is his problem, but you. . .You'll find that they can be most accommodating." And before Sam could even try to protest he was already being led through the castle gate towards the whorehouse in the lower levels, and Jon watched with amazement as 'Hurricane' Oberyn once again completely overwhelmed a poor sod who had no idea how to deal with the middle aged man who seemed to have more energy than ten men combined.

After Sam and Oberyn disappeared from sight Jon noted to himself to talk to Gendry. If Sam could somehow lose some or much of his weight and build some muscle, surely it would help the young man's self esteem issues, and if there was one thing Jon knew, it was the Gendry could make any man lose weight by having them hammer steel into shit all day long, said Baratheon bastard was much stronger and well built than even Jon, and Jon practiced his craft for hours every day.

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The week and a half leading up to the King's arrival flew by in a tremendous pace. While somewhat sceptical at first the curious mix of Northmen, Valemen and Dornishmen quickly grew to develop a liking to Tyrion Lannister who was by all accounts not just a very intelligent man, but also full of snarky humour, the fact that he seemed to absolutely despise his father, sister and eldest nephew went a long way to make people accept him. The tales he produced after he was plied with enough wine was greatly amusing, though Jon swore to never touch a turtle stew in his life after hearing how Tyrion had 'made the bald man cry' into the turtle stew that his sister had proceeded to eat, though Tyrion was immensely disappointed when he learned that another man had apparently taken a jackass and a honeycomb into a brothel a mere few days before he himself showed up.

Speaking of the brothel, the whores had nothing but glowing praise for Tyrion who had spent far more time (and gold) there than he did in the castle. He also struck up an easy camaraderie with Sam during the evening where they hungrily poured over the collection of books in Jon's admittedly small library. Speaking of the library, Jon had a strong suspicion that had Sam not had other 'duties' he would have gladly holed himself up in the library night and day, sadly though for Sam he did have other 'duties'.

It took Oberyn no more than three days to get Sam to quit blushing around women no doubt due to the numerous visits to the brothel at Oberyn's insistence, to be honest Jon suspected the Dornish Prince had probably threatened the pudgy boy at spearpoint. Every morning Jon would force Sam out into the practice yard and patiently taught him to swing a sword, though it became apparent after only the second day that an axe or hammer would suit the young man much better as, despite all appearances he was quite stronger than he looked, and eventually Jon had finally managed to coax Sam into something resembling resistance when someone struck at him.

The key, apparently to coaxing out any fight from the book loving Tarly was to make him angry, and the best way to get him angry was discovered by accident one morning when Sam, who had gone hungry at the limited diet Jon had forced upon him to 'slim' him down somewhat decided to pick a few mushrooms and eat them.

Everyone in the North knew not to eat those mushrooms, had known for so many generations that no one actually knew why, though they got a smart reminder as Sam flew into a hysterical rage after eating a few, maintaining just enough control to absolutely demolish three of the heavy wooden practice dummies with a great battleaxe of black steel that Jon had received a couple of hundred off from the Umbers. Upon seeing the result of eating that particular mushroom that was native to the North, Jon quietly ordered Rolland to investigate the properties further, mayhap they could do something useful with it.

Though horrified at how he had acted, the burst of berserker rage he had been in had 'broken' something in Sam, and he started to actually improve in the sparring ring. While Jon knew that Sam would never be a great warrior by any 'technical' matters, he would certainly be able to make corpses out of men, the trick to it seemed get angry, at least according to Sam. And Sam had guiltily admitted to Jon one day that he usually thought about his father, or any number of the fellow noble boys he had grown up around who had done their best to make his life hell by constantly bullying him.

Getting him somewhat fit seemed to be the easiest part actually, helped in no small part with Gendry, who upon Jon's command was working what seemed to be day and night in the forges crafting arms and armour. Who knew that hammering steel or working the bellows for eight hours every day could cause such rapid change? Sam had already lost over one stone in under two weeks, and seemed to be building up stamina too as Jon always forced Sam to join him on his daily jog/run around the lower wall of Moat Cailin, and when the day was done Sam would gleefully barricade himself in the library with Tyrion and Rolland every night to read or discuss, a prospect that quite frankly worried Jon somewhat. Rolland alone, and with free times and idle hands was a worrying prospect, his love for all things that could potentially go 'boom' or burn or generally make another man's life unpleasant was bad enough, But when you added Tyrion and Sam, both who were quite smart, and in Tyrion's case also quite devious and with a hidden sadistic streak a mile wide into the mix things could get quite unpleasant.

Already they had somehow managed to create an instrument of terror. It had been Sam's idea to start with. Sam who had always loved the sound of flute music had decided to try his hand in making one, and having heard of the ocarina's that were so popular in the east had tried to make one from scratch. However, never having seen one in person he had to go by imagination, and ended up with something that when he blew in it the first time had made Jon and several others grab their swords and look wildly around for whoever was dying a horrible death.

Instead of making sweet soft music, the flute in question made a sound that resembled a terrifying death scream, the harder one blew the more terrifying the scream. Upon hearing it for the first time Tyrion, who was well into his cups by that point had suggested to mould the next one into the shape of a grinning skull, a suggestion which Rolland had been more than pleased with judging by his cackles, while Sam sat there in transfixed horror, no doubt wondering what he had created.

Another incident had been when Rolland nearly burnt down his chambers. Rolland, being a man who liked his drink was trying to make something with a bit more 'kick' to it than your normal ale, wine or beer, or even aquavit for that matter and had happily tried various forms of distilling alcohol. He eventually managed to distil something that was strong enough that a small sip felt like getting kicked in the head by a horse, however when he had removed the glass jug in which most of it was contained he dropped it due to the heat of the glass. Upon smashing open on the table the potent alcohol was transformed into a magnificent fireball upon meeting the naked flame of the candle, thus burning away what little hair Rolland had left, including his eyebrows.

Something else that had changed due to Tyrion arriving and informing Jon that Tywin would not let Jon's insults go unanswered was that Jon had ordered Gendry to increase his output in the forge. An additional twelve smiths and apprentices had arrived for a semi-permanent stay to forge as much armour and weapons as possible. Iron and charcoal came in shipments almost daily for the smiths to shape into steel, with Jon putting aside ten thousand gold dragons for the project. Apparently in King's Landing the price for a high quality, if unadorned suit of plate armour with accompanying chainmail and padding came in at five dragons, five dragons for that part was enough to purchase as much as twenty to forty swords of castle forged steel, depending on size and ornamentation. And after consulting with Sam, Rolland and the smiths he figured that they would probably have roughly twelve hundred suits of full plate, enough armour for three hundred horses, and enough swords, shields axes and spears to outfit five or six thousand. More than he would probably ever need, but better to be prepared and not need them, than to need them and not have them. It would take time of course, but Gendry figured that they would be done within the year, which was great news to Jon, the sooner things were ready the better.

Other matters that took up his daily time was petitions from the smallfolk, reports from town mayors and the like. The general mood of the populace in Moat Cailin and the hamlets and towns surrounding it was good. There had been much complaining in the beginning what with Jon forcing them to practice so and so many hours a week on a longbow, or leaving their farms or businesses behind for three months so be taught to a certain degree how to swing a sword or form and operate a shieldwall to any degree of efficiency, but mood turned to the better when the men began seeing the results, in the form of appreciative eyes from the womenfolk. Small local archery tournaments were held regularly enough at Jon's suggestion, with the winner claiming a purse of a single dragon, often divided into a mix of silvers and coppers. Sadly, all good things does eventually come to an end, as Jon found out one day when Edric in his capacity as Jon's page/squire pounded on Jon's door just as he'd laid down in the tub for a bath.

"This had better be important Edric," Jon snarled as he started to dry himself off.

"Father is coming," the boy jabbered excitedly.

Jon sighed. "Very well, run off to the kitchens and tell them that the King is arriving."

"Yes M'lord," Edric shouted as he ran off, leaving Jon to chuckle fondly, had he ever had that kind of energy when at that age? He was probably just as bad if not worse he admitted to himself as he finished dressing.

"I see you've heard the King is coming love," Alys told him as they met on the way down to the courtyard.

"Aye, and if he is bringing his wife and son as we've heard then they are in for a nasty surprise. . .well their palate at any rate."

Alys giggled slightly. "Serves them right for trying to take you away from me."

"Oh," he asked with exaggerated surprise.

"You're mine," she snarled as she suddenly pushed him against the wall to kiss him, while her hand fondled him through his breeches. "And no one will take you away from me before I've had my fill of this," she whispered as she gave his hardening cock a last squeeze.

"You're a cruel wench, leaving a man like this," Jon called at her retreating back. Alys knew damn fucking well that they didn't have time for a quick tumble before the King arrived, and true to her capricious nature had decided to give him a hard one to make the rest of his day uncomfortable. Shaking his head in part fondness and part irritation Jon hurried after his wife, he had a King to receive, and a Prince and Queen to subtly slight while appearing to be the gracious host.

AN/: Have a merry Christmas everyone.

Cheers

Daemon Belaerys.