Gwenys
"Keep going. Don't stop!"
It was very difficult for Aelinor Targaryen to speak those words, given the sash that Gwenys had secured between her lips. Her hands and legs were tied to the four corners of her bed, leaving her utterly at Gwenys' mercy. She could only plead through her gag and squirm against her bonds.
Luckily for her, Gwenys was only too eager to oblige. Her head was nestled between Aelinor's legs, and her tongue was gently flicking her sex. The younger woman groaned louder as her thighs twitched faster than before.
Gwenys reached out and grabbed both of Aelinor's breasts, digging her nails into her pale skin, her thumbs flicking those long pink nipples. Gwenys herself was wet as she listened to Aelinor's ecstatic moans.
Finally, Aelinor's moans rose to a shrill cry as her body pulsed with pleasure. Gwenys gave a noise of her own at the taste of her lover. She slid two fingers inside of Aelinor and began to thrust as far as she could go, even as her tongue continued to flick away. She loved pushing Aelinor as far as she could go, then bringing her back to climax as soon as possible.
Three such climaxes followed each other in rapid succession, or mayhaps time had simply lost meaning to Gwenys. But finally, Gwenys halted, climbed atop her lover, and ungagged her. "My turn."
She positioned herself so that Aelinor's face was firmly between her thighs. Immediately, Aelinor's tongue made its familiar journey up and around her opening before focusing on the top. Then she probed inwards, aided by Gwenys thrusting her hips forward. A low moan left her, smothered by Gwenys' body covering her mouth and nose.
The vibrations of Aelinor's tongue drove Gwenys wild. She thrust faster, gasping and panting as if she were running at full speed. Gods…
"How does it feel, princess?" Gwenys demanded as she locked eyes with Aelinor. Her lilac eyes were wide open, blazing with passion as she obediently served Gwenys. That sight alone was enough to leave Gwenys breathless, but then Aelinor's tongue did its work, sending pulse after pulse of pleasure throughout her body. Soon, she was covering her mouth with both hands to muffle her own scream.
After she had screamed thusly some three or four times, she slumped to the side and gave a long sigh. She might have collapsed into a fitful sleep right then and there, but she needed to release her princess first.
After she was untied, Aelinor sat up and rubbed her wrists. "I wish you could stay here."
Gwenys did not even bother replying to that. It was a futile wish, one that Aelinor was still foolish enough to make once in a while. For she had a husband who would soon return to their shared chambers from the library - not that he'll so much as glance at her when he does return - and Gwenys was expected the following morning.
It was equally futile to point this out once again, so Gwenys simply pulled Aelinor back down, wrapped her arms around her body, and kissed her lips. They lay there in that embrace for some time before Gwenys found the nerve to get dressed and steal out of Aelinor's chambers.
"I love you," the princess called to Gwenys as she left.
"I love you too, Your Grace," Gwenys called back. Aelinor was still giggling as she closed the door.
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Never in a hundred years would Gwenys have dreamed that she might begin an affair with a princess of House Targaryen. But even from afar, Aelinor's beauty and quiet poise had stirred something within her.
It was not the first time she had lain with another woman; Jena had been her first since they were scarcely older than children. But now she was Baelor's husband, and she rarely shared a bed with Gwenys anymore. Even before she'd met Baelor, however, Jena had agreed that Gwenys need not bind herself to her. "You should seek out others, if you wish them. I will always love you, but I cannot give myself wholly to you."
Gwenys had resisted that suggestion for quite some time, due to a mixture of love and pigheadedness. She had grown jealous and resentful during the early years of Jena's marriage, lamenting how rarely she could sleep with Jena. By the time that Matarys had celebrated his third nameday, Gwenys had begun to look elsewhere for her own pleasures.
Jena had almost seemed relieved when Gwenys had suggested that she would like to be with other women. Or perhaps that was an ungenerous thought which had lingered in the back of Gwenys' mind until it seemed to be a memory. Gwenys, for all that she loved Jena, had nevertheless felt neglected and frustrated.
She was grateful, to be sure; without Jena, she would have been forced to endure a husband whom she would always despise. Her brothers and father had not sympathised with her when Jena had insisted on keeping her as a female companion. They had tolerated it, for neither Lyle, Orryn, nor Enoch Bolt were fool enough to make an enemy out of a Dondarrion, much less a Targaryen princess.
It had been a few years after Gwenys first came to live at Blackhaven that she'd spied Jena's older sister, Cassana, with Baldric. Gwenys had been astounded at how Cassana had bound and gagged her husband, taken joy in mocking him as he, a well-known knight, had been utterly submissive to his wife. She had given him orders, she had laughed at him, and she had pleasured herself while making him watch.
Gwenys had not been able to shake that memory from her mind. She had never liked Cassana; she had always been cold and haughty at the best of times, fierce when angered, and scornful even with her compliments. Gwenys would never even dream of telling Cassana what she had seen, and especially not how grateful she was for it. She had not even told Jena.
What she had done, however, was suggest games with Jena that seemed innocent at first, but which had rapidly become part of their most intimate moments. Jena had indulged her for a time, but she had not gotten the same thrill as Gwenys, and she'd given them up.
Aelinor Penrose, by contrast, had been very eager to join Gwenys with these fantasies. She had even offered suggestions of what else to do with her.
Those lilac eyes of hers were a gift from her Targaryen ancestry. She was only marginally related to her husband's line, descended from Rhaena Targaryen, who had, along with her sister Baela, introduced her brother Aegon III to his second queen, Daenaera Velaryon. Rhaena's daughter had been Aelinor's grandmother, whose children had included Aelinor's late uncle Ronnel, her mother Donella, and her brothers, all but one of whom had been slain by Quentyn Fireball during the Blackfyre Rebellion.
As the wedding of Prince Valarr had loomed up on the horizon, Jena had become more distressed, seeking out Gwenys' time and help. Sometimes she simply needed a drinking companion to help her through her blackest melancholy.
She was growing concerned by Jena; she was even worse than when she'd been languishing in King's Landing during the Blackfyre Rebellion. And she had no advice to give on how to help Valarr.
"Perhaps he'll find his own happiness," she suggested as she sat with Jena on the third night since the tourney began.
Jena took another morose sip of wine. "I could have lit all the lamps in the Sept of Baelor with all the candles I've dedicated to the gods. Valarr's happiness lies in their hands now, for he has no wish to find it for himself."
"You don't know that," Gwenys urged. "Your father never learned what we were getting up to, after all. We hid our happiness well."
A bitter expression crossed Jena's face, as it always did when she thought of Lord Armond Dondarrion. "He was a terrible man. He never wished for me to be happy. Baelor and I want the best for him, we always have. What did we ever deny him?"
Aye, that's true enough. This is the first thing that was ever forced on him. What Gwenys did not dare to tell Jena was that her son was spoiled, entitled, and selfish. She might have sympathised with him, since she had herself avoided his fate, but he had been throwing this cold tantrum for far too long, putting Jena through far too much grief, to warrant much sympathy from her anymore.
"I think," Gwenys cautiously suggested, "that some sons are fated to rebel against their fathers."
"Matarys has never rebelled against us," Jena protested.
Not yet. "I said 'some'," Gwenys reminded her.
As much as her first son left her agonised and morose, Jena was always cheered by her second son, Matarys. Just ten years old, he was a robust lad, but still boyishly shy. He fervently looked up to his father and older brother, but while Baelor gladly doted on him, Valarr rarely paid him any time of day.
Unlike Valarr, Matarys still went gladly to the training yard, for his lessons had only just begun, and he was not yet burdened with the sense of responsibility and shame that plagued Valarr.
It was the morning of the fourth day, before the tourney was set to resume. The training yard was alive with activity, mostly due to dozens of squires and pages taking the time to train.
Among them were the dragon princes. Aerion was present, training with the newest member of the Kingsguard. Roland Crakehall was a young man and a skilled warrior as far as Gwenys could see.
His appointment hadn't been made on the strength of his skill, however. According to Aelinor, Ser Roland had been appointed to compensate the Crakehalls for Titus' execution of their steward. For his part, Ser Roland was careful to avoid Titus Dondarrion, making sure they were on opposite ends of the training yard.
If Titus noticed this snub, he paid no heed to it. He was too busy overseeing a sparring match between Matarys and his squire, Andrew. His son too.
Titus had always been handsome, charming, and clever. As he was always closest with Jena amongst their siblings, Gwenys had spent much time around him. She had also spied on him dallying with men and women alike, which had made her think he might understand her best. None of that had mattered. He had not been able to please her, and she had sorely regretted her decision. She and Titus had sworn each other to secrecy about the matter. And somehow, we both ended up telling Jena by mistake.
She and Titus had long gotten over the awkwardness of their ancient tryst; it had been a jape for so long that now it was beginning to seem quaint to them both. Thus, Gwenys could speak plainly with him.
Now she frowned at him as he stood beside her to watch the boys swing wooden swords at each other. "Jena's drinking more wine."
Titus's jaw clenched. He and Prince Baelor were both worried for Jena, but saw little way to help her predicament. The prince was himself in distress over how Valarr was turning out, and not just in regards to his nuptials.
"This wedding is driving her mad," Titus muttered. "The sooner it's over, the better."
Gwenys frowned. "You really think things will settle after the wedding?"
"I can only hope," Titus replied.
"Go on, Mat! You can do it!"
Gwenys turned to see Maekar's youngest son, Aegon, cheering on his cousin. Aegon was deemed too young to take part in the training, much to the boy's disappointment. Still, Gwenys expected that little Aegon would be happy enough as a page in the royal court.
She turned back to see Matarys swing his wooden sword against Andrew's shield. She was suddenly reminded of how Orryn and Enoch had looked when they were boys in Cloudwatch.
"Is there any more news from the south?" Gwenys asked Titus.
"Nothing yet. Though I did not expect anything." Titus turned to look at Gwenys. "I take it you don't write home?"
Gwenys gave a hollow laugh. "Did you really just ask me that?"
It had been Orryn who had caught her with the seamstress's daughter in Blackhaven. She had begged him to keep her secret, Only Jena's command had prevented Gwenys from being dragged back to Cloudwatch to be married off at once.
A pained look was on Titus' face as he kept his eyes on the boys. Gwenys felt a flash of anger. "You still mean to defend Orryn? After all this time?" She knew that he was aware of what had happened, but he had never condemned Orryn for his actions.
When he spoke again, his voice was even quieter than before. "There is more to Orryn than you think."
Realisation struck her as if it were a slap to her face. "Gods be good! You and Orryn?"
Titus shrugged awkwardly. "He was my first boy. I don't think he ever came to terms with that side of himself."
He was your first boy, just as you were mine. She did not know whether to laugh or scream, so she did neither. Instead, she forced herself to speak quietly so nobody would overhear. "Even for you, Titus… no, what am I saying? Brother and sister, mother and daughter… I don't think I've ever met anyone who experiments as much as you do!"
"They weren't experiments," Titus suddenly snapped. "I loved Orryn. I loved Coryanne, and Aliandra. Just as I still love you. Not in that way," he added when he saw the look on her face.
He needn't have added that caveat. Gwenys understood how he felt about her. Much as she was astonished, she also pitied him. Just like Jena, Titus had known little love growing up; even now, he still yearned for it, whether he knew it or not. After all he had endured, he seemed to fear a broken heart more than he feared loneliness. Far easier to find tenderness that only lasts a night or two at a time.
"Forgive me," she remarked, but not without some bitterness for her own situation. "You may defend Orryn if you wish, but he never defended you. Nor me, for that matter." If anything, Titus' revelation only hardened her against her brother. He could have talked to me about his feelings. We might have understood each other.
Titus was spared from answering when Matarys succeeded in knocking Andrew to the ground. He stepped forward to separate the two, congratulating them both and having them shake hands.
It was then that Gwenys noticed that Aerion was finished with his own training. He had walked to the side of the yard, only to sneer at Andrew and Titus. Gwenys had seen similar expressions on Valarr, on Aelinor's husband Aerys, on so many other men and women in Daeron's court. Even the boy, Aegon, cheered to see Andrew tumble to the ground in defeat. She wished she could grab the boy and give him a good clout in the ear. If only Valarr and Aerion had gotten some good clouts when they were Aegon's age.
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She had always been amazed by the Great Sept of Baelor. Never in her life had she seen a comparable feat of architecture.
The dome above her head was made of glass, gold, and crystal; Jena had once told her that five hundred Myrish craftsmen had been brought from across the sea to accomplish this feat. It dazzled her every time that she set foot in the sept.
The seven knights of the Kingsguard stood on the plinth, as if they were expecting the crowd to turn into a mob. They wore their white armour and white cloaks, every one of them prepared to give their lives to protect the Targaryens.
The High Septon was an old man of medium build and long beard. He leaned on an elaborate cane. The wood was ebony, inlaid with the faintest of gold patterns. It was masterful work, depicting seven stars along the cane's black shaft. His crystal crown shimmered with light, dazzling Gwenys' eyes whenever she gazed at it.
Valarr Targaryen stood closer to her, looking every inch a Targaryen prince. His dark hair was immaculately combed and oiled, so that it glistened in the light of a thousand candles. His light lock of hair almost seemed like a pale flame flashing across his head. His clothes were of black silk and black velvet, except for the red dragons which were emblazoned on his front, back, and sleeves. In his hands, he carried a cloak which was similarly arranged like the sigil of his household.
Gwenys stood with the groom's parents and grandparents, on the left end of the plinth. Men and women stood in neat rows and columns before her, dressed in the finest attire they could afford.
Titus might have stood in the foremost ranks, maybe even on the plinth beside her, but the matter of his children had proved a thorny subject on the night before. An impromptu discussion had erupted in Jena and Baelor's chambers, which Gwenys had been able to spy upon from Matarys' room.
"We cannot have it," Maekar had bluntly insisted. He did have the grace to give Titus an apologetic glance. "You must understand, Lord Titus, there are many noblemen and ladies to consider."
Titus had regarded Maekar with a cold eye. "By your own father's approval, Andrew and Sadog are mine own sons. Are they not made noble by such a decree?"
Surprisingly, Queen Myriah proved to be the loudest of Titus' supporters. "Were we in my brother's water gardens," she had reminded Maekar, "there would be no distinction between children, as you well know."
It took a great deal to make Maekar flush, but his mother's interjection left him tongue-tied for a moment.
"They are also his squires," Prince Baelor had remarked. "Any man would not insist that his squire give way to a noble family."
"True enough, Your Grace, but I must say that you forget the matter of Lord Titus' daughters."
Gwenys had shuddered at Lord Bloodraven, as she always did. He spoke fairly and courteously but it did nothing to endear him to Gwenys.
Titus had been equally hostile to Bloodraven's intrusion. "I would have thought that you would sympathise with my children's plight more than any other, Brynden."
"Regrettably, Lord Titus," Brynden had replied, refusing to be goaded by Titus' sarcastic allusion to his bastardy, "this is not the same situation as mine was; I doubt anyone will disagree with that, surely?"
The King had allowed them to argue in this manner back and forth, but not even Myriah had been able to sway his mind.
"It is a most disagreeable matter," he'd admitted in a quiet voice, "but I cannot allow these children to supersede the great lords of the realm and all their families. The wedding is to be a joyous occasion, and this will mar the day with ill feeling."
Titus had been greatly displeased; for a moment, Gwenys had expected him to begin a row with King Daeron. Instead, he had given a short bow to the king. "As you will, Your Grace. But wherever you place my children, I will be standing with them."
"Brother," Jena had protested, but she had said nothing more when Titus had shot her a look. Baelor had simply sighed in disappointment.
"Mayhaps there is room for compromise," Aerys had offered. "Your recognised sons might stay by your side, Lord Titus? The others will still be in the Great Sept."
It was a shrewd suggestion, Gwenys thought, but it only seemed to provoke Titus.
"A fine lesson to teach my children," Titus had spoken in a sharp tone. "Nay, Prince Aerys, I think not."
Thus, Titus stood near the back, unseen and seemingly absent. Whether that might provoke gossip, Gwenys was not sure. Enough gossip has already been produced on that subject. Titus would sooner break than bend when it comes to those waifs of his.
Gwenys had no time to worry about Titus, however. At present, she held Jena's trembling hand as the Princess of Dragonstone looked imploringly at her eldest son. Valarr steadfastly refused to meet her eyes, even though they stood just five paces apart.
Matarys held her other hand, awed by the ceremony playing out before his youthful eyes. One of the many guests to the capital was none other than Gawen Swann, a former Blackfyre supporter who had bent the knee. His fool had japed that breakfast in the Great Hall that Valarr was the Young Prince, and his brother Matarys was the Even Younger Prince. All had laughed at this jape, much to Matarys' embarrassment. He was still reeling from that mockery, but Jena's mind was focused on Valarr's gloom.
A young septon had given the notice whilst hitting a small copper bell. When all the crowd was silent, the bride and her escort walked down the narrow pathway which cut the large crowd in two. Men in gleaming black Targaryen finery lined the pathway, holding pikes whose blades glinted and glittered like the crystal above their heads.
Keira of Tyrosh slowly approached the groom, looking radiant. She had been persuaded to dye her hair red, in honour of House Targaryen's red dragon. Her cloak was a Tyroshi garment which bore the most vibrant pinks, greens, and vermillion that Gwenys had ever seen. Her shimmering dress, meanwhile, was made with silver and gold threads, sometimes interwoven together. The result was an outfit which invoked the traditional Targaryen hair.
It was a valiant effort to make Kiera seem like a Targaryen princess even before her marriage. Gwenys wondered how much the people truly knew about her. Her accent was greatly reduced after ten years in King's Landing, and she visited the Sept of Baelor regularly. Gwenys, for her part, suspected that Kiera knew as much of the Andal Faith as Gwenys knew of the red god which her brother was said to worship.
Whatever his own faith was, the Archon of Tyrosh did not object to the Andal wedding. He led his sister by the arm, dressed all in red with his hair and beard dyed a dark green in contrast. Gwenys thought he looked ridiculous, but she knew better than to reveal her amusement. When he brought his sister to Valarr, the Archon walked to the other end of the plinth, where the rest of his Tyroshi household stood in their foreign finery.
As the High Septon began to speak in a surprisingly clear voice, Gwenys allowed her eyes to wander over the crowd. After sixteen years in King's Landing, she could recognise most of the faces that stood nearest to her.
Here was Lyonel Baratheon, fidgeting with boredom as he picked at a wound he'd received during the melee. There was Abelar Hightower, one of the richest heirs in all the Seven Kingdoms, who had once turned his nose up at her when she'd dared to sit close to Princess Jena at dinner. Here was Lord Leo Tyrell, the pompous old man whose rumour-mongering had caused Titus so much frustration. There was Lord Donnel Arryn, a stout and pleasant-looking man whom nobody would have imagined had nearly died whilst fighting at the Redgrass Field. Here was the Lord Damon Lannister, whose golden hair had turned grey and given him a new moniker. There was Prince Thero Martell, nephew to the King and Queen, whose own marriage was just two years old. He had married a princess of the Summer Isles called Kajala Qoxho. Both wore the orange and red of House Martell, but Princess Kajala also wore a cape of feathers. I've seen rainbows with fewer colours than that cape.
The High Septon suddenly jolted her out of her idle observations.
"And now," he declared joyously, "let the changing of the cloaks commence!"
Even though they had rehearsed the wedding just two nights before, the Archon of Tyrosh still needed to be urged forward. He tried to hide how flustered he was whilst unclasping the Tyroshi cloak.
Slowly, stiffly, Valarr Targaryen stepped forward and wrapped the black and red Targaryen cloak about her shoulders. He did so without flourish and without a smile on his face. Kiera did not even deign him a glance, preferring to look up at the statue of the Maid which loomed above the proceedings.
"In sight of gods and men," the High Septon concluded with as much of a bellow as he could accomplish, "I declare you to be one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever!"
Cheers and applause erupted from those in attendance. The vast sept caused such a cacophony of echoes that Matarys cried out and plugged his ears. Gwenys was tempted to do the same, but she forced herself to clap along as Valarr planted a begrudging kiss upon his bride's lips, as if they were still children made to play wedding games against their will.
Gwenys glanced at Jena and Baelor. They were both smiling, blinking back tears, as they led the applause. Most would sense nothing amiss, but Gwenys could see how strained their faces were, how forceful their hands clapped together.
It's over now, Titus, Gwenys thought bitterly, and it's only going to get worse from here.