Chapter 11. Red Handed & Rose's Chance
How short the peace lasted. How pungent the scent of war felt.
Robert returned to King's Landing without gaining any victory. Dorne was in silent rebellion, the Westerlands was no longer an ally of the Crown. The Reach was undecided, the Riverlands were useless, and the North was under attack. All he had was the Stormlands and the Crownlands.
Why did I resurrect? My life and death made no difference in the realm.Robert pondered as his ship docked at King's Landing.
"Your Grace?"
Robert looked to his right. The tender frame of Lynesse Hightower stood there, her blue eyes on him. The woman had done a lot to calm his nerves over the return journey. Her hands, her lips, and her warm core accompanied him on cold nights. He willingly accepted her at that point, no longer feeling shame in lying with her.
There were no romantic emotions, however. He made her exactly what she wanted to be. A concubine, and now a handmaiden. He planned on letting her accompany Sansa and Myrcella so she wouldn't feel bored alone.
"I'll ride for Winterfell at first light, Lynesse. I'll make sure Stannis knows to give you the respect you're owed. You've no need to fear the Red Keep—live how you damn well please."
"Can't I accompany you, Your Grace?"
"It's going to be bloody, Lynesse. It's no place for a woman like yourself." Robert refused.
Lynesse giggled and softly slid closer to Robert, letting her shoulder press against his arm. "But I can handle big swords, Your Grace. You must be aware of my prowess by now?"
This woman. She knows what to say to lift up the mood.
Robert chuckled and nodded. "Aye, you're good at sheathing the sword."
Lynesse laughed and hugged his muscled arm against her soft bosom. "When will you leave, Your Grace?"
"At the break of dawn tomorrow."
She squeezed his arm harder on herself. "Then, may I accompany you to your chamber tonight?"
Robert exhaled. It was easier to control Robert's madness now, but the high libido was a biological need, not just psychological. With Lynesse, at least he found an easy outlet without fearing fathering children for now.
"You may," Robert accepted her offer. He had no idea when he'd see her again, so he liked her offer. "Let us deboard."
He removed his arm from her embrace and walked with the Kingsguards. The port was bustling with activity, and there were too many merchant ships docked there. He keenly looked around and soon noticed Tyrion walking around with his trusted sellsword and squire.
"Your Grace." Tyrion greeted the King and eyed the blonde-haired beauty behind him. "My lady."
"You did this?" Robert asked back.
"As you can see, I'm doing exactly what you commanded. Trade is the heart of coin, and coin is something I handle rather well." Tyrion's steps matched the King's as he gestured toward the foreign merchants. "These men hail from Essos, eager to barter and bargain. Westerosi steel, our garments—they have a taste for what we offer."
"Steel? I didn't permit you to sell that."
"I didn't," Tyrion replied with a half-smile. "I mainly focused on wines, scented candles for the ladies, linen to dress the rich—honey, apples, lemons, and such sorts."
Robert silently gazed at the port and nodded. "On my way, I saved a Lyseni merchant prince named Tregar Ormollen. He's interested in trading with the Crown."
"The more the merrier. I'll send word to his lot. I'd wager one of them is already skulking about here."
Robert nodded and mounted the horse waiting for him there. "Keep at it, then. Attend the Small Council before supper."
Soon after, the Gold Cloaks and the Kingsguards escorted Robert's horse and the small carriage Lynesse was sitting in into the Red Keep. The entire city still smelled of shit but to a lesser extent. With less money spent on constant tourneys and other royal expenses, the coffers had enough to clean up the city.
"Your Grace."
"Stannis." Robert got off the horse and greeted his stoic brother. "Anything to report."
"Nothing that you don't know."
"Good, I'll hold a Small Council before supper. Tell the lot of them to be on time for once. And this here, this is Lynesse Hightower. She'll be staying as a guest in the Keep. Make sure she's treated well." Robert ordered and stormed into the castle.
He didn't head towards his bedchamber, but instead Sansa's. He feared that the girl would be scared after learning about Winterfell being attacked.
"No need to follow." Robert stopped the Kingsguards and went alone.
He went upstairs and soon arrived at Sansa's personal chambers. It used to belong to Cersei in the past since it was large and well-decorated. He pushed the door and it opened normally.
"Where did she go?" Robert found the place empty. It was still morning, just a little late. He expected her to be there. "With Myrcella?"
He left the room and walked further into the same hallway and arrived at Myrcella's chamber. It was situated in one of the corners, a brilliant place for a bedchamber as the two open sides let in ample light and air.
"Is Sansa in there?" Robert asked the two Kingsguards standing outside.
"She is, Your Grace."
Robert nodded, grabbed the door handle, and pushed it open. He walked inside with his large frame and instantly froze at the scene before him. He felt his mouth going dry instantly, and his eyes bulged.
"W-W…" Even speaking felt like a chore. "What is the meaning of this?!"
"Morning, Sansa."
Sansa yawned and woke up from slumber. She stretched her arms high, eyes squeezed shut while the cool breeze filled her chest. It was a ritual by now to stay the night in Myrcella's chamber. "Morning."
"Why were you moaning last night?" Myrcella asked out of nowhere, her lips curved into a smirk, her eyebrows flashing. "Did you see something naughty in your dream?"
"What? What are you talking about?"
"Aaah~ Ooooh~ Mmmmm~" Myrcella moaned and cooed, hugging herself. "That's what I heard from your lips."
"No… I-I don't remember." Sansa shyly slid off the bed. She fixed her white, full-sleeved nightgown, so thin that her skin's texture could be felt, tightly clenched to her slender waist.
"Hehe." Myrcella followed right behind, her gown matched Sansa's—White, tight around her frame, thin, but sleeveless. She quickly pressed her dear red-haired friend against the wall, one arm beside her head, and the other tracing the belly. "Come on, Sansa. Aren't we close? I promise I won't tell anyone. Did you see His Grace? Did he kiss you? Did he touch you? Or…"
All of a sudden, Myrcella lowered her hand from Sansa's belly and raised the gown high from her legs, quickly finding the naked, tight, virgin lower lips. She teased with her finger right away, pressing herself closer against Sansa. Her other hand untied the lace on her neckline and pulled out the handful, soft breasts. She smothered them under her palm and whispered.
"Did he do it with you? In your dream? Oooh~" Myrcella pressed herself harder on Sansa, using her dear friend's taller height to her advantage.
As Sansa bent one knee in reaction to being touched on her delicate bundle of nerves, Myrcella herself started to ground her loins on the knee. She also freed her own exquisite breasts through the wide neckline, her pink tips obviously starting to harden.
"Ah~" Sansa moaned, finding Myrcella's fingers too teasing. She pressed herself harder back on the wall and turned her face, shyly avoiding eye contact. Yet, she didn't push her friend away. "N-No… His Grace didn't… Umm… Do anything. W-We just hugged."
"Hugged?" Myrcella exclaimed, a bit disappointed. "Wait, have you ever been kissed, Sansa? I suppose it's obvious nobody touched you there."
"Kissed? No." Sansa denied, her eyes half closed. She felt Myrcella's breath reaching her ear, so close. "S-Septa said…"
"Oh, Stranger take the Septa. Those witches touch themselves too. But seriously? You never kissed?" Myrcella breathed into Sansa's ear and finally bit softly on her earlobe. Her finger also started to press into her delicate, drenched core after playing with the hidden clitoris. "Maybe I can help?"
"What?"
"Like this—Ummm~"
Myrcella stole Sansa's lips the moment the redhead reacted in shock. Myrcella didn't want to take it too far and only used the lips, sliding the soft texture, rubbing against hers. Her hand also picked up the pace, sliding up and down Sansa's sensitive petals until she felt the silent throbs on her fingertips.
"Um!"
Myrcella kept on kissing, now more openly but without tongue, nibbling, and suckling on her lips. She felt her friend was close, Sansa's slender belly tightening up. So, she added her thumb on the clitoris, round and round with slick slides of Sansa's nectar. The little ball of flesh danced around her wet thumb, slipping and sliding. Her hand moved wildly, as did her own hips as Sansa's knee rubbed on her.
Both girls felt the unbearably hot need from each other's bodies, sweat rolling down from their fair skin. The silent but delectable friction teasing at their loins intensified from the conscious thought that this was someone else's skin, someone else's finger, not their own. Another body submerging them into bliss, lost in lust.
"Mmmm~"
At last, Sansa hummed into the kiss and felt the pressure of something wonderful breaking through. She felt her insides turn scorching hot, and the spasms all over her body. It was a heavenly feeling, and she loved all of it.
Before she realized it, she felt something—something hot drenching her walls and oozing out as her clenching muscles finally gave up the stifling resistance. It felt so good, so warm, and somehow she wanted more of it. A silent need tingled up her body, somehow wanting Myrcella to move closer, and go deeper. She wanted that feeling to happen again, taking over her very being.
All she could think about was the craving.More… More… Please….
Clack!
Thud!
"What is the meaning of this?!"
"Ah!
"Your Grace!"
The two girls jumped in fright and looked at the door.
Both of them froze instantly, fright painting their faces. They failed to realize how bare they were, as their breasts dangled in plain view. Sansa's gown still clung to her belly due to sweat, leaving her drenched, and climaxing petals uncovered.
"Y-Your Grace… We–we were…" Myrcella tried to calm the situation. "We just…"
"What were you two doing?!"
Myrcella gulped and looked to her side. She frowned, finding Sansa tearing up and still not covering herself. But then, an idea erupted, and she looked back at Robert, reckoning he'd be ogling at the redheaded maiden's body.
What? Why?To Myrcella's surprise, the King was looking at her bare chest instead.Me?
"Sansa, cover yourself!" Robert bellowed, trying not to look at her.
"I-I'll help." Myrcella used the chance to move, feeling too confused by the King's interest in her. She rapidly fixed Sansa's gown and then proceeded to fix herself. Sadly, they sweat-drenched their gowns so much that everything was still visible.
"Your Grace, Sansa had never kissed someone and I was just teach—"
"Enough! I gave you freedom, and you misused it! I'm disappointed in both of you girls. Very well, I shall call a stricter Septa to reside in the Red Keep to teach you two some manners." Robert bellowed in rage and turned around to leave. But before he fully left, he glared back. "And hear me now—no more sharing rooms or beds at night."
Thud!
The door slammed shut.
Myrcella sighed and looked at her teary-eyed friend. "I'm sorry, Sansa."
"I-I made him angry. He hates me."
"No, he doesn't! I saw him looking at you," Myrcella whispered softly, wiping away Sansa's tears with gentle hands. "I think... Once he holds you close, once he feels your warmth, he'll love you. Be strong, Sansa. You are braver than you know."
"But he'll send a Septa now."
Myrcella smirked, a touch of resolve in her voice. "I can handle any Septa that comes, don't worry."
Sadly, the blonde-haired Lannister bastard girl found it hard to hold her own ambitions back now. What if the King desired her instead? Can she be the next q…
No, no, no… I don't want to.
Like a raging bull, Robert furiously stormed out of Myrcella's room and headed to his own. All the maids and Kingsguards made way for him, none daring enough to anger the King.
Thud!
He slammed the door shut and annoyedly took off his clothes to take a bath and clean up. Everything he did was an automatic response as his mind remained preoccupied. The scenes from Myrcella's room troubled him.
Was it a mistake to keep Sansa there? But hoped to keep her to at least have a part of his old life with him.
Why? Why would you two do such a thing?
He soon stepped out of the tub and dressed up for the evening meetings. He didn't really want to anymore as his mood was spoiled, but he had to.
I couldn't tell her about Winterfell either.
Alas, he finished everything and headed out. It was still the middle of the day, so he took his throne and held the King's Court. As a King, this was the only way he could stop thinking about Sansa and Myrcella's actions.
Besides, it was his duty.
A few hours before supper that night, Robert arrived at the Small Council. Even before him, everyone had gathered there.
So, he took his seat and started right away. "The Ironborns have attacked the North, and by the gods, I'll ride to meet them. I don't want to hear any damn complaints from you lot. I don't care what happens to me—Ned's home stands in peril. I dragged him to King's Landing, and that mistake cost him his life. I won't sit idle while his lands burn."
"I have called the banners, Your Grace," Stannis reported. The man held honor and respect above all. Similarly, Ned was respected by most Lords with a working head. "Thirty thousand men will march at the sound of horns."
Robert nodded and changed the topic. "Any word on Daenerys Targaryen? Where is she?"
"She was last sighted in the Dothraki Sea, Your Grace. If the words are correct, she is moving towards the Red Waste," Varys softy answered.
Robert frowned. "The Red Waste? Why? It's a death wish."
"Certainly, Your Grace."
"Keep tracking her and report to me if she comes out alive," Robert said and stood up from his seat suddenly. He walked to stand behind Stannis so he could see the faces of everyone in that room. "Those damned Martells tried to drug me and marry me off to that whore, Arianne. They're in a silent rebellion, and support Daenerys Targaryen's return—Unacceptable!"
None?Robert tried to see if anyone would panic or react. There was a high possibility that he had traitors in the ranks.
"Will they attack?" Tyrion asked. "I… I'll have to prepare gold if that's the case."
"No, they won't strike now. There's no sense in it. Kill me, and they'll have Stannis to deal with. And after him? His daughter. No, they'll bide their time, sharpening their knives, waiting for the right moment."
"Brilliant, that leaves only my father, the Iron Islands, and the Vale," Tyrion sarcastically replied.
Robert frowned. "The Vale?"
"Ah, you haven't heard the latest tidings, Your Grace? Lysa Tully has branded you a murderer. Though whispers suggest her mind has slipped into madness, but who can truly say?"
What in God's name is that woman doing?
"Murderer? Of whom?" Robert asked.
"Petyr Baelish."
That traitor?Robert fell into deep thoughts. Why would Lysa go that far for a dead man?Were they close?
"Your Grace, Lord Baelish was fostered at Riverrun since childhood. Perhaps, Lady Tully and Lord Baelish were… close," Lord Varys suggested, though his tone lacked the expression of a suggestion. It was more of a statement. "My little birds whisper—there is indeed a hint of madness in Eyrie's halls."
Thud!
Robert sat down in his chair again and crossed his arms. "That mad whore might try to block my path when I march to Winterfell. Stannis, send ravens to the major Lords of the Vale and seek their definite answer. Will they rebel, or resist the madness?"
With that, Robert decided to end the gathering.
"Then go on, get to work. I have others waiting outside."
Quickly, the chairs scraped on the floor and the Small Council room emptied. As soon as the door was shut, it opened again, this time a tall, feminine figure entered. Dressed in gray robes, she had her head covered with a hood, and a crystal pendant hung around her neck. Her face looked mature, yet with devotion in her eyes.
"Greetings, Your Grace. I am Septa Unella from the Great Sept of Baelor. I was informed by the High Septon that my services are required here."
She's imposing enough to handle those girls.Robert sized her up. She had to be close to six feet from the looks of it.
"Take a seat, Septa," Robert ordered.
The woman nodded and sat facing him on the other side of the table. She spoke nothing, however, silently awaiting the King's demand.
She has patience.Robert examined.
"Sansa Stark and Myrcella—they're of age to wed, and I'll have them schooled in the ways of a proper maiden. Teach them discipline, for they'll carry the weight of noble houses. I want no softness." Robert requested, "I will need you to visit the Red Keep and teach them six days a week."
"T-That is a great honor, Your Grace."
Robert nodded. "But don't lay a hand on them—no blows, no scars. You can scold them, however."
"I wouldn't dare, Your Grace. I'll gently bring them closer to the Seven. You can rest assured."
"Very well, I look forward to it. You may start tomorrow."
Septa Unella stood up after that and bowed her head before bidding farewell. As she left, another figure entered the chamber, a man with dark, brown hair and gray eyes.
Robert stood up to greet this one. He went ahead and pulled the boy in for a quick hug and heavy pats on his back. "By the gods, you've made it just in time, lad. The realm may brand you a bastard, but you've got the true blood of Starks in your veins. Ned would have been proud of how you found Arya."
Jon Snow awkwardly nodded and maintained a respectful gaze. "I arrived many nights ago, Your Grace."
"Ah, of course. The delay was on my part. But I'm afraid there's no time to sit and chat. The Ironborn threaten the rule of Starks at Winterfell. I'll ride with an army early in the morning, to deal with it."
"Let me join you, Your Grace!" Jon requested.
"By the Seven, no! You'll stay here and guard Sansa. I worry for her, especially after I found her intimate with Myrcella this morning—such behavior is unbecoming for a Stark. You must watch over Sansa and ensure she steers clear of Myrcella," Robert denied plainly. "Handling the Ironborn is a simpler task than managing Ned's girl. You know her well, lad—go speak with her."
Shocked, Jon still wanted to insist on going. But, he reckoned he wouldn't be allowed since he just arrived from the North. "I understand, Your Grace. I'll speak with her."
"Good, now go and see to her. She must have been frightened after getting caught by me. Make sure she joins us for supper."
Jon Snow bowed his head and retreated, leaving the Small Council chamber.
Finally, with his work done, Robert kicked the floor and made his chair skid backward. But, he didn't stand up instantly, too busy in thoughts of the upcoming battle. He feared the Lannisters and the Vale joining hands. He feared the might and the schemes of Tywin Lannister.
What if I give him Tommen?Robert pondered.No, I mustn't. Pinning Tyrion against his father is better. He's quick in the head.
Clack!
"May I enter, Your Grace?"
With an annoyed expression, Robert glanced at the door. There was nobody scheduled to meet him anymore, yet the door was open and the little rose of Highgarden stood there. She wasn't tall, perhaps even shorter than Lynesse.
This was the first time Robert saw Margaery, and he gave a silent nod to her beauty. She was indeed one of the finest, but certainly not the one. Her charms were the trailing, soft curling brown locks and large brown eyes, and those thin smiling lips. She was slender but womanly, her chest not that endowed.
"Lady Margaery." Robert greeted her without standing up. "What brings you here?"
Margaery smiled brightly, baring her teeth as she strolled into the Small Council chamber. She looked at the surroundings with keen interest, dreaming of the power that was held within that room.
"I regretted not meeting you last time, Your Grace. This time, a chance like this is too precious to let slip away," Margaery answered and stepped closer to Robert, beside his chair. But she continued to shift against the edge of the table until she finally stood right in front of Robert, between his chair and the table.
Sounds as desperate as her mother.Robert sneered inside while remaining stoic outside.
She stood so close to him that he could smell her rose-scented fragrance. Her dress was also interesting, a pale green samite gown with a tight-laced bodice that bared her shoulders and the top of her bosom, making her small breasts spill out of the wide-necked gown.
She came here to seduce me?Robert had no doubt about it. She was dressed like a whore desperate for some coin. Trying to showcase her charms and assets when she had none.
"It was nice meeting you, my lady."
"I…" Margaery sensed the meeting was coming to an end. She panicked. "I-I will bear you strong and beautiful children, Your Grace."
Robert chuckled and responded with a savage grin. "Right now? Well, we do have a sizable table to use."
Remember, Robert is a sex-crazed savage. Show him some skin and lure him with the possibility of getting what any man would want from you. You'll have him wrapped between your fingers and legs easily.
A few moments ago, Margaery remembered her grandmother's words just as she walked into the Small Council chamber. Right before her was the imposing behemoth of a King in the chair. She felt nervous suddenly, and all her confidence started to drain away.
The air inside the room was warm, and the King's gaze felt oppressive. She forgot all that Olenna had taught her. All she remembered was that she was to wed this man no matter what. No matter the price.
"Right now? Well, we do have a sizable table to use."
Margaery gulped, and her eyes narrowed at the King's loins. She truly felt how different their size was. The man was sitting relaxed and yet his face reached her shoulders. His broad shoulders could eclipse her entirely, and his fleshy belly bulged over the belt around the waist.
I… I must. I must become the Queen.
"I-If that is what Your Grace wishes." She ended up agreeing to the King's demand. Table, chair, or even the floor, nothing mattered as long as his seeds reached her womb. "I will…"
"Seven hells!" Robert grunted suddenly and his arm reached for Margaery's waist. With a single tug, he pulled the slender beauty onto his lap, landing her sideways on his thighs. He supported her back with one arm, and his free hand traced her jaw.
"If I sought strong and beautiful heirs, I'd take Dacey Mormont to my bed, not a fragile rose like you, Lady Margaery. So tell me, why should I choose you over her?"
"I will…" Margaery froze, lost in mind. But it was more than that. The King's strong arms wrapped her back so easily that his palm curled around and landed on the side of her breasts. His other hand had gone below her face and was tracing her necklace, but that meant his hand also touched her overflowing bosom from the bodice.
But it all paled in comparison to what she felt between her delicate, soft bottom. The thickness, the size, the warmth.
"Speak, Lady Margaery."
"I will… I will be obedient, dutiful, loyal, submissive, and loving."
Robert's chuckle resounded as he shook her light body a little. She felt his hardened heat underneath. Not to mention, the way he took the liberty in the name of checking her necklace. She felt his rough palm against her smooth, unblemished skin.
"You think I can't have any other woman do the same, Margaery?"
N-No, what should I do? He'll leave in the morning for the North. No! What if he marries the Mormont woman there?
"I-I'll make love to you whenever and wherever you want, Your Grace. I'll submit myself to you with all my being. I would bear your heirs and welcome your affections, no matter the place—on this table, upon the chair, pressed against that wall, or even upon your Iron Throne. My heart and body are yours to love."
Ah!She felt his hardness throb underneath.
"You can feel it, can't you?"
Margaery nodded shyly. "Y-You are gifted with a giant's strength, Your Grace."
"And you think you can hold and endure it inside you?"
Her eyes widened slightly as she felt it grow even more. She looked at Robert's face with worry. Worried that he might take her right there and then if she agreed. There was a lot of hesitation.
"P-Perhaps in the bedchamber?"
Robert shook his head, however. "Fragile flower, as I said. It was a pleasure meeting you, Lady Margaery."
"Ah!" She found her body lifted in the air all of a sudden in a princess carry. But before she could even react, the King placed her on the table in a sitting position.
Oh no! No, no! He's leaving.
Margaery's heart sank at Robert's fleeting sight. "Please! What can I do to win your favor, Your Grace?"
Clack!
Robert's hand stopped from opening the door. His head turned sideways, eyes on Margaery on the table. "Marriage is a sacred union, Lady Margaery. A queen is not merely a title; she carries the weight of responsibility—Not only to bear the King's heir but to earn his deepest trust. Trust that he won't be betrayed and backstabbed. I saw fear in your eyes, fear of having me between your legs on that table—Where is this trust we speak of?"
H-He's different.Margaery felt it at that moment. She offered unrestricted access to her body to this supposed sex crazed savage. Yet, nothing happened.Grandmother was wrong.
"H-How long do I have to earn that trust, Your Grace?"
"Hah, Fear not. I won't wed anyone in the North yet. You have time aplenty, and when I return, there will be more than enough chances for us to meet." Robert's response came and he finally opened the door.
"Let's go, it's time for supper."
Margaery nervously got down from the table and meekly followed behind Robert. Constantly, she stared at his tall, broad back. The very idea of being one with this man made her heart race and mind panic.
If that is savage, then I'm Visenya Targaryen.
Her faith in her grandmother was truly tested that evening.
Although things didn't go as planned, she felt that they went better than expected. The King was willing to give her a real chance, at least. It was better than being left in confusion.
But how do I win his heart and trust?
Casterly Rock, Westerlands.
It was late at night, the air was soothing. At the top of one of the castle towers, Tywin stood and watched the distant Lannisport beneath. It was eerily empty that night, much of the activities halted for the dock's maintenance.
But it was all a ruse.
"My Lord, the ships have left for the Iron Islands." Kevan Lannister arrived and reported. "No one saw it."
Tywin nodded, staring at the port for a very long time before uttering something. "Our name must not be sullied by this. Let the North be his grave, and his bones be forgotten."
Kevan approached his brother's side. "What of the Throne?"
"Let it rot."
Tywin sneered towards the King's Landing's direction and left.