Never Mind The Bollocks…

You are heaped under the covers. Entangled limbs. Lazy and dewy from a round of sleepy, languid sex. The bedchamber reeks of it. Of your perfume, his cologne, and salt skin and heady sweat.

He was currently kissing his way up your arm to your shoulder. He pauses when your words land on him. Your enquiry-

He pulls back. Bracing over your body. Pressed high up on his hands. Hairy, lean arms straining over you.

“Would my answer have you think less of me?” He checks. Bold as ever. Strategising.

“As if I’d ever dare.” You meet his dark eyes. Lose yourself, forever you’d been caught and wrapped in their umber gaze. Had been from the moment that fateful night when you first caught his eye.

He smiles. Salacious. Leans right down to kiss you. Smothering. Tip of his warm wine tasting tongue swirling to seek yours. Hips bracketing your naked ones. He speaks inbetween kisses to your neck. Words warm and heavy damp like Dornish rain against your ear.

“Then, yes.” He purrs. “More than one. On more than one occasion.”

“A common occurrence, my lord?” You ask. Brow buoying.

“Of course. I am deliriously good at living my life to its fullest. And yes, some of my lovers have been men. I had one once, my god, he was hung like a dornishman. I’ve had a Tyroshi. A Norvosi. Lorathi. A Stark. Even a Martell once. Some were younger than me. Some older. Some very virile.”

“Why do you ask?” He sought out. Following the curl of a lock of your hair where it kinked like a lolling river across the pillow.

You shrug. Hands stroking through his glorious hair. Combing through the bounce of curls with your fingers. Making his eyes roll back when you use your nails on his scalp. Mouth hanging open in a wide smile. Cock stiffening and leaking against your thigh. As well you knew it would.

“No specific reason. Just a curiosity. I was right in thinking you’d had hoards of men and women in your bed. As fond of passion and lust as you are.”

“Now what is the point of life if not to drink all the wine, and fuck every pretty person I wish.” He reveals openly.

“What indeed. You scoundrel.” You smile.

His veins pump with such life you wonder if pure storm winds would come rushing and bleeding out if you took a knife to him.

Then he deflects.

“What of you.” He narrows his eyes playfully.

“What of the Infamous sharp tongued Lady Dondarrion of Blackhaven. Before the Swann whelp. And before your handsome rutting stag of a husband….”

He rolled his hips to yours as he spoke of himself in a great roaring laugh. Made you chuckle too.

Grinning as you slipped your hands down his dewy back. Skin still raked fresh red swirl scratches and little nightshade purple bruises. A sign of where you’d been. He has the welt of your teeth set deep in one shoulder. Crimson crescent. Another little trophy to cherish.

“Did you ever bed anyone?” He asks. Nodding at you. There’s an odd irony to your answer.

Your smile grows. Sinful. “No one male.”

He looks wildly amused. And aroused. Machiavellian naughty smile. “A woman.”

“We both had too much wine. I don’t recall overmuch.”

“Try.” He begs. Looking cheeky.

“She was… a friend. She was Braavosi. Her father was my fathers steward. We grew close. It turned into attraction. It just happened. A kiss. Too much wine. We kissed even more. Undressed. Fell into bed and after that I’m afraid it’s all one long blur of fingers, sensation and so much kissing.”

“Who went on top?” He seeks.

“I didn’t ask you.”You frowned.

“That means it was you then. Fuck me.”

Now all he can picture is the partial image you’d painted. Kissing. Caressing. Nipples hard and licked by hot tongues. Hungry mouths. Squeezing flesh. Breasts crushed together. Obscene the way he pictured you writhing together. Legs locked. Cunts rubbing as one, and throwing your head back to moan to the heavens.

He loved the way you split your legs for him. Now all he think of is you having a dark haired maiden with a sultry mouth wrapping her lip gorgeous lips around your clit. Making you shout and buck to her smiling face. Covered in your slick all over her cheeks. Tongue curled deep in your trembling pussy.

“Did you cum?” He checks. Brow ticking up.

“Lots.” Is your answer. Though you were drunk, it was giddying.

The first time you’d been shown what a woman’s body could truly do and feel. Fingers stretching you just right. The circles she drew on your clit. Your awakening was a glorious one. Not many ladies could boast to that.

He launches you into a kiss. Growling. Speaking with spit wet lips laid to yours when he pulled away.

“Should any lucky lady catch your eye in the future my storm. Please I beg of you, let me watch her work you over til you sob.”

“Lyonel.” You gasp.

“What?” He cheeks. “I can’t be the only one in the seven kingdoms who loves to eat your cunt.”

His kisses make their way to your shoulders again. Cock even harder against your thigh.

“I was younger then….” you lament. “Things still had hope….And pointed upwards. And perked.” You refer to your body.

Although not ashamed of how you’d aged. Things had changed….Shifted. The pouch of your tummy and the hang of your breasts. Your thighs didn’t exactly stay trim no matter how often you took to saddle.

You were not a fresh faced maid, alien into her first blood. You were certainly no spring daisy fresh with dew anymore. More of a retired rose who’d long since bothered to stop blooming for the cares of others. But nor were you a dead dry old shrub just yet.

The insulting fact is, you were considered a dry old spinster in the marriage mart five long years ago. Any man who wed you was seeking a family connection, or was just plain desperate for a noble wife.

Then a stag, not exactly a young one himself, came and knocked your life sideways with a crushing blow of his antlers.

“Do fuck off. You know I would kill for this body. Don’t you ever let me hear you say otherwise. My storm.” He chides.

“Beautiful. Fiery. Fucking. Gorgeous. Storm.” His tongue is heading dangerous places. Licking down your neck. Kissing after each word. Heading to place swirling licks on your breasts.

“I’m serious.” You impress. Looking down at him. His mouth sucking a bruise on your sternum.

“As am I.” He hits back. Just as hard. Licking his lips.

“You don’t believe another would desire you? I’m willing to make a wager we would not even have to push to persuade them very hard to join us in bed. Not for my sake.” He smiles like a rogue.

“You’re only saying that cause you want to put your cock in me.” you decide flatly.

He comes up to cover your body again. Forcing eye contact.

“I’m saying it cause my wife is fucking vixen and I know for a fact plenty of my men have envisioned throwing your skirts to your ears taking you over the tables of Storms End dining hall.”

You look suspicious. A crinkle set between your brows. “What men? Give me names.”

“That apple cunt wanted under your skirts. Looked at your tits like a starved wolf.”

“You will never let me forget him, will you.”

“Certainly not.” He tells. Eyes lidded as he runs his fingers down the cords of your neck. Nudges your head aside to kiss and nip at your jaw.

“What about your braavosi friend…” he urges. Hot clammy words against your skin. “Think we could get a repeat performance? Though I’d be reluctant to share your gorgeous cunt. I’m certain the both of us could play nicely together.”

The image gets your stomach flipping. The thought of Lyonel shoulder to shoulder with someone else between your legs. Tongue twirling to make you shout. Gods.

“I doubt so. My love. She’s happily married now. To a merchant from Volantis. Three children.”

“Long journey to be sure, but if a threesome is my reward. I’ll be very, very good.” He purrs.

You give him a look. “You’d be insufferable.” You breathe. “It’s your prevailing condition.”

“What of your sexual delights? We’ve spoken of mine in length. If it can’t be a woman. Would you ever take on another man in our bed?” You ask.

He smirks.

“Only if I could see you share me. Kissing him over the head of my cock. And I get to see how beautiful you are when you get fucked by another. Eyes rolling back in your head. Fuck. The thought has my blood boiling..”

“I can tell.” You remarks. He’s hard as stone against your thigh.

“You really do want to play with another man?” you ask. “Wherever will we find such a one.”

He kisses your neck. Tongue running into the divot of your collarbone. Hips sliding to yours. Making you cross your legs at his back. Naked skin sliding out from the sheets. Warm and wrapping your arms and legs around his back. He moans into a bite of your shoulder. He’ll take you soon.

“Well keep our options open. My stormy vixen.”

He pushes into you slowly. Enough to watch every flick of your face. Eyes rolling back as he grins and slams himself deep. The gape of your mouth that he wants to sink his tongue into

“There we are-“ He sighs. Head tipping back. “Gods. How divine you’d look. Crying my name as another man pounds you.”

“Shut up and kiss me.” You grab his curls. Open mouthed and panting.

“Anything for you.” He sighs. Mouth slanting to yours. Tongue unfurling to find yours. Hips slapping together. Wicked ideas sliding through his naughty head.

“That one….” Lyonel leaned to your seat. Heat of his breath brushed your ear. The faintest brush of his cologne rolls over you. Burnt birch and orange clove spices.

You were at the Ashford Tourney. His Pavillion risen high on the field. Gold and proud, standing as tall as all the antlers that decorate it. Guards outside keeping the merry peace. The air is sweet with roasted meats and ale. The faint stirring plucked strings of music.

He’s itching to dance. You know he is. Sat there in his antler crown like a stag made flesh. Eyes ravenously combing crowds.

Your little idea has stayed with him; you both wanted another man in your bed. He’d find you one

“Hm.” He purses his lips and spies another. A middle aged Lord. Fit enough. Not unhandsome. He wanted someone limber. Someone who could pound you, or perhaps him, to the bed with powerful hips. Good knees.

“Him?” He nods.

You spy who he means. A Tully. Flame haired and pretty. Pale too. Good cheekbones. He’s wearing blue and is talking with much drunk animation.

“Ugh no. I conversed with him earlier. His breath was like dead rotting fish.” You wince.

Another blonde caught his eye. Red doublet. One walking over near the far table.

“The rose boy?” He asks. About one of the Tyrell’s.

“Seven no. Too young. Barely out of leading strings. He looks like an untrained puppy.” You observe.

Lyonel takes a good long look at the man bends over the table to talk to his companion. Eyes up the span of his thighs and his strong backside.

“In a certain way puppyish can work. In my experience, always eager to please. To prove they’re good. So horny they’d get on their knees and beg for it.” He tells.

“Mm. No, he looks like he’d weep. Or wet himself. Next.” You decide.

Cradling your glass of wine and looking plotting. Legs crossed. You examine everyone with predatory ease. Like a lioness set back, picking her prey at the watering hole.

He chuckles. Links his fingers through yours on the arm of your chair. “My stern tongued wife. Gods be good. I love when you get strict on me.”

“There’s always Beesbury?” He announces.

“Mm.” You consider it with a positive shake of your head. “A bit wiry. Little wild. Though the moustache does have a certain appeal I supp-“

Your words get torn out your mouth. They leave in one breathy rush.

Him.

Across the tent, stands an absolute behemoth of a man. Trunks for legs. Arms that could crush iron. He stands three heads above the crowd. Nervously eating a pastry. Blue eyed and coppery blonde fair hair. Looking like butter wouldn’t melt. He flinched when others grew too raucous near him. A gentle giant, you think. Not a nasty bone in him.

Lyonel follows your gaze. Finds this cowering huge man on the end if it. Big as an aurochs.

He was handsome in a rugged way. Rough hewn. Shoulders double his own width. Hands big as spades. Most likely a heavy fat cock and balls swinging between his legs to rival a prize stud bull.

Oh yes. Lyonel could see it now.

You under him. Your hips pinned wide, so wide, by the man as he pounded the life out of you. Naked pale ass pumping between your thighs. Crushing you to his golden bed. Legs nearly at your chest as you cried this man’s name. He’s hard thinking of it.

“That one huh? Greedy woman.” He snickers.

You don’t take your eyes off the big man.

“You say that. Like you wouldn’t want your mouth stuffed with his big cock.”

Throwing his head back. He laughs. “You know me too well.”

Lyonel tilts to your side. You take a sip of wine. He whispers to you;

“I’m looking forward to seeing him on his knees. Begging to stick his tongue and face in your pretty cunt. Lord knows how a lowly man could deserve such heaven as the one between your legs.” He continues.

You swallow. Twist to look at him. He’s as turned on as you are. You both refocus your eyes on the man.

“Your small hand fisted in that short hair. Those mammoth hands on your hips pulling you close. Begging you to show him how to properly eat a noble ladies cunt.” He grins.

“You’re soaked at the thought. Don’t deny. I know the way you shift when you soak to your underclothes.”

You do shift. You really were dripping at the idea of using such a big sweet man. With the thought of Lyonel’s eyes on you too? His mouth in your ear as he watches. Oh You worry you’ll stain your dress.

“Reckon he’ll do?” You seek.

“Only one way to find out.” He curls a hand to bring forward one of his men.

“The large cunt. Get him over here.”

Your summons work. You watch every second as he shifts across. Weaving crowds.

You reckon he’s still trying to appear small. Wide blue eyes. Looking like a newborn fawn. All nerves and fear. He looks uncomfortable with the attention being solely on him.

Like he was trapped in a big muscled body that only knew how to grow. To stick out. His life had been spent being treated as a big stupid eyesore.

You don’t think so.

You think the opposite. You see the power in those shoulders. The wide set of those thighs. His dress marked him as a man who didn’t enjoy the privileges of wealth or the backing of a fine house. You find you like him more for it.

He’s a handsome face but he doesn’t act like he does. You find that very compelling. Some men of his size truly walk with the backed, spine stiff arrogance that they know they can win a fight. This nameless big man walks around like he’s scared to start one.

He’s standing before your table. Face half carved shadow, half gold in the candlelight. A sweep of cool, sweet night air comes with him. Dark as lilacs. He smells of cut meadow grass, and the earthen, boggy wet coldness that only comes from a river.

His smile is careful. Like a crease in cloth smoothed quickly away.

“My lord. My lady.” He bows. Eyes flicking between you both. Those baby blues seem to longer on you a tad more.

Lyonel can’t blame the man. You’re intoxicating at the best of times. More so tonight. You look like a voluptuous dream. Clean smile. Bright clever eyes. Glowing hair in butter gold candles light. You were every Knights dream.

He knows he shouldn’t lay his eyes to you. He shouldn’t even think of you. But you’re hard to look away from. Like rare, beautiful things to be savoured in life. A powder soft summer sky darted with swallow birds. A spectacular sunset bursting into melting coppers and striking golds, fierce crimson bloody at the edges. The smell of honeyed bread drifting warm from a bakers window. Warm. Sweet. Unbelievable.

A fine gown cups your body like a salacious kiss. Baratheon colours, naturally. Black trimmed with gold like shadow and light combined. Stag brooch of gold holding back your spilling curls that reach to your shoulders. A stag belt tight on the small of your waist. An easy look your eye from the strength of the wine. A smile that all men would call heaven.

“What is your name.” Lyonel begins.

Duncan sets his eyes to Lyonel. In looking to him too, he does seem stunned in an entirely different capacity. By the grandeur of his title and all that came with it. The legend that carried with him like an old, long cloak. But it was the vitality that also struck him. The handsome set of his jaw. The greying goatee beard and disarrayed, storm rioted curls. Lean build, but not lacking in power.

Duncan hadn’t expected his first thought of Lyonel to veer into thinking how handsome he was; Alive and present the way a tempest is. Vibrant energy. A smile, lips really, that perpetually held laughter close to hand. Dangerous or easy he couldn’t tell. Eyes the colour of burnt wood and twice as scalding.

Dunk shakes off his reverie. Enough to provide an answer.

“Ser Duncan. My Lord. Ser Duncan the tall.”

“Thank the gods for that. I was worried we’d have to talk around the obvious.” Lyonel grins. To the delighted mumble of chuckles rippling through the men and women set around you.

You watch Ser Duncan’s cheeks colour with a blush at the joke. Eyes to the floor. Keeping hold of the half eaten blueberry tart in his hand. He had the hungry, hollow cheeks of someone who didn’t often see such fine food.

“Where do you hail from Ser?” You prod.

He shifts. Uncertain. Like he’d be ribbed for his answer. A man who cowers with shame from his humble upbringing. In front of his supposed grander, betters. A man who never asked to take up space, and yet with his height, had to learn how - as quietly as possible.

“I’m from Kings Landing. My lady. Flea Bottom. Born and raised. Some would say the wrong end of Aegons Hill.”

You nod. And smile. It isn’t unkind of you. You do not make a holy joke of him. That eases to tension in his heavy set shoulders. The ones Lyonel would adore to see adorned with your scarlet teeth marks.

“One can’t be blamed for their place of birth. Ser. Just because it’s undesirable doesn’t make it wrong. I dare say lots of people remark their birthplaces to be inadequate. Hardly the fault of a babe.” You explain. “You’ve come to Ashford to compete. That says much about your character.”

He looks in agony. His brow furrowed. “That is kind of you to say. My lady.” More grace than I deserve, Dunk thinks.

“Are you married?” Lyonel tilts his head. Unwilling to be left out.

He carefully watches Duncan stuck gazing at your smile for a long moment. He doesn’t blame the man for being struck dumb. He smirks to see it. Off to a good start.

“No, my Lord.”

“Promised to anyone? A sweet little maid or some such.” Lyonel follows up.

“No. My lord.” Duncan answers. Looking quizzical. His eyes dart between you both.

“I beg pardon if I caused offence. My lord. My lady. I did not know the gathering was meant to be attended with offerings. I have come empty handed.”

“Rest easy. Ser. I assure you. We are not the least offended.” You calmly counter.

“Quite the opposite if anything.” Lyonel remakes lowly.

You lock eyes with your husband. “I think he’s perfect.” You grin.

Lyonel chuckles. “Happy wife. Happy life.”

He rubs a hand over his beard. Before he leans in. Pins Duncan under his gaze. Makes the man swallow in nervousness. Sweat started to bead on his brow. A stag sizing up his challenge.

“Ser Duncan. If you be so good— me and my wife have a little… proposition for you.”

A chilly wind picked up, making you wrap your burgundy cloak tighter around you. The litter was prepared, caravans readied, and everyone was eager to depart, but Lyonel lingered for a bit longer.

"My lord, we should ready to depart," Raymont said. He was Lyonel's youngest cousin who served as his squire. He was a good lad and kept everything organized and on time, an attribute that was not your beloved husband's strongest suit.

"A few more minutes, then we can go," Lyonel said, leaning on his antler crutch. You rested a gentle hand on his shoulder, knowing he still held hope that Ser Duncan might join him.

Time passed, and the hedge knight did not show, making your husband sigh heavily.

"Let us go." The disappointed look in his dark eyes nearly crushed you. His lips gently brushed across your cheek, standing close as you mounted your horse.

"Ser Lyonel!" a deep voice bellowed across the field, and the party turned to look. Over the grassy hill rode Ser Duncan atop his huge brown destrier, which the older, brown stot following behind.

A grin broke across Lyonel's face. "Good lad, you decided to join me after all."

Dunk nodded, his face still bruised and swollen with his left arm in a sling. "I've had enough of princes, m'lord."

"Ride alongside my wife and me. We must be going, or Raymont will have all our heads," Lyonel said, clapping the horse's flank. He mounted a black palfrey, having lost his destrier in the Trial at the hands of Prince Maekar Targaryen.

The little took off, departing for Storm's End, where new adventures awaited.

Everyone was feeling sore and tired by the time they arrived at the castle. You rolled your shoulders as the household servants bustled around, and you instructed them to start preparing hot baths and a room for Dunk. Lyonel had his arms full with Roslyn and Jocelyn, fussing over the dark haired girls and showering them with attention. Their wide, dark eyes peered at Dunk curiously.

"Come and introduce yourselves, my darlings," you smiled, extended your hands out to them, and brought them closer. Roslyn was the elder, and Jocelyn was younger by three years. Lyonel adored them equally, even if they were constantly trying to get him to name a favorite.

"Miladies," Dunk said, giving a small bow, and the girls giggled.

"We will spend time together before supper. I must settle our guest in," you told them, kissing the top of each of their silky, dark heads.

"You and Ser Lyonel are kind for hosting me, milady," he said, towering over you, even bigger than your good husband. "Your daughters are as beautiful as you."

"Thank you, and we are happy to have you. My husband is quite fond of you, Ser, understandably so," you said, showing him to his quarters after winding up the stone staircase leading to the drum tower.

"You are kind to say so, milady," he said, ducking his head while his cheeks pinkened.

You escorted him into the quarters, where a steaming bath awaited him. "I will send in some of the stewards to help attend to you."

"No need for the fuss, I can handle it, I'm certain," he insisted.

"You are injured."

"It's alright."

You placed a hand on your hip. "You are as stubborn as my husband, it seems. Then let me assist you."

"N…no! That….you are a lady!"

"Very astute, Ser Duncan. I can assure you the sight of your cock will not make me faint. I've been surrounded by too many of my husband's men to pale at one."

His jaw dropped. How he yearned for the touch of a woman, yet how could he ask such a thing from a noble married lady?

You could see the hesitation all over his face. "I assure you, it will not upset my husband in any way. I have tended to many of his men over the years, plus we don't want the water to get cold."

The men who were more than simple companions. Beesbury had been one, and you knew his death tolled on Lyonel. Guilt swirled inside him, but who else would have rallied to aid in the Trial other than the dear man? The man who would have followed Lyonel to the ends of the world, and for whom Lyonel would have done the same. Over the return to Storm's End, which took a little over a fortnight, you saw the bond deepen between Lyonel and Dunk, but you did not begrudge it. Lyonel had always been honest with you about where his desires lay, and it only made you love him more. He was a good husband, a good father, and gave you freedoms along with whatever you desired, so you could not deny him of his true nature. You only asked for his honesty regarding the trysts, which he always honored.

"I…thank you, milady," Dunk murmured, and it was charming to watch such a large man attempt to make himself small.

You moved closer to help him undress, carefully removing the sling. The bruises and face swelling had gone down, but you would make a poultice for him later that evening. The blush spread down his cheeks toward his neck as you tenderly and methodically removed his clothing. You didn't let your eyes linger, not wishing to make him any more uncomfortable than he already was. He got into the bath on his own, groaning as he sank into the hot water.

"Seven Hells," he sighed.

You chuckled. "Yes, a hot bath can solve nearly all issues." You dipped the sponge into the water before lathering it with soap, starting with Duncan's broad back, careful of his injured shoulder. His wounds were healing nicely, but you would give them a thorough examination after the bath.

Soft sighs toppled from his mouth as you massaged his scalp. You closed your eyes, getting lost in the movements, remembering two summers ago as you tended to Humfrey and Lyonel in the bathhouse after the Lannisport tourney. Helping to wash the dirt and blood from them, the sweet kisses they left on your skin, the way their fingers curled inside you, the heat from their bodies as they enveloped you between them. Lyonel instructing Humfrey how to suckle your nipples. The hazy image of Lyonel's cock buried inside Humfrey as the honey mustached man gripped the stone's edge. A blurred memory from days past.

"There we are, Ser Dunk, clean as fresh linen," you smiled, noting the thin film of grime that coated the bathwater.

"I feel like a new man, thank you again, milady," he grinned, those blue eyes meeting your gaze.

"I've had the steward lay out some of my father in law's clothing for you. The dear man departed years ago, but he was almost as big as you. I can have my seamstress alter them if need be. I could arrange for supper to be brought to your rooms, but you are welcome to join us in the Round Hall if you wish."

"I would like that, milady. You've been most kind."

"'Tis my pleasure, Ser Duncan. I will leave you to rest."

He reached out, squeezing your hand. His touch lingered on your skin, like flames crackling over your fingertips. You found solace in your private quarters, where the ladies helped tend to and bathe you, dressing you in a rich golden dress embossed with vibrant purple grapes.

"Please arrange for an Arbor red this evening," you told them. You yearned for a taste of home.

Lyonel found you warming by the fire, embroidery hoop in your lap and half asleep. A gentle hand landed on your shoulder. The familiar scent of leather and musk wafted under your nose.

"Duncan is settling in nicely," he commented, studying you with his dark eyes. "You are to thank for that."

Your hand curled around his fingers. "I enjoy him, as do you, I suspect."

"You've always been perceptive, clever girl."

He pulled his fingers from your grip before kneeling in front of you. The firelight caught in the flecks of gold hidden in those dark eyes. How fitting they were for a Baratheon man. He drew your hands toward his mouth, placing soft kisses upon them. His beard made your skin prickle.

"Does it upset you?" Warm mouth spreading heat over your skin.

"Lyonel, if it truly upset me, I wouldn't have married you all those years ago," you smiled.

"You have never felt neglected?"

"Never," you assured him. "I know you would give them up if I asked, but I only wish for your happiness as I know you do for mine."

"The Gods truly blessed me with you," he whispered before laying his head in your lap. You lazily dragged your fingers through his curls, remembering when you laboured with Roslyn and how he had ridden through the night to return to Storm's End to be by your side. He didn't want you to be alone or miss the birth of his first child. You'd never forget the proud look on his face as he held her in his arms. The bonny babe wrapped in a gold cloth.

"All this will be yours one day," he whispered to her.

"I am sorry about Beesbury," you whispered, "I know how special he was to you."

"He was a good man, a fine man, and he is with the Gods now."

"I promised our girls I would spend time with them before supper," you hummed, gently massaging his scalp as you had done with Ser Duncan earlier.

"Ah, well, do not keep our little lasses waiting," he smiled, rolling to his feet.

"Go and visit with Dunk; he would be happy for your company." You rose, pulling Lyonel's face down and kissing him softly.

Supper was a warm affair, with your daughters transfixed by Duncan's endless appetite.

"You will be well fed here, Ser Duncan," Jocelyn said.

"I have no doubt, milady," he chuckled.

The girls entertained Dunk with their dancing once supper ended, and you knew that he would be favoured in these halls.

Many moons passed, bringing the three of you closer into an intricately woven web. While you had cared for Beesbury, participating in the occasional dalliance, you had never truly fallen for one of your husband's paramours. But there was something different about Dunk. He was pure hearted, a knight of the people. It was hardly surprising how he won over the hearts of many at Ashford, even the departed Prince Baelor. Your daughters took it upon themselves to teach him letters, helping him to read and write, and never poking fun at him. He doted upon them, constantly parading around the castle with them tossed over his shoulders as if they weighed nothing more than a simple bag of flour. Most of his days were spent with Lyonel in the training yard, and the hedge knight picked up skills easily. He was stalwart.

You came to welcome the shy smiles he would toss your way. The way those blue eyes would sparkle. The rosy flush that clung to his cheeks and neck. The rough feeling of his hand beneath yours when he would help you to stand or dismount from your horse. It all made your heart skip a beat.

You couldn't ignore the hushed whispers between him and Lyonel. The swollen lips of your husband as he crawled into your bed. The all too familiar bite marks marring Dunk's pale shoulder when he undressed, the colors of your husband's house falling around his feet. A strange jealousy began to bloom deep inside your belly, but you did not wish for it to fester and cause you to rot.

"Will you share him with me?" you whispered to Lyonel one evening.

"Hmm?" Lyonel hummed, half asleep next to you.

"Dunk. I wish you to share him with me," you stated more clearly.

"Truly?" He shifted to face you.

"Yes, please. I have never asked for much, but might I partake with you?"

"If that is what you desire." He grazed his knuckles down your cheek. "I could never deny you."

And so it began.

Dunk was green, eager to please both you and Lyonel. That head, hair kissed by fire, disappearing between your thighs with your legs tossed over his broad shoulders. Once hesitant in the beginning, his movements grew bolder until he knew exactly how to trace his tongue over your swollen pearl. The sweet reward of your release, soaking his tongue, was all he needed to show him that he had done a wonderful job.

There were the nights that he and Lyonel entangled. Two valiant warriors curved together, melding into each other. The hedge knight's weight wedged on top of the Laughing Storm, cock buried deep inside. Sweet sweat beading down your husband's neck and forehead while Dunk set a gentle pace.

The best nights were when the three of you intertwined. Each man's mouth wrapped around your breasts, making you writhe and drip with pleasure. Taking your time stroking their cocks until the flesh stiffened and leaked. Your body learned to bend and adjust in ways you never thought possible, learning to accommodate two cocks buried inside your willing, eager cunt.

The only strict rule was that Dunk could not finish inside you. Lyonel could not risk you becoming the topic of cruel gossip or feeling shamed should a child emerge from the union. Neither you nor Dunk could argue with such logic.

The storm raged outside, heavy rain falling like pellets against the castle walls. In your chambers, the fire roared in the hearth, bathing the room in an amber glow. Various flickering candles were scattered across the room. Red and gold silks were draped over the canopy of your bed. Three golden goblets were filled to the brim with crisp Arbor white, and a silver platter filled with plump red grapes, almonds dipped in honey, ripe red cherries, cups of sweet cream, and halved figs sat in the middle of the bed. All this helped to create a cozy, yet sultry atmosphere.

You wore only a gauzy, thin robe, but the two men coupling you and the roaring fire staved off the cold. Lyonel wore nothing at all apart from two golden rings threaded with a golden chain through his nipples, and Dunk was just in his thin breeches. There was still a shyness that lingered beneath his surface, only furthering the endearment you and Lyonel held for him. You dipped your finger into the sweet cream, gently licking it away. Dunk lay on his back, slipping almonds one by one into his mouth with the sticky honey lingering on his fingers.

You crawled toward him, straddling his thick chest and lifting his hand to your mouth. Slowly, you suckled the honey from each fingertip. You would never get over how big he was. His cock swelled against the curve of your arse. Lyonel watched through heavy-lidded eyes, white wine dribbling down the corners of his mouth as he indulged one thirst.

"Open her up for me, Ser Dunk," he whispered huskily.

You gasped as Dunk maneuvered your body with ease, bracing you against his chest while using his large hands to spread your thighs wide.

"The sight of that cunt would make the most skilled of sailors crash right into the rocks," Lyonel mused, reaching down to stroke his cock. "They would beg to drown in it."

"I agree, milord. 'Tis a thing of beauty," Dunk hummed. One of his hands slipped down your belly to cup you between your legs before skimming his fingers over your flesh. His middle one sank deep inside you.

"We are men of good taste, are we not?" Lyonel smirked. With hazy vision, you watched Lyonel coat two of his fingers in oil.

Dunk nodded, nuzzling your shoulder while Lyonel positioned himself between your thighs. "Very good taste, milord."

Dunk's finger buried inside you made warmth flutter through your belly, spreading lower like slow dripping honey. Like the honey lingering on your tongue from his fingers. You whimpered when the digit was removed, leaving you longing for something to clench around. He tilted you back, keeping you against his bare, warm chest as more of you was exposed to Lyonel's eyes.

"Deep breath, my darling," Lyonel murmured before kissing your belly. His hot kiss lingered on your skin, burning an invisible mark that was soothed away by Dunk's palm. You inhaled slowly, filling your lungs as Lyonel's fingers aligned with your puckered arsehole. The slip of the oil allowed them easy entrance into the tight ring. "You wished to know what it felt like."

Ah, yes, you had been curious as a cock had never filled you there, yet it seemed to bring Lyonel and Dunk great pleasure. Just two nights ago, Dunk had spread Lyonel's cheeks wide and delved his tongue between the crevice. Meaty fingers digging into your husband's plush arse while the hedge knight devoured him. Curiosity had gotten the better of you, and you wished to experience it. It was not unpleasant once adjusted to the feeling. A feeling of being stuffed impossibly full.

"You're doing so well, milady," Dunk whispered into your ear, the praise enveloping you like a warm robe. The wisps of the one you were currently wearing clung to your perspiring skin. You groaned when Dunk rolled the stiff, aching flesh between the rough pads of his fingers.

With two fingers still buried in your arse, Lyonel lowered his mouth to your cunt. You twitched in Dunk's grasp while your good husband suckled and lapped at your swollen pearl. His fingers curved upward, sinking in deeper and hitting a pleasure spot inside you. Thick, pleasurable moans spilled wantonly from your parted mouth as you tumbled into an intense release.

"Dear Gods, woman, you do intend to drown me," Lyonel said with a wide grin, the aftermath of your release clinging to his beard and mouth. Gently, he withdrew his fingers before standing to wash his hands at the basin. Dunk stroked your body, peeling the thin covering away from your body.

"May I, milady?"

"What a sweet lad to ask," Lyonel teased.

"Leave him be," you chided. "Please, Ser Duncan, you may."

He kept you braced against his chest, your legs hooked over his wide thighs, before plunging two fingers into your sopping cunt.

"Ah!" you gasped, clenching around them. You felt Lyonel's hand on your cheek, thumb sliding between your lips.

"Open."

You obeyed, parting your mouth wide. The white wine trickled into your mouth, splashing against your tongue and quenching your thirst with the crisp taste of citrus. You sputtered softly, closing your mouth and feeling a thin stream run down the corners of your lips, then dribble down your neck. Dunk's free hand massaged your breasts, and soon your toes curled as you toppled into another peak. Heat prickled across your body, chest heaving softly in the aftermath, and you felt as if you could melt into Dunk's chest. The two men moved you carefully, settling you against the golden pillows with Lyonel hand feeding you cherries dipped in sweet cream while Dunk wiped you down with a wet cloth.

"How are you feeling, sweet wife?" Lyonel asked, tucking a stand of hair behind your ear.

"Very well, mayhaps a bit tired," you smiled. The juice from the cherries stained your lips.

"Then rest." His hand rubbed your hip and thigh. "Do you mind if Ser Duncan attends to me?"

You shook your head, stroking Dunk's face as one cheek pressed against your thigh. "Not at all. I will merely enjoy the show."

"The Gods truly broke the mold with you, good lady wife," Lyonel whispered.

"Never forget it," you quipped playfully before tugging on the golden chain between the piercings, eliciting a soft hiss from him, then helped Dunk from his breeches.

He left you with a searing kiss before turning his attentions to Dunk. You hugged a pillow against your naked body as you watched Dunk dribble and smear oil between your husband's cheeks. Lyonel stretched like a lithe panther on his belly.

"Milord," Dunk whispered, pressing a kiss to the back of Lyonel's neck. His hand tangled in the damp mess of Lyonel's curls as he lined up his cock. You squeezed the pillow tighter against your belly while watching Dunk's leaking, engorged cock sink deep into your husband, disappearing between his pert arse.

They kept his position for a while before switching to another, with Lyonel's legs braced against Dunk's shoulders and the Laughing Storm's knees nearly to his ears. The golden chain was clasped between Dunk's teeth as he rolled his hips, driving himself deeper into Lyonel. It was truly a beautiful sight to behold. The heat and desire between them bled heavily through the room. Lyonel left a sticky, pearlescent mess over Dunk's belly while the hedge knight's spend leaked from your husband's puffy hole. You tended to them after, wiping them down and kissing them before the three of you curled together.

She had been with her aunt when the Blacks landed, spending most of her days with the Dowager Queen in the wake of her own daughter’s death. She did not mind, knowing herself to be Alicent’s greatest comfort in that period, as well as the fact that she had also gone without the gentle touch of a mother since she was a child. Jaehaera often joined them, blissfully unaware to the fact that her mother had died months earlier, These prayer and tea times that they spent together were sacred to each of them, until, of course, they turned their gaze to the window, where Syrax’s golden scales glittered in the sunlight as she landed in the courtyard with grace.

Aegon had been in no position to defend his crown. He was dragonless and crippled, both at the hand of his younger brother, and Daeron was still leagues away from the capitol with his own dragon Tessarion. As Rhaenyra’s mount snarled and snapped at the white cloaks around her, they were quick to surrender as they took in the sight of the five other dragons circling in the clouds above; there was no way out. 

Those loyal to Rhaenyra were quick to storm the castle, keeping everyone inside until she could discover exactly who her enemies were and who were simply complicit. She had swiftly had Aegon executed, as well as Otto Hightower and the rest of the Small Council, save for Alicent. She’d been far too close with the Dowager Queen to have her publicly humiliated and put to death, and considering that she had admitted to making such a grave mistake in regards to the succession, she instead had her locked in a tower until further notice. Her only request was that she would be joined by her niece and granddaughter until Rhaenyra made other arrangements for them, which Rhaenyra was merciful enough to oblige. She was not a tyrant, and felt no desire to punish the innocent for the crimes of men. 

Nine days they were locked in the tower with no word from Rhaenyra. The white cloaks guarding their door were curt when asked, and only opened the door for their meals and the bare necessities to be delivered to them. It was a tight space, one that was likely intended to be a luxurious cell for one, though luckily Jaehaera took up little to no space at all as she was usually physically attached to either her cousin or grandmother. Both women made an effort to keep the young princess comfortable and entertained in some way, whether it be by telling her stories, singing with her, creating makeshift games for them to play together…they both understood that she was just about that age where everything could suddenly begin making sense, and they wanted to delay her realisation of the situation as much as possible. They spent their nights huddled together for warmth, being so high up in the castle as winter came upon the realm made for some very cold nights, and they were all eager when a handmaiden arrived in the morning with a jug of warm water for them to clean up with. 

Finally, on the tenth day, Alicent had decided she had had enough. She had woken the two younger females up with her banging and yelling at the door, demanding to see the queen. Jaehaera clung to her cousin in fright while Y/n watched in anticipation as the door swung open, one of the guards stepping forward to confront the Hightower woman. 

“It’s been ten days,” she hissed, straightening her back in an attempt to reclaim any authority that she may have left, “I demand to see the queen. Not for myself, but for the sake of my niece and granddaughter, who are being punished for crimes they are wholly innocent of.”

The white cloak rolled his eyes, “You demand? Just as you have for the last ten days? The queen is busy, she has a realm to recover from the war you caused. Now, be quiet, your concerns will be brought to the queen and, no doubt, be dismissed, just as all of your others have.”

The door rattled with the force that he closed it with, leaving Alicent to slouch and huff in disbelief. How had her life turned out this way? How had she fallen so far from her position as queen to become nothing more than a prisoner and a nuisance to her guards? Her shoulders began to tremble as a sob tore its way from her throat, though no tears escaped her watery eyes. This was not sadness or anger that she was feeling, nor was it grief for the loss of each of her children, having received word of Daeron’s death in battle only days earlier. No, this was complete and utter defeat; everything she had ever worked towards gone and abandoned beneath the rubble of utter destruction. Her family and legacy, destroyed because of a simple misunderstanding on her part, because the lords of the realm would see the world in flames before a queen sat the Iron Throne. 

Alicent sank into the embrace of her niece and granddaughter as they gathered around her. She stroked each of their hair, absorbing the last ounces of love that she would be offered in this world. 

“Don’t cry,” she whispered, her thumb caressing Jaehaera’s soft cheek and wiping away the tear that slid down her flesh. In that instant, she was transported back, staring down at her sweet Helaena; what she wouldn’t give to have only a few moments more with her, to have been able to be there and wipe away her tears and stop her from throwing herself to her own demise. “Everything is alright, my little dragon. And you, my sweet niece, you are both going to be alright.”

A few hours later, the three were stirred awake as their guards banged on the door, announcing their oncoming entrance. Alicent bounced to her feet, placing herself between the door and the two younger girls. 

The knight stepped inside the room, his face as stern as ever, “Queen Rhaenyra has decided to be merciful, and meet your demands. Come at once, or not at all.”

The Dowager Queen was quick to motion the other two to follow, taking each of them by the hand as she rushed after the knight. She would not waste the one opportunity to help what was left of her kin as much as she could, even if it meant that she would face a long and desolate future all on her own. 

They finally reached the throne room, and of course Rhaenyra would only agree to meet the remaining members of her enemy’s family in front of the entire court. Y/n noticed immediately how empty the room appeared, numbers dwindling quickly within the Red Keep and leaving only those who bent the knee behind. Some were blindly faithful to the Hightowers, even to their graves, which brought the girl some comfort, but very little considering that it meant that she too would need to abandon every value she’d been taught since she was able to walk. 

The remaining courtiers leered at them, no doubt having the most offensive swears and curses on their tongues, only holding back out of fear of the new queen. Regardless of the fact that they had bent the knee, more than half of these lords were undoubtedly hating the fact that a woman had ascended the throne and only surrendered out of fear. Y/n hoped that Rhaenyra might have some mercy for Jaehaera at least, if not for herself. Of course, she mourned the deaths of her father, grandfather, and cousins; she had once accepted a betrothal to Jason Lannister’s eldest son on behalf of her family’s cause, so there was some evidence against her own odds. The young child, however, could not be blamed for the work of her father by anyone with half a mind, though she has heard that Rhaenyra has grown mad since the death of her son Lucerys, so half a mind may have been too much to ask for. 

Rhaenyra herself looked nothing short of regal as she sat upon the Iron Throne, the crown placed neatly upon her tight nest of braids previously belonging to her father, and her great grandfather before him. Her violet stare was piercing as they grew closer, but her eyes were trained entirely on Alicent as she tucked her niece and granddaughter behind her, jaw shifting back and forth, signalling that she had been grinding her teeth in anticipation. 

Beside her stood her two remaining children, Aegon and Viserys, both seeming far too young to truly understand what sort of position they were currently in, how much power they wielded over the rest of the souls in this room. They were both toddlers when the war began, and Aegon did not appear to be any older than six or seven.

One of her queensguard stepped forward, his booming voice echoing around the partially empty chamber, “You stand before Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm. You come before her as traitors for conspiring with the pretender and usurper Aegon the Weak. How do you answer these claims?”

Alicent let out a shuddered breath, “Yo-your Grace. I–we come before you to humbly ask–”

Rhaenyra let out a pitiful laugh, one that held nothing but malice behind it, “Humbly? You come before me humbly?”

The court let out a unanimous, nervous chuckle, all anticipating the queen’s next words.

Alicent’s face drained of colour, “You-your Grace?”

“Your niece and granddaughter who you hide away from me, they may come to me to ask for mercy, humbly, as you say. They are innocent in all of this, only the pawns of a greater game.” The queen grinned, “A game that all began with you.”

Alicent scoffed, quickly wiping the single tear that fell down her cheek, “Your Grace, last time we spoke face-to-face, we seemed on the same page. Forgive me for my confusion at your animosity.”

“Animosity?” Rhaenyra leaned forward, fingers gripping the arms of her throne in rage, “When we last spoke face-to-face, you swore to me that your usurper of a son had agreed to abdicate, that he was too crippled to even sit his own throne. Then, I come to learn that none of this was true, and that he had instead taken advantage of my lack of preparedness and had instead invaded the territory of my own allies. So explain to me exactly how my anger at your lies and betrayal to be displaced animosity.”

“Rhaenyr–”

“You will address the queen with respect to her title, traitor.” The same member of the queensguard spoke with an edge to his voice.

Alicent sighed, “Your Grace, I come to you, humbly, as a woman of the Faith, as you well know.”

“Faithful enough to take a lover before my father’s corpse was even cold,” She laughed, eyes looking out at the members of her court, who all seemed in shock at the admittance, “The words came from your own lips when we last spoke face-to-face, do not deny it to me now.”

Y/n frowned, tears pooling along her waterline as she tucked Jaehaera into her side. As if to protect her from these slanderous words, although she did not doubt any truth behind them. Her aunt had always been a faithful woman, so chaste it was almost impossible to believe, so it did not surprise her to find the woman who had once been her closest confidant airing out her darkest truths before the court. She did not blame her, despite the fact that she had drilled into her head the importance of virtue and chastity as a woman, but in truth, her aunt was the strongest woman she had ever known; she was forced into a marriage with a man who was more than double her age, taking on the role of queen at sixteen and consequently losing her best friend; she was the mother of four mentally unwell children, one unable to keep his wits about him, one who was tragically more in tune with the world than anyone gave her credit for, one who was maniacally vengeful, and another who grew up away from her protection. Perhaps Daeron had been the luckiest of them, considering how his siblings had fared, but Y/n knew that he had experienced his own ailments that had been kept well concealed on behalf of her great-uncle, the Lord of Oldtown, and she also knew exactly how the lack of a maternal figure affected a child.

Her father had done his best, but often admitted that he wished his sister had been there to help him guide her to womanhood. The septas could only do so much, though they taught her more self hatred than anything. Her great-aunt was a stern woman, and had no patience for her questions or girlish dreams, and pushed her away as much as humanly possible. 

“Your Grace,” her voice carried through the hall before she could even think, all eyes turning to the meek figure hiding behind her aunt and standing before the queen as a traitor. Rhaenyra herself seemed surprised to hear from her, violet eyes staring down at her curiously, “Forgive us. Forgive us for our crimes against your reign. My lady aunt speaks the truth when she tells you that we come to you humbly, three women guilty of nothing but being under the control of the wrong men. You, yourself, have experienced this cruelty, as has every other lady in this room.”

The queen seemed taken by her words, sitting back against her throne thoughtfully, “You mean to appeal to my mercy based on our shared experiences? On our mutual sex? Do you truly consider the three of you completely innocent of any crimes?”

“Innocent?” Y/n asked, “I–”

“Step forward,” the queen commanded, “You muster enough courage to speak before me. Speak to me plainly and speak to me truthfully.” 

Y/n’s gaze fluttered to the ground, then to her aunt, whose eyes were wide and glossy with fear. She shook her head, pleading with her not to speak any further. She inhaled deeply, sliding her palm over the crown of sweet Jaehaera’s head before she finally stepped around her aunt and stood directly before the queen.

“We do not have all day,” the queen smirked.

She clenched her jaw, growing angry with how much the woman seemed to be enjoying their humiliation, “My aunt admitted to her mistake, and yes, she is partially responsible for this war and her lapse in judgement is one that cannot be so easily forgiven or forgotten.”

“There we agree.”

Y/n swallowed harshly, “But you must not forget, that the plan to…usurp your throne existed from the moment that Aegon was born. You better than anyone must know that. While your father lived, you were protected, but he was the only man in this world who has ever wanted you to succeed.”

Rhaenyra gulped, “You speak as if you know me. As if you know my life, or the people in it.”

“I do not mean to offend Your Grace, I only wish you to understand,” a stray tear trickled down her face. “I accepted a betrothal made for me on behalf of my grandsire, a man who you executed for his crimes. I have never met the man I was meant to marry, nor was I ever going to prior to our marriage. I was nothing short of a game piece. My sweet cousin, Jaehaera, barely old enough to understand the fate of her own mother, or her brother before her,” Rhaenyra’s face paled at the mere mention of little Jaehaerys, “I have no doubt that my grandsire had similar plans for her in the coming years. As for my aunt, she has made mistakes, yes, many of which she will never be able to repent for, but she was victim of only the same treatment as I, only she was given to a gentle man rather than one who is known for nothing but his ability to hunt, as I was. If you cannot find the forgiveness to spare myself or my aunt, I beseech you to take your niece into your care, for she is the only one of us completely innocent.”

Rhaenyra averted her gaze, silent for a moment before she finally waved her hand dismissively, “I’ve heard enough. Take them away.”

Y/n kept her eyes steady on the queen as the guards dragged her away. She wanted nothing more than to climb those stairs and weep directly at her feet, to beg for mercy, whether it be through a quick death or a pardon, but instead she held her stare firmly, forcing the queen to stare into her eyes as long as she could before the guards dragged her into the corridor, and back up to the tower.

A day passed before they heard anything more about or from the queen. Servants came and went with their meals and the guards ignored Alicent’s insistent yelling, until the door finally opened and a white cloak stepped inside the small room. 

“The queen has summoned you.”

Alicent stood from the small writing desk near the window, wringing her fingers as she took a nervous step forward. 

“Not you,” his voice stopped her, his gloved finger extending to point at the younger woman who cradled the child on the bed, “Her.”

“Her?” Alicent barked, “No, she is innocent. What could the queen possibly have to speak to her about?”

“That isn’t any of your concern, traitor,” he scowled at her, “She can come with me peacefully, or we can do this the hard way. I have no preference.”

Y/n shared a glance with her aunt, slowly moving to slide Jaehaera out of her lap. The child clung to her, small hands grabbing her tightly as she wept in resistance. 

“Jaehaera, please,” her voice cracked at this rare burst of emotions from her cousin. The girl had been through so much in such a short amount of time, and she didn’t even truly know it. “It will be alright. I will return.”

Alicent peeled the child away from her, cradling the child as she screamed while her niece was grabbed by the arm and roughly led out into the hallway. 

Y/n was shocked when the guards led her away from the throne room and up into the palace where the royal bedchambers were kept. 

“Where are we going?” She asked the guard. 

He ignored her, finally stopping before the largest door in the corridor, a room she had once known as Aegon’s chambers, but were now Rhaenyra’s. A shiver worked its way up her spine as the guard knocked, roughly forcing her through the door when the queen called out for them to enter. 

The queen sat in a large chair before the roaring fireplace, far too close to such heat for anyone but the blood of the dragon. Her eyes were pulled to the door, a small curve appearing on her lips at the sight of the woman in front of her. 

“My lady,” she nodded her head, “You may leave us, Ser Rychard.” 

The guard gave her a slight shove forward out of the way of the door as he closed it behind them, leaving the two women almost alone, save for the handmaidens that scurried around the room around them. 

“Your Grace,” she lowered into a curtsy, “I must ask–”

“Save the pleasantries,” the queen hummed, turning her gaze back to the fire, “You were bold enough earlier. Do not tell me it was all for show.”

“I apologise if I overstepped earlier. I believe that you, of all people, can understand my desperation to preserve my cousin’s innocence.”

“I can,” the queen reached for the cup of wine at her side, taking a slow drink, “I have no intentions of harming a hair on Jaehaera’s head.”

“You mean it?” a weight was lifted from her shoulders, “What will you do with her?”

“I will keep her as my ward. Regardless of her parentage, she is a Targaryen princess and will be raised as such. She will know her histories, and she will have the finest things.”

“And will she know of her mother?”

Rhaenyra paused, “Helaena, for better or worse, is involved in such histories. I want the child to know not only of this war and the losses she has faced, but why they occurred and what we could learn from them.”

Y/n tilted her head and frowned, “No.”

“No?” the queen gasped, disbelief clear in her voice, “Tell me then, what would you have me do.”

“For better or for worse,” the younger woman scoffed, “For better or for worse, Helaena was nothing short of a victim. I understand that you had little relations with your siblings, for reasons I cannot fault you for. But in this war, for better or for worse, there were innocent lives lost on both sides.”

“Helaena took her own life.”

“Out of grief!” Y/n paused after her voice rose in volume, collecting herself before the queen, “Perhaps you had no part in the butchering of her son, as you say, but her death was nothing short of a casualty, I’m sure you can agree.”

Rhaenyra stood from her chair, crossing the room at a frightening speed, “You dare question my involvement in such…such…”

“Senselessness?”

The queen paused, staring at her with that same curious stare she had worn the day before in front of the court. 

“I believe you when you say that you had no part in this, Your Grace,” the young lady diverted her gaze to the floor, “But regardless, the order came from your late husband. The job was done in your name. Jaehaerys was not the first victim of this war, but the pain that this caused Helaena is one that you can almost understand yourself.”

“Do not speak of it.”

“This war has caused nothing but loss and heartache. Do not teach Jaehaera that her brother was butchered with purpose, or that her mother was a tyrant who chose to leave her.” her eyes had glossed over, and her grief had overcome the strength in her voice, “Helaena was special, she mattered, and for better or for worse, she was forced to watch as her son was brutally slain in his own bed, forced to submit to their will in order to not only save her own life, but Jaehaera’s as well. Teach her of her mother, and who she truly was. Do not paint her as a villain or a coward for her choice to leave this world.”

Rhaenyra stared at her for a moment, a rare glimmer of understanding appearing in her violet gaze before she lunged forward, taking the younger woman in her arms. Only then did the Hightower woman allow herself to weep for the first time since her imprisonment. 

The queen soothed her and brushed a hand over her hair. She held her close, allowing the younger woman to nuzzle into her neck as close as she needed. After a few moments, she pulled away, wiping her cheeks dry as she attempted to compose herself.

“My apologies, my queen. I do not know what has overcome me.”

She shook her head, hand coming up to brush her thumb across her cheekbone, “Do not apologise. You are right, I know just as well as anyone that you and Princess Jaehaera are innocent of any crime beyond being born a woman. I understand your grief. The princess will learn of her mother as she was, not as she will be remembered. She will know her brother and she will understand that I had no hand in his death. She will know her father, who, beyond his many faults, I am told, was as attentive a father as he could. When she is older, I will propose a marriage between her and my own son Aegon, so that she may carry on her mother’s legacy as queen consort and finally end this feud.”

“Only if she agrees,” Y/n whispered, “You claim yourself to be different from men like my grandsire. Do not force her into an unwanted marriage.”

Rhaenyra scoffed out a laugh, “You are a demanding little thing, aren’t you?”

The younger lady let out a small giggle of her own, glossy eyes staring into those of the queen. Neither of them took any notice of the curious stares of the servants around them as their foreheads came together, noses brushing as Rhaenyra teased her lips against the younger lady’s. She smiled at the surprise on her face, testing the waters once more before finally pressing their lips firmly together. 

Y/n was still, unsure of how to react. She had not been so intimate with anyone before, let alone another woman. She had been raised as a woman of the Faith, which warned against the dangers of such temptations, but there was something so alluring about the silver-haired woman that made her not want to pull away.

The kisses shared were soft at first, but slowly grew in passion as Rhaenyra took a handful of the younger woman’s hair in her hand, guiding her mouth along with her own. 

One of the servants cleared their throat, clearly uncomfortable with the display. Rhaenyra pulled away just enough to turn her head.

“Your Grace, your bath is ready.”

“Thank you,” she nodded, “leave us.”

The handmaidens made quick work of fleeing the queen’s chambers, no doubt eager to spread such gossip through the staff of the Red Keep. Once they were gone and the door was closed behind her, Rhaenyra turned her attention back to the starry-eyed girl in front of her.

“Take off your clothes.”

“Your Grace?”

“You heard me. I imagine you have been longing for a proper bath after days in confinement. Take off your clothes, and get in the tub.” The girl stared at her for a moment, causing some concern to appear  in Rhaenyra’s eyes, “Forgive me. You may leave if you wish. I will send some servants to your quarters for you to bathe in private if you so choose. However, I would like you to stay.”

At a loss for words, she mumbled out her most pressing concern, “What of the servants? Word will spread quickly, especially among suitors.”

“Suitors,” the queen snorted, “you complain of betrothals one minute, and demand one the next.”

The lady shook her head, “Not for me. Forgive me, Your Grace, but I had assumed you would wish to remarry once the throne was secured.”

“I have no desire to remarry. I have been widowed twice over, and not a single one of my lovers outlived this war. I do not wish for more children, or for company offered to me by any man. I cannot deny that we would face ridicule, but if you were to become my lover, I can protect you from unwanted betrothals and you will never face hardship again in your lifetime so long as I can protect you. Regardless of your answer, you are more than welcome at my court, and I encourage you to speak to the princess of her family, for no one could do her mother justice as I know you could.”

Y/n was stunned at the sudden change in demeanour. The woman who had called them before the court to interrogate and humiliate them for their parentage was now offering her a place in her bed. The woman who had only just gotten cross with her was here offering her a permanent position not only in her court as a subject, but also as an equal within these rooms.

“Say the word,” Rhaenyra breathed into her flesh, dragging the bump of her nose down the column of her throat, “And you will be free of me. I shall never ask you of this again. Or, take off your clothes, and you may have everything you could ever want.”

Y/n inhaled sharply before a nervous smile appeared on her lips, “Help me with my laces?”

Rhaenyra smirked, pressing one more kiss to her lips as she took her by the hand, leading her further into her bedchambers to where the large wooden tub had been prepared. She forced her to turn, making quick work of the laces at the back of her gown and helping her strip. Luckily, the gown was rather plain, simple blue cotton over her shift, and she was bare before the queen within moments. 

Rhaenyra’s eyes scanned up and down her figure, a satisfied smile rising to her lips, “Your beauty exceeds my expectations, my love.”

The shift from enemy to lover was swift, so quick that Y/n felt like her head would begin to spin. She felt heat rise to her cheeks as she gingerly allowed the queen to take her by the hand, guiding her to step into the steaming water and sink into the warmth. She sighed at the feeling, having only had access to a small basin of lukewarm water between the three of them for the past fortnight. 

“Would you like some wine?” Rhaenyra asked her, already beginning to pour her a cup before she answered.

“It couldn’t hurt,” Y/n answered bashfully, accepting the cup and taking a long sip from it before allowing Rhaenyra to set it aside. 

Rhaenyra allowed Y/n to bathe in silence, sitting at her side and helping to scrub the oils away from her scalp with tender hands, manicured nails massaging the gentle skin and causing the girl to tip her head back and let out a small noise of contentment.

After she was cleaner than she had ever felt in her life, Rhaenyra’s hands moved down the back of her neck, softly massaging the tense muscle until she reached her shoulders. They then pushed down her back as far as she could reach before her flesh met the side of the tub, and began crawling around her front. Her nails tickled the flesh over her ribs, settling just beneath the slouched underside of her breasts, but made no effort to crawl any higher. Her soft pink lips ghosted up the side of her neck, inhaling the fresh scent of the oils in the tub. 

“Tell me to stop,” the queen whispered, “And we will never speak of this again.”

The younger woman exhaled shakily, slowly turning her head to come face-to-face with the queen. Their noses brushed one another for a moment as Rhaenyra waited with bated breath as she waited for her answer.

“Do not stop.”

The words were out of her mouth no more than a second before Rhaenyra’s lips descended on her own, fingers crawling up and firmly cupping her breasts in her palms. The younger woman gasped in surprise, but quickly relaxed into the queen’s touch as she rolled her already pebbled nipples between her fingers, completely disregarding the fact that the long sleeves of her gown were now doused in the water. One hand began to descend further into the water, tracing across her ribs, the soft pudge of her belly, and just barely reaching the thatch of curls that just barely protected her modesty. 

She pulled away with a gasp, “Wha-what are you doing?”

Recognition appeared in Rhaenyra’s eyes, her features softening, “You are a maiden?”

The girl shook her head, “My great-aunt once told me that if I was not chaste until my wedding night, I would be damning not only myself, but my entire house as well.” 

“If that were true, I can promise you that many of these great houses would be damned, my own included,” Rhaenyra scoffed, “With a man, it can be painful, but nice. I admit, I am not quite as experienced with my own sex as I am the opposite, but I find it just as if not even more enjoyable. Women are more…in-tune with one another.”

She stared at the queen inquisitively, “What do you mean?”

“You would understand what feels nice to you based on your personal explorations, just as I do.”

“Explorations?”

A small chuckle escaped Rhaenyra’s throat as she pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek, “My sweet, you are truly so innocent, aren’t you. Do not tell me you have never pleasured yourself.”

The girl shook her head, brows furrowed. Pleasure? What could she mean? Everyone had told her that coupling with her lord husband would be unpleasant for the first while, but may begin to feel nice after some time, but no one had ever mentioned anything of her own pleasure. 

“Then I would humbly request that I be the first to show you,” Rhaenyra smirked at her, “just say the word.”

Her nimble fingers played with the hair between her legs, tracing over it playfully and laughing to herself at the jump of the younger woman’s hips under the slightest of touches. Her thighs clamped together, this familiar feeling pooling between her thighs becoming more overwhelming than ever; she would normally wait this out, clean the wetness away and carry on, but she did not think that the queen was going to allow her to this time.

“Yes,” she uttered out, mouth feeling impossibly dry, “yes, please, Your Grace.”

The title sent a shiver down Rhaenyra’s spine, perhaps something to be reused at another time when she did not need to be so gentle with her. 

“In here, we are equals, my love. You may call me Rhaenyra, or whatever you wish.”

The queen’s name rolled off her tongue fluidly, and Rhaenyra revelled in the sound. She finally pulled away, standing to her full height and extending a hand to the woman and carefully helping her step out of the cooling water and onto the stone flooring. She led her back to where the fire continued to roar within its hearth, and turned her back to her. 

“Help me?” She called over her shoulder, moving her long braid to the side as the younger woman eagerly helped her undress.

The young Hightower woman stared in awe at the sight of her queen, appearing like a goddess before her as the firelight flickered off of her milky-white flesh. Rhaenyra was nothing short of beautiful, if that word was even suitable for a woman so divine. Y/n felt an overwhelming urge to bend to her every whim and desire.

“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” she whispered as Rhaenyra turned back to face her, chests brushing against one another with every heaving breath. 

“Have you seen many women in such a state, my lady?” Rhaenyra teased, an easy smile appearing on her lips.

The younger woman looked down bashfully, “I have not. But I doubt any other could rival you.”

Rhaenyra shook her head, kissing her so slowly it felt more like heavy breaths falling from their lips than anything else, “But you do, my sweet.”

Rhaenyra pulled her impossibly closer, deepening their kiss until her tongue was able to familiarise itself with the interior of her mouth. Y/n’s gentle fingers found their place on the queen’s jaw, holding her close as Rhaenyra reached around her, one hand gliding up and down her back while the other shamelessly grasped at her bottom, softly massaging one cheek in her grasp and smirking at the squeak of surprise it drew from her new lover. 

“Lay down,” she breathed into her, guiding the younger woman down to lay flat on the luxurious white fur rug in front of the hearth, wasting no time in dropping down to lay on her side next to her. “I need you to relax, I have nothing but pleasure in store for you, my sweet.”

Her pink lips traced down the length of Y/n’s throat, quickly descending further down to engulf her pert nipple between her lips, tugging and nipping at it as gasps and whimpers began escaping her lover. She moved to the other breast, taking her time in worshipping the flesh and nipples alike.

“How does this feel?” She asked between kisses pressed to her sternum, “I wish to hear you always, my love.”

“G-good. I cannot–I cannot explain it, but…”

“I understand, sweet girl,” Rhaenyra kissed her lips again this time, the hand that had once been resting on Y/n belly had slid further down to rest between her thighs once more, fingers tracing delicate patterns on the skin, “Will you allow me to feel you?”

The younger woman hesitantly nodded, breath hitching as Rhaenyra parted her thighs and finally breached the curls with her fingertips, a soft sigh falling from her lips as she felt the wetness pooling at her core.

“Feel this?” She asked, moving her fingers around to collect some of her slick before drawing small circles on her sensitive pearl, “feel how much you desire me? Nothing could stop me from having you, my sweet.”

For a split second, that same dark glint appeared in Rhaenyra’s eyes, the one she had the day prior in the Throne Room. For better or for worse, Rhaenyra was a Targaryen, all bound to have some darkness within them. If she were not so disposed at the moment, Y/n may have felt a sense of fear, but instead it only furthered her desire.

“Oh,” she jolted at Rhaenyra’s movement, legs widening at the warming sensation that appeared in the pit of her tummy, “my love,” Rhaenyra grinned at the name, “I feel…”

“Good?” Rhaenyra asked.

The girl nodded enthusiastically, tilting her head back into the plush rug as Rhaenyra dared to breach her entrance with her fingertips. Rhaenyra watched her face for any discomfort as her finger easily sank into her sweet heat, glad to find none even as she inserted another.

Y/n let out a cry of protest as Rhaenyra removed her fingers entirely, bringing them up to her lips and sucking every drop of her juices off of her digits. Y/n watched in awe, her kiss-swollen lips parted in surprise at the vulgarity of it all. 

“You taste divine,” Rhaenyra cooed, moving to kneel between her parted thighs, “and look how beautiful,” the girl let out a whimper as she traced her finger around the entirety of her cunt, “I fear I may perish if I do not taste you this instant.”

She left no room for questioning or protest as she settled on her belly, back arched with her ass high in the air behind her. Y/n only wished she could step out of her body for a moment to admire the sight from behind, but was quickly brought out of her thoughts as Rhaenyra dragged her tongue slowly up the entirety of her core, from taint to clitoris. 

She pushed herself up on her elbows in surprise, thighs clamping shut around Rhaenyra’s head as she began to alternate between licking around her entrance and suckling on her sweet, swollen pearl of nerves. The first true moan of pleasure was dragged from her throat as the queen sucked her clit, tugging at it with her lips for a moment before letting it slip back beneath its hood with a soft gushing noise. Rhaenyra chuckled, taking great pleasure in noticing how wet and responsive the young lady was to her touch, finally conceding and nuzzling her face into her wetness and focusing on bringing her to the brink.

She was not far off, having never felt such pleasure before in her life. She supported herself with one hand behind her, back arching into her touch as the other hand planted itself on the back of Rhaenyra’s head. Her eyes suddenly widened in shock, the feeling in the pit of her stomach far too strong to fight off any longer.

“Oh, oh,” she panted, “Your G–Rhaenyra, you must stop. I think I am going to–oh!”

Her face burned with embarrassment, thighs closing together as Rhaenyra pulled away. She could not believe that she had just…the feeling had been so similar to that of when she needed to use the chamber pot. Had she truly just peed on the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms?

But Rhaenyra was dry as she returned to her side, save for the wetness smeared from her chin to her nose and across both cheeks. She was quick to press an eager kiss to her lips, allowing the girl to taste herself on her tongue as she smoothed her hand over her soft belly comfortingly. 

“You are so lovely,” the queen mused, “every part of you. Now, let me clean you–”

“No,” the lady protested, “let me…I wish to return the…”

Rhaenyra grinned shamelessly, “You wish to pleasure me?”

She nodded bashfully, feeling so vulnerable yet so connected at the same time as she came down from her own orgasm. Rhaenyra nodded, shifting herself across the rug once more until she was facing the opposite direction, stroking her lover’s hair gently.

“Tap my leg if this is too much. Just lay back, and allow me to take my pleasure from you.”

Rhaenyra quickly swung her leg over the girl’s head, straddling her face as she slowly lowered herself. 

“Stick out your tongue, my love. Remember what you liked, kisses and licks, remember?”

Y/n nodded, brushing her own hair away from her sweaty cheeks and following her instructions as the queen lowered herself onto her face, a low moan rumbling from her jaw as her dripping cunt settled onto Y/n’s awaiting tongue. 

Rhaenyra gripped her hair, slowly beginning to grind her hips down against her as the girl lapped eagerly at her core, moaning at the musky taste of the queen’s most intimate centre. She did her best to follow the movements that Rhaenyra had administered on her own core, licking and kissing until she was eventually engulfing the entirety of her cunt in her hot mouth, slurping and sucking at her juices. Rhaenyra laughed in surprise at this, grinding her hips harder.

“I had no idea you could be so greedy, my love,” she chuckled, rolling her head back in pleasure, “Oh, yes, yes.”

The girl was spurred on by the praise, testing the barrier of her clenching hole with her tongue as Rhaenyra rocked her hips harder and harder, forcing her clit down on the girl’s nose. Her words of praise became slurred as her movements sped up, loud yells of pleasure leaving her, no doubt revealing to the guards outside her chambers exactly what was happening between the queen and her prisoner.

Rhaenyra, having gone without touch since long before she invaded the capitol, was almost as quick to finish as her sweet maiden had been, moaning in pleasure as thick drips of white fluid oozed from her tight hole, covering the entire lower half of the younger woman’s face. 

The queen was pleased to find a grin on her lover’s face as she climbed off of her, quick to greet her with a kiss of dying passion, tiredness overtaking each of them as they laid together, hands wandering across naked skin. 

“Stay with me tonight,” the queen murmured, “and I will bring you so much pleasure you will not even remember your own name.”

Realisation dawned on the Hightower maiden, remembering Jaehaera and Alicent locked in that tower while she could sleep in the queen’s own bed that very night. Guilt gnawed at her conscience, though she would never find it within herself to regret any of what had transpired between them that night. 

“I cannot,” she frowned, “Jaehaera, she wept when I was escorted away. I promised her I would be back.”

A soft smile appeared on her face, “You care for her as your own. I admire that.”

Y/n shrugged, “As I have said, she is innocent in all of this. She does not even understand why she does not see her mother anymore.”

Rhaenyra pursed her lips, “You and the princess will be given proper chambers on the morrow, just allow me some time to arrange it. I would not dream of sending her back to that nursery, so she may stay in the rooms near my own children out of convenience for the maids. You, however, my love, will have the queen’s chambers.”

Her eyes bugged out of her head, “The–Rhaenyra I cannot–”

“You can, and you will.” She pressed, “as I have told you, I have no desire to remarry or take another man to bed. You are the closest I will ever have to another spouse, I swear it to you now. If I could take you to wife and make you consort at my side, I would.”

The Hightower woman felt warmth spread across her cheeks, but a gnawing question tugged at her, unable to deny herself of seeking the answer. 

“And my aunt, the Queen Dowager?”

Rhaenyra’s face hardened, “I shared a love with Alicent as a child, one that I have never been able to replace. For that, and for your sake and Jaehaera’s, I swear to be merciful to her. However, she began this war, and plotted against me from the moment my sweet Jace took his first breath. For that, I cannot forgive. She will be treated well, but she will remain in confinement for the rest of her days, as she has requested in exchange for your own freedom.”

Y/n was silent for a moment, knowing that this truly was the best outcome possible for her aunt at this point, “Will we be allowed to visit her? I knew Helaena enough, but Jaehaera would benefit most from Alicent, who knew her better than anyone.”

She pondered for a moment before coming up with her response, “So long as she bends the knee and accepts her fate, I will grant you visitation once a week, and you may pray together if you must.”

Y/n nodded, leaning in and trailing her own sweet kisses up Rhaenyra’s jaw and to her lips, “Thank you, my love.”

She jumped in surprise as Rhaenyra’s hand enclosed around her throat, applying no pressure except for the slight press of her thumb on her jugular as she pulled her in to meet her kiss once more, this one slower and lazier than the others as their lips dragged across one another’s softly.