The Icefyre Conquest 30

“We have no idea of the Ironborn’s force,” Robb muttered as they sat in his room in Seagard, the sound of waves crashing against the rocks b

“We have no idea of the Ironborn’s force,” Robb muttered as they sat in his room in Seagard, the sound of waves crashing against the rocks below, “The King had imposed a restriction on their shipbuilding, but numerous times they have raided the mainland for wood and resources, and they also harass the ships leaving the Western docks, capturing any easy ones they find.”

“They are also going to attack the mainland,” Visenya muttered, “they know since the last time, that letting the other kingdoms land on their Islands will defeat them easily, and I doubt Balon is going to let this one be as easy as the one before.”

“That is why we reinforced every town on our way here. The whole western coast of the North has been given more soldiers than they ever had,” I shook my head, remembering the thousands of soldiers that had been sent to fortify and hold the North, especially locations like the Barrowtown, the Wolfswood, and Torrhen’s Square, “That is why Father left a whole garrison and two at Moat Caitlin. If the Ironborn somehow make it to that keep and man it properly, our way back would be cut, and they would choke us in the marshes.”

“Lord Glover’s brother has a lot riding on his shoulders,” Robb pointed out as he took a gulp of the ale they had spirited away from the supplies—the Heir to the Starks he may be, but Robb still wasn’t above the decrease of his Lord Father, who had strictly prohibited alcohol for us all tonight, “Deepwood Motte protects the Wolfswood from the western invasion, and the forest will give great cover to the Ironborn if they make it to the woods. “

“That is if they get past the initial forces along the coast and rivers,” I shook my head, giving him a smile as I raised the parchment in my hands for all to see, “Now enough about war. Our dear brother here is about to become a father! How great is that, aye?”

“You stole my letters?!” Robb's eyebrows narrowed as he lunged for the letter in my hands, but I blocked him with my feet and pushed him back, laughing at his disgruntled, sullen expression.

“Not as much as stole them as you dropped it on your way back from father’s tent yesterday,” Visenya rolled her eyes, swiping away the sealed letter from my hands before she threw it at Robb’s face, and we hadn’t opened it yet. Jon is just being a brat, though, we did overhear Father being congratulated by Karstark this morning.”

“Wai-Wait, he is not japing?!” the soon-to-be father whispered, his eyes widening again as they fell to the letter on his legs, picking it up slowly and unsealing it, “Al-Alys is pregnant?!”

“Well, she hasn’t had her moonblood for the last two moons at least, and Maester Luwin and Lady Stark both seem to think she is carrying twins, based on how quickly her belly is growing.”

“Thought of any names?” I asked, taking another swig of the ale, leaning back against Visenya’s legs as I raised the mug in Robb’s direction, “Please don't say another Bra-...Lyanna!”

“Alys and I were thinking Cregan if we had a boy, or Sara if we had a girl,” he replied after a pause, sighing as he leaned back and looked at the ceiling. Ever since the letter of Brandon’s death had come, all of us had avoided the topic of our little brother like a plague. Even now, I could see the tightening of Robb’s fist as he closed his eyes and cleared his throat, a weak smile coming over his face, “Fuckin-I don't even have words. I am barely out of boyhood, and already will be a father. How i-and I have a war to fight!”

“Well, it all starts tomorrow, Lord Stark,” I bowed, giving one hand to Visenya to hold as Robb rolled his eyes at me, “Don’t let your drunk behind forget to take Ice in the morning, or Father will tan both our hides.”

“Don’t stay up too late thinking about Dacey!” the stupid ginger called out in return as the doors closed behind us, and I sighed as the guards on duty snorted quietly. The fact that the Mormont daughter and I had something going on was a topic of a lot of japes between Robb and Visenya, and unfortunately, they both had no tact of what and where they were saying things.

“Come on,” Visenya laughed, turning around to raise an eyebrow at me as she walked backward through the corridor, “Are you going to go meet Dacey?”

“I’d rather not,” I shook my head. Things with Dacey were….still silent, for the lack of a better word. She was not avoiding me like before, there was also no real effort to talk from her either, with most of our conversations ending in awkward silence. While I hoped to one day get things back to how they were—and no, I didn’t mean the fucking, though I did miss it, “Where are Ghost and Dusk?”

“They are with Father,” she whispered quietly, nodding her head in the direction where the Lord of the North was staying, before a smirk came over her face and she drew a little closer to me, “Now, what do you say about us enjoying the fact that Lord Mallister somehow forgot to house us in the Keep, and we have a tent to our own in the camp outside?”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Are the ships and boats ready?”

“They are,” Kevan nodded, walking behind his brother as they ascended the steps of Casterly Rock, moving towards the Lord’s solar, “How was your trip to the North? Did the bastard really do all that Pycelle said in his letter?”

“The bastard…is much more than we had thought him to be,” TYwin responded slowly, pushing open the doors to his solar and swiftly walking over to his seat, taking in the neatly stacked parchments and letters upon his table, “He is smarter than we gave him credit for.”

“So, where is Nightfall?” he asked, looking in the direction of Jaime’s rooms, “Is it going to be reforged before it begins?”

“Nightfall, is still with Jon Snow,” came the reply from his brother, and Kevan blinked at the words, unsure if he had heard them right, or if his brother was unexpectedly making a joke. However, pouring them both a cup of Arbor Gold, Tywin continued, “I summoned the boy to my rooms in Winterfell, and he arrived promptly, without alerting his Lord Father or anyone else. He had…more confidence in his gait and words than any bastard I have ever seen or talked to. The boy had the balls to bargain the price of his sword, and despite the rewards I dangled in front of him, Snow refused to part with his sword.”

“Wa-Wait,” he mumbled, shutting his eyes for a moment as he straightened up and looked Tywin in his eyes, “So, you are telling me…that a bastard had the temerity to negotiate with you, bargain with a Great Lord like a common vendor, and then refuse the order altogether?”

“He has promised to give me a valyrian steel sword at the end of this war,” Tywin shook his head, looking out of the window towards the sea, “He has cited himself to be as honorable and truthful as Eddard Stark, and has demanded four hundred thousand dragons as a reward.”

“And you believe him?”

“He has no choice but to obey his own words. He has merely bought himself time, not some measure of control over my possession of the sword,” Tywin scoffed, “A High Lord’s bastard adn educated he may be, but Jon Snow is still not safe from a stray arrow to his guts, or his sister getting kidnapped. And the boy knows it as well as I do. All it would take is a reward on his head, or just a couple of Clegane’s dogs to do the deed if he turns back on his words.”

“And Stark?”

“What of him?” he raised an eyebrow, taking a sip from his goblet, “He will cry and raise fingers again, but without any proof, Robert and Arryn won’t do anything, and neither can he. By the end of this war, House Lannister will have Brightroar again, and my son will wield it.”

“And after him?” Kevan asked, clearing his throat as he looked to the side, “Has the King agreed to let Jaime step down from his post?”

“He has not. Called Jaime the example others should follow, as he at least ‘slew a Targaryen while the other did fuck all’” his Lord brother growled out after a moment of silence, adn Kevan winced slightly at the anger audible in Tywin’s voice. There were only three things that got on Tywin’s nerves, and unfortunately, those were the three things he was most obsessed about in his opinion.

His legacy, or rather, that of the Lannister name.

Jaime. Cersei, and Tyrion.

The first was his ideal heir. Handsome, brave, and skilled with the blade like none but the Sword of Morning. He was everything a Lord would desire in his heir and firstborn. Yet, at that tourney, everything had changed when Aerys named Jaime a Kingsguard, all in a bid to slight his once friend. And it had worked, masterfully. Even though he had been taken by the Stranger in the most fitting of ways, Aerys’ madness still plagued Tywin like a ghost, keeping away his son and heir away from him under a white cloak.

Cersei…Cersei was a tough one. She was smart, beautiful, and now the Queen. Again, everything a father would want for his daughter. But yet, Kevan knew, and so did Tywin, that she thought herself much too smart than her own good. Even in Casterly Rock, they had seen multiple times, how her solution to every problem was to silence it in a show of force. Oh, she wouldn’t make a scene, no, that would have been a problem with Tywin looming over as the Lord of Casterly Rock.

But what she would do was, sick a guard or two after the said problem. No less than a dozen servants had disappeared over the years like this. And now, with her children all being Baratheons and no clear indication of Robert letting Tommen continue the Lannister line—or let Jaime leave King’s Landing—Tywin’s options were limited to only two.

Either choose one of his sons to continue the House.

Or let Tyrion assume the role of the Heir.

And honestly, in his personal opinion, it wasn’t too bad. Sure, Tywin’s youngest had a thing for throwing away coin at whores and liquor, a tad too much in his opinion, but the lad was smart. He had a brain for numbers and politics that Jaime had never even remotely displayed, and he had personally witnessed just how much of a silver tongue Tyrion could be when he put his mind to it. But yet, he was a dwarf. And a dwarf could not be Tywin’s Heir, let alone pne that swallowed his wife. Tyrion had never openly spoken out against Tywin’s silent, agonizing treatment of him, but Kevan had always noticed the embers of defiance and anger in the little boy’s—well, now a man’s—eyes. But yet, his brother kept Tyrion at a distance, providing him with all a Lannister of the main line deserved, but never acknowledging the boy’s existence or even their relationship.

A knight.

A woman.

And a dwarf.

That was his brother’s legacy.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Faster! Fas-mmph!” Ellaria’s voice was muffled as she felt her face get pushed into the wall, as Oberyn pulled up her hips even more, pounding her harder and faster with each moment as his right hand slapped her ass. Standing atop the lighthouse in Dragonstone and fucking against the cold stones while the sun had still not risen wasn’t one of her plans when they had set out with a thousand and a half Dornish Spears, but Oberyn had his quirks…and well, who was she to refuse when her lover was this good of a fuck?

“You like this, don’t you Ellaria? Getting fucked out in the open like a common whore?” her man grunted, his cock stilling inside her as he grabbed her hair and pulled her head back, their heavy breathing echoing in the lighthouse for a minute. Feeling the need burn through her body, and her orgasm right around the corner, Ellaria moaned and tried to move her hips, to get Oberyn back into fucking her cunt into an orgasmic puddle, but her lover just grabbed her waist and held her in place. Bending her back even more, the Prince of Dorne took a deep breath of her sweaty, heady smell, his long fingers slowly creeping down the curve of her ass, before coming around to slowly touch her clit, “This is what you crave, don't you? Getting treated like just a set of holes to be fucked by your Lord?! Nothing but a sla-”

“My Prince!”

Both of them stilled instantly, and Ellaria had to bite her lips to stifle the whimper that threatened to escape her throat as Oberyn pitched her clit, pulling out of her pussy slowly. “Yes Daeron?” he called out, turning hsi head to look at the darkness of the staircase, the silhouette of his squire visible just past the brazier that lined the walls. His hand still gripping her hair, Oberyn pulled her closer so that her lips touched his chest, the fingers that had been touching her cunt moved back to grip her perfect ass, squeezing her flesh as she silently went to work. She smiled at the sigh that left him as he felt her leave wet kisses and lick all over his front as she slowly descended to her knees, Oberyn looked back at Daeron, “I think I told you that I wasn’t to be disturbed.”

“The Baratheon has sent summons for you as the Master of Ships,” came the reply from Daeron as Ellaria’s lips slowly, torturously kissed his nipples, before licking her way down his abs, moaning a the muscles she could feel on her tongue. Her hands rose up to grip his hot, turgid cock as it touched her breasts, the fact that it was still wet from her previous orgasms making her breathe in deeply, the smell of their combined sex driving her lust to new heights, “The ships are ready to set sail, and the Stormlands, as well as the Dornish army, is ready to march.”

“Very we-fuck-Daeron, go and get my daughters to our ship,” Oberyn ordered, only to pause in between as her tongue ran over the tip of his dick, her lips pursing around the angry purple head spit and he brown juices running down his member as she moaned, taking him deep inside her throat in one fell swoop. Her fingers trailed down his balls with featherlight touches, and Ellaria hummed around his dick as it sank into her mouth. Moaning softly as she felt his fingers tangle themselves in her sweat-soaked, dark hair, Ellaria gagged the next moment as Oberyn pressed himself deeper inside her, her nose coming to rest against his shaved pelvis. She pursed her lips around his dick tightly as he pulled her head back, her tongue moving around his member before she reached his tip, and met hsi eyes with her own lust-filled ones. The next moment, he drove her down his cock without mercy, driving past into her throat in a moment as she gagged heavily, not caring for her breath or comfort in the slightest.

The next few minutes were filled with nothing but the sound of Ellaria getting her throat wrecked and used like a cheap silver whore. The sounds of her gagging and choking on Oberyn’s dick echoed in the silence of the lighthouse’s top, making her eyes roll back into her head as her fingers swiftly returned to her throbbing, needy cunt. Feeling it gush like a waterfall while her paramour used her throat like his personal cum-dump, she pushed her fingers deep inside her cunt, the wet sounds of her throat getting plundered getting joined by the moist weeping of her fingers thrusting inside herself.

“Fuck, you are such a good cocksucker Ellaria,” Oberyn grunted, moving his hips faster and faster with each stroke, and she hummed around his cock at the praise, feeling her orgasm come closer with each passing moment—and if the tightening of Oberyn’s hands on her skull was any indication, then her love was also about to release his seed. A second later, his member swelled inside her throat, and Ellaria choked as she felt him grind himself against her face, his hands tensing upon her hair, “Fuck, here it comes Ellaria. Swallow it all, you bloody minx!”

Her eyes rolled in the back of her head as she felt him empty his load inside her spasming throat, gagging and milking every drop of seed in his balls as she pinched her clit at the same time. Her thighs shuddered and her whole body trembled as she reached her own peak, feeling spurt after spurt of Oberyn’s load travel down her throat. Her juices dripped down her fingers, adn Ellaria clinched her toes as she moaned, sealing her lips around the cock in her mouth as Oberyn slowly pulled back. Draining every drop of his seed as his cock left her lips. Ellaria moaned lowly and opened her mouth, showing her paramour the kind of whore she was, and once she saw him looking down at her with that expectant look in his eyes, she swallowed the load in her mouth in one gulp.

“Tha-that was good,” he huffed, picking up his breeches and wearing them, as she stood up shakily and picked up her dress, the lacy, cut-open fabric snugly fitting against her curves and showing off her body, the rising rays of the Sun shining upon her bronze skin. Fastening his shirt around himself and picking up his sword, Oberyn grinned at her and gave her a searing kiss, puling her close to his frame, before he pulled back and pecked her forehead, “Come love, time to get some blood on my spear.”

“Hilarious,” she drolled as he turned around, fixing her hair and walking after him, “What got you in such a mood though?”

“Because, my love, I received a letter a few hours ago from one of my spies in Lannisport,” he explained, picking up a torch adn lightning their way down the stairs, “Amory Lorch is dead. Stabbed by falling icicles of all things in the cold North. Apparently, there were more than half a hundred holes in his body, and he was so badly mangled that they couldn't even carry it past the Neck, where he was buried in a cemetery.”

“Tha-That’s unexpected,” she mumbled, shuddering as she imagined the way the fat man’s corpse must have looked, her eyes straying towards the rising sun for a minute, before she caught sight of the ships in the bay, “How many soldiers are going by sea?”

“All of them,” he answered, fingering the hilt of his sword as he too looked out of the windows at the ships congregated in the Bay, “We only have a thousand soldiers, and our own ships and boats are enough to carry us all. I’d rather use any of Baratheon’s things if I have to.”

“You are still salty about that tourney are you?”

“I am not salty,” he scoffed, giving her a look over his shoulder, “I just didn’t like the fact that he ignored my handshake after it. Dour asshole that he is.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Margaery! Dammit lass, where are you?!”

“Out here, Grandmother!” she called out, petting a sparrow softly as it fed on the seeds in her palm, her eyes following its little beak and the soft chirps it made. Behind her, she heard Willas sigh as the taps of her grandmother’s cane came closer and closer, and she gave him an impish smile a she turned towards Ollena Tyrell, “Willas said you were going for a ride!”

“I would, if I were fifty years younger,” she rolled her eyes in response, smacking the Heir of Highgarden on his hand, “But alas, men don’t me attractive anymore.”

“I don’t think that is the riding she spoke of,” her brother tiredly groaned, putting a hand over his forehead, while Margaery could only gasp at the words spoken by her Grandmother. She knew her grandmother had an unfiltered tongue, and her sense of humor was more crass than the sailors that came through the Reach…but still, each time Ollena muttered one profanity or the other, it never failed to make her cringe or blush.

“Has your father sent any word of what is happening?”, she raised an eyebrow, sitting down slowly upon one of the plush chairs, her twin guards taking up positions at the entrance of the balcony, “and what of Tarly? Has he moved his ass fast enough?”

“The gathered army of the Reach is traveling up the Ocean Road,” he answered, looking towards the north-west momentarily, before he turned back towards Ollena, “guardposts and camps have been set up along the Mander and Rowe. Father too, has reached Crag, from where he shall gather with the fleet and sail towards the Iron Islands along with the Redwynes and Oldtown Fleets.”

“How many men are we sending?”

“Three thousand to the Islands, and three thousand in reserve,” Willas answered, picking up an apricot and throwing it towards his eagle, the giant bird perched on the railing, “a thousand of those are just carrying supplies and spare weapons though.”

“Are these many men enough? Last time we sent more, didn’t we?” she asked, looking from her grandmother to her brother, “Five thousand men?”

“The Ironborn can at maximum raise about twenty thousand swords,” Willas answered, shrugging as he leaned back into his chair and gave her a small smile, “We are one of the six kingdoms, and according to Father, Eddard Stark set out with more than enough swords and anger to deal with most of them. Why waste more coin than we have to? Even the Dornish are sending a thousand spears directly to the Iron Islands along with the Royal Fleet and the Stormlands’ forces.”

“And what of the women that were rescued by the bastard,?” she asked, remembering the way her father had practically flown through the castle the morning that letter from the Capital had come. Within minutes, he had gathered a small retinue, and supplies for months before riding off the Rose Road along with Garlan and Loras.

“That is…undecided yet,” Ollena shook her head slowly, grimacing as she saw the frown on her face, “I understand your concerns Margaery, but this is not the North, and not even the West to a degree. We are governed by the decrees of the Faith, and unless the Starry Sept removes its decrees and the Septs across the land say it, those women have been deemed impure. If we attempt to cross the Seven-pointed Star and its so-called champions, things will be very difficult for us. Especially with Hightower and Tarly.”

“It is times like this I like the First Men culture more and more,” Willas sighed, and as she looked at the sparrow in her hands, the Rose of Highgarden found herself agreeing with her brother.