The Shadow of Winterfell Chapter 15

Eddard Stark

“A disaster, Ned, that’s what this is!” Robert boomed, all while slamming his fist down on his chair’s armrest to punctuate each word. “A tourney is meant to be sport, not this mindless slaughter!”

Ned couldn’t help but agree. The Hand’s Tourney had ended prematurely with fourteen men dead in the melee alone, with ten of Ned’s own men-at-arms dead within the halls of the Red Keep in the aftermath of Littlefinger’s escape. The whole city had gone into a frenzy since, with men-at-arms out in force as all the city gates were temporarily closed until order was finally restored and the perpetrators executed. The only upside to the whole thing was that Baelish was finally dead… along with Gregor Clegane.

Although Ned was one of the few who celebrated Clegane’s demise, many Lords were waiting to see what reaction Tywin Lannister might have to such an event. Gregor Clegane was Lord Lannister’s loyal dog, and he would’ve been more worried about the consequences for his nephew’s actions if Oberyn Martell hadn’t been so reckless.

It was the Prince of Dorne who stole most of the blame, with several knights having come forth to claim the Prince had ordered his men to kill what Lannister participants they came across in the melee during his dogged pursuit of the Mountain. And yet the Dornish Prince didn’t slay the Mountain, with that feat being attributed to his own nephew. A fact that made his headache that much worse.

A tourney he didn’t even want, had now become a disaster he had to deal with.

“Oberyn Martell surely is as hotheaded as they say.” Varys spoke. “Even if he didn’t land the killing blow, my little birds tell me that Dorne is very pleased with the Mountain’s death. They speak of smallfolk and Lords alike celebrating in the streets of Sunspear, and there is even talk of a potential betrothal between House Martell and House Stark.”

Every eye in the room went to Ned then, and he couldn’t help but grimace. Indeed, a couple of his fellow northmen had already inquired about a alliance between House Stark and House Martell, with rumors circulating about Arianne Martell potentially seeking a marriage with his nephew.

The rumors had developed a weird story that the Ladies and maids were spreading around the keep. The story seemed to follow the theme of his nephew slaying the Mountain, leading to a weird tale of how the grateful Dornish Princess would then marry the rugged northmen who avenged Elia Martell. In some way, it did make sense, but on the other hand… it sounded like more southron mummery.

“A betrothal? Is this true, Ned?” Robert rumbled, looking slightly displeased. The King didn’t truly look unhappy at the thought however, with his disgust for Dorne likely only partly outweighing the thought of Ned’s bastard nephew marrying the Dornish Princess.

“It is not, your Grace.” He dismissed. “Palace rumors and court gossip is all it is.”

“But the Martells truly are grateful to your nephew.” Varys cut in. “A bastard born from House Stark, marrying into House Martell, isn’t something unthinkable. In fact, such a thing could help bind the realm closer together.”

“I agree, such an unexpected union would be a great boon!” Renly added with a smile, although Ned could detect the sarcasm underneath. “You ought to at least meet with the Martells, Lord Hand, and see what they have to say. Having their Princess marry a northern bastard would be a great way to ingratiate them back into the Kingdom after they lost in the Rebellion.”

Renly’s mockery was clear, and Ned’s hand unintentionally clenched in irritation. However, before he could say anything, Lord Varys spoke. “I do ask that you at least consider such a union, my Lord Hand. The North and the South, Ice and Sun, joined together could be a great boon to all of us.”

Robert laughed, finally seeming comfortable with the idea. “Ice and tits, more like. Gods, I’ve seen Doran’s daughter. She has hips like a mare and fire in her eyes. She’ll eat your nephew alive, Ned.”

“She is a princess.” Ned stated dryly. “And Harry is a bastard.”

“You forget that Dorne views things differently than the rest of the realm, my Lord.” The eunuch spoke again. “Your nephew being the only son of Brandon Stark, as well as the man who slew the Mountain, would be more than enough to qualify him as a suitor for Arianne Martell.”

/////

Arianne Martell

The Red Keep was large, being one of the largest castles in Westeros in fact, with enough rooms to host over a hundred noble Houses within its walls. Members of House Martell had visited the city many times, and over time a section of the keep had become sort of a home away from home for the members of House Martell as they visited Kings Landing. That was until Robert’s Rebellion, where Dornish nobility rarely traveled north.

The suite she entered was warm, with firelight dancing over silk-draped walls and the scent of lavender oil drifting through the air. Oberyn lay upon a cushioned bed, his torso half bare, one arm wrapped with cloth bindings while his head was sporadically marked by cuts and bruises.

Ellaria Sand sat beside him, legs tucked beneath her like a cat, gently dabbing at a wound near his ribs with a wet cloth. She glanced up as Arianne entered, her expression tired but composed. “You should’ve come a different time.”

“I had to see my Uncle.” Arianne said. “He nearly died in that Tourney.”

Oberyn shifted, turning his head toward her with a pained smirk. “Nearly is not the same as did, sweet niece.”

Arianne walked over to him, her heels silent against the thick Dornish carpets that were imported from Sunspear. “You look like you were trampled by your own horse.”

“Worse.” He murmured. “I crossed blades with the Mountain and killed him.”

“You didn’t kill him.” She said, crossing her arms. “Harry was the one who did. You only wounded him, and he nearly killed you several times.”

Oberyn chuckled at something she said, then gasped as Ellaria pressed a cloth to his side. “A minor detail. I was the one who slew his horse and tired him out. After that, the Stark boy took all the glory and credit.”

“Gregor Clegane is dead, Oberyn.” Ellaria said softly, her hand resting on his arm. “That’s what matters.”

Arianne moved closer, her voice tightening. “Is it? We came here to get me betrothed, not for you to throw your life away pursuing revenge.”

“Revenge?” Oberyn’s eyes flashed. “I’ve had to listen to tales for years of what happened to my sister and her children. I’ve dreamt of Elia every night, and it always ends with that monster murdering her. Finally he is dead, and I can sleep easier without my sister’s screams.”

Silence bloomed in the room, heavy and sharp, before she finally broke with with a sigh. “And if he had killed you? What good would it do then? The city—no, the whole realm, is in an uproar over your actions in the tourney, Uncle.”

A part of her believed that as soon as Oberyn was fully healed, he would be hauled off to the Throne room to be judged by the Usurper over his actions. She doubted Robert Baratheon would show leniency over her Uncle’s actions, with the only upside to the whole situation being that it was Ned Stark’s nephew who actually slew the Mountain.

“Good.” Oberyn smirked as if she had told him an inside joke. “People tend to make monumental decisions during such times.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s as you said, we came to this city to see you betrothed, niece.” Oberyn continued to smirk. “Let’s reach out to Ned Stark’s pup, the one who slew our enemy, and see if he’s available.”

Arianne froze, her eyes going wide as she stared at Oberyn with confusion clouding her features. She had heard the rumors of a potential betrothal between herself and Harry, and had dismissed it as some midwives made-up gossip. And yet now it seemed that was the wrong thing to do, and that the rumors held some truth in the end.

It also meant that her Uncle was the one who started such rumors. “You started the rumors then? So it’s true that I am to marry the Stark boy?”

“If you wish to do so, I will arrange it.” Oberyn answered. “In truth, I tire of my brother’s games and wish to move on. Having you marry that Targaryen-”

“Oberyn!” Ellaria hissed.

“-brat is never going to happen at this rate. So I’m moving on and giving you this opportunity.”

Margaery Tyrell won’t like this. That was the first thought in Arianne’s mind then, followed by the rugged image of Harry Snow, being the man who avenged her aunt. She would need to think on the subject before coming to a decision, as well as speak to Margaery in person.

////

Hadrian Snow

Harsh feminine pants intermixed with male groans filled the air. Margaery’s sexy lithe form laid underneath him as he devoured her, his body held up by his legs and arms while his teeth found purchase in the soft skin of her neck to give her a hickey.

She moaned as he sucked on her skin, doing so right against his ear while her arms wrapped around him. One hand ran her fingernails up his spine, before finally grasping onto the dark locks of his hair. “Harry! Oh Harry! Ahhhh!”

She let out a squeal as he flipped her over him, with himself landing on his back while Margaery landed on top of him. It placed bum against his hard cock, with her arms were pressing against his muscular chest.

He reached down and grabbed her peach bum, holding her tightly as he lined her entrance up with his cockhead. The humongous head of his shaft entered her then, and Margaery let out a loud moan while her eyes rolled back in her skull.

“You’re so fucking sexy.” He growled as he slowly pushed her down his cock. There was something about fucking the Tyrell Maiden that made his lust skyrocket. Maybe it was her own sexiness that did it, or to see such a smart and scheming bitch get tamed in by his large manhood.

After all, seeing a gentle and polite Lady like Margaery get dominated and ruthlessly pounded by a powerful northerner was a common sexual fantasy among ladies in court. And it just so happened to be a common occurrence in Harry’s life since arriving in King’s Landing.

He pushed her far enough down his cock that her bum collided with his thighs, making a squelch sound as her body shook in rapture. Already she was going through an orgasm, and he hadn’t even started thrusting into her yet.

“Mother Above!” Her fingers clawed into his chest for purchase, finding none amongst his hard muscles while she adjusted to his size. “T-There’s so much.”

He snorted, as Margaery always seemed to comment on the size of his cock. He began to raise her up before bringing her back down slowly then, each microscopic movement eliciting different sounds from the woman. All the while she desperately worked to get her breathing under control, to try and match his rhythm and not be outdone.

But it was worthless for Margaery to try and match him. She was smaller than his other women, and certainly couldn’t compare to Val in the fitness department. Yet she made up for it with brains and sexiness, both of which Harry exploited to the furthest degree while fucking her ruthlessly.

PLAP PLAP PLAP

Her bum smacked against his thighs harder and harder, each thrusting being more powerful than the one before. Her body felt weightless in his hands, to the point he could piston her up and down his prick with scary ease.

“Harry! Oh Harry! Y-You’re ruining me! F-Fuck!” Margaery rambled as the pace of their fucking sped up, and he knew she had given in to the pleasure then.

True to form, each thrust was gaining a wet sensation as her juices dripped from the small space between his shaft and her walls. It poured down onto his thighs, before sliding from there and landing on the bed.

“P-P-Please! Please give it to me!” She began to beg, making his balls twitch in delight. “Please, Harry! Give me your seed!”

“Fuck, you’re one hot bitch.” He growled, feeling his balls stir in preparation to fill her up.

Margaery’s body was red from exertion at that point, covered with sweat as her delicate breasts rose and fell sharply in a strenuous effort to fill her lungs with air. Her hair was a sweaty and frizzy mess, her eyes glazed over as she looked at him in the way every man wanted a girl to look at them.

She’s beautiful. The thought ran through his mind as the first load of seed was deposited into her waiting cunt, his cock jerking and thickening as he finally came. But beauty won’t save her.

He didn’t stop thrusting, instead he picked up the pace of their lovemaking while he filled her with cum. Margaery shrieked loudly in pleasure falling against him as her arms gave out, but he didn’t stop fucking her even then.

Take it. Take my seed. His cock didn’t cease in its eruption, filling her with load after load even as she transitioned straight from one orgasm to the next. At a certain point he wondered if Moon Tea would be enough to handle the amount of cum he was filling her with, but Harry didn’t stop until his balls finally had enough.

By then Margaery had fallen against him, unconscious, and he carefully pulled her off his erect prick before depositing her on the bed. After that Harry stood, and walked over to the window as he looked out over King’s Landing.

Where did that come from? He was usually forceful with his lovers, but something was different this time around. It was almost like he had more strength than usual, as if his mind was simply consumed by fiery unrelenting lust.

Could this be a gift from R’hllor? The thought made him pause, and he decided that the subject needed investigating. He would need to find a Red Priestess in order to do more research, and from there decide what to do about the situation.

/////

Kinvara

She stood in the uppermost sanctum of the Red Temple in Volantis, where the noise of roaring fires and human sacrifices reached their crescendo. It was said that this room was the closest a mortal could get to the Lord of Light, and that R’hllor’s most devoted could gaze into the great brazier for an audience with their god.

Shapes moved within the blaze. A blooded and wounded stag crowned in gold. A lion gnawing on its own tail. A dragon with one wing broken, circling over smoke.

They were the animals representing the various Houses of Westeros, ones that were of great importance to the Lord of Light for some reason. The Clergy had long ago decided to keep an eye on Westeros, and Kinvara continued to watch for anything of importance until another shape appeared.

A wolf.

A dark wolf appeared, bigger in size than any other known wolf. It’s fur was dark as shadow as it stalked, with burning green eyes that promised death. Suddenly, those very green eyes shifted to look at her.

The fire shuddered within the brazier.

The wolf stepped forward, and with each pace it changed—first beast, then man. A man cloaked in black, surrounded by the fires of R’hllor, with those same glowing green eyes.

“He who was slain shall rise again.”

It took every ounce of her self control to not jump back in fright. Rarely did the Lord of Light speak, maybe doing so once a century to convey a message of great importance. It meant that whoever the man in the flames was, he was of great importance to R’hllor.

It seems a journey to Westeros is in order. Kinvara mentally decided, as she continued to watch the wolf—now man, who stood in the fire unscathed.

“You’re a Red priestess.” Suddenly, the man in the flames spoke. And unlike the voice from before, which came directly from the Lord of Light, the voice now came directly from the shadowy figure.

Her eyes widened, her mouth going agape. “Y-You can perceive me?”

“I have quite the experience with visions.” The dark figure replied dismissively, his green eyes studying her with an unnerving intensity. “But sadly I’m not too familiar with R’hllor or her servants. Tell me, can you help me understand more about the Lord of Light?”

“I can.” She swallowed down her hesitation and fear. The man in front of her was dangerous, that much was obvious, and yet he didn’t seem outright hostile to her. The mission of R’hllor’s servants was to battle darkness wherever it may appear, and despite his appearance, the dark figure seemed to be on their side. “How shall I assist you, my Lord?”

“Travel to King’s Landing, to the Red Keep, and I will find you from there.”

It seems a visit to Westeros is indeed needed then. She nodded, but a question tugged at the back of her mind. “Are you a god?”

It wasn’t too far fetched a question, as it seemed reasonable that the Lord of Light would only place such importance on another deity, which the green-eyed man might very-well be. And while he could be the promised warrior, Azor Ahai, Kinvara got the feeling that she wasn’t speaking to a hero at all.

His green eyes narrowed at her question. “No, I’m something else.”

Disclaimer: All Characters are over the Age of 18

A/N: The winner of the poll for Harry’s next lover is Arianne Martell