The Shadow of Winterfell Chapter 11

Eddard Stark

Lords and knights from all over the realm were pouring into the city as the Hand’s Tourney neared, making King’s Landing that much more crowded by the day.

“Two separate riots broke out last night in Flea Bottom, my Lord.” The new City Watch commander, Wendel Manderly, reported. “As well as a particularly nasty fight on the Street of Silk… it seems that some of the Lords are upset over the closure of so many brothels, especially in a time like this.”

“Perhaps you should allow Littlefinger to reopen his brothels, my Lord Hand?” Renly asked. “Baelish did mention to me the other day something about paying more taxes to the crown if he were allowed to reopen them.”

He was sitting with the members of the small council once again, this time noting that the small council seemed smaller than before. Other than Robert and Barristan Selmy, who very rarely attended meetings, Petyr Baelish was notably and suspiciously absent.

“The people of this city will just have to reign in their urges for the time being.” Ned replied dismissively. “Men should know better than to fight over something as silly as a lack of whores.”

“There is some information regarding Lord Baelish I would like to discuss.” Wendel Manderly suddenly stated.

“Now that you mention it, where is our resident Master of Coin?” Ned inquired with a frown. “Lord Varys, where exactly is Lord Baelish?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea, my Lord.” The eunuch loftily. “My job is to keep an eye on kingdoms, and not mere men who sit beside us at this table.”

“Maybe he got scared off by the rumors surrounding our new Lord Hand?” Renly japed.

Ned fought back the urge to either groan or growl in frustration. The rumors of him being some sort of northern sorcerer were spreading faster than he thought possible, becoming a mainstream point of conversation throughout the Red Keep.

Whatever assurances he had from his nephew and Ashara that they would put an end to the rumors had clearly not worked out in the end. Ned couldn’t go anywhere within the Red Keep without the topic of him being a user of witchcraft popping up. And as ridiculous as the lie was, he knew that bad things were going to happen unless he took action to put an end to the rumors.

Those south of the Neck were extremely susceptible to such talk, and if it was allowed to fester long enough, then it might genuinely stain his reputation. From then on, he knew that it would only be a matter of time till some over ambitious knight or Lord took matters into their own hands and tried to cut him down. It meant he needed to meet with Harry sooner rather than later to resolve the matter.

Just where was his nephew anyways? He wondered for a brief moment, before turning his attention back to the meeting at hand. “What are these concerns of yours, Wendel?”

The second son of Lord Manderly cleared his throat. “Some trusted men of mine have been investigating this upcoming tourney, my Lord, and have found something most peculiar… and quite certainly unlawful.”

Pycelle frowned. “What could be unlawful about an upcoming tourney?”

“My men have discovered whoever is managing this tourney is vastly overpaying for every part of it.” Wendel Manderly said. “The most extreme example they brought to me was that the crown was paying twelve gold dragons per bottle of Dornish red.”

Ned nearly reeled back in horror, while some of the other council members almost fell off their own chairs. “T-Twelve?! A good set of armor can be purchased for a third of that!”

“Indeed.” The Master of the City Watch nodded gravely. “Which is why I bring the matter up now.”

Ned frowned. “Lord Renly, you were in charge of the upcoming tourney in my name, were you not?”

“My brother only asked me to schedule the tourney, as the finer details were relegated to Lord Baelish to oversee.” Renly quickly pushed the blame away from himself.

It seems Baelish has overstepped yet again. Ned’s hand clenched into a fist, as he tried to control his rage. He was almost grateful the Master of Coin wasn’t present in the council chambers, else he probably wouldn’t have been able to control his anger so well.

“I will have words with Lord Baelish.” Ned stated, yet he stared at Wendel while trying to convey the true meaning of his words through his gaze. “Continue investigating the matter, and put a pause on all purchases you judge to be more than twice the normal market price.”

/////

Hadrian Snow

She was on her knees, the messy bedsheets pooling beneath the both of their naked forms as his hips collided with her tight bum. The Reach maiden was like putty in his hands, her skin soft as cotton and her body light as a feather as he used her for his own pleasure.

Compared to his own form, a body hardened by the harsh north along with years of adventuring and fighting, Margaery Tyrell was as delicate as a twig. He loomed over her body, dominating her like some sort of barbaric wildling. His own rough and coarse hands dug into her porcelain skin, gripping her hips tightly and often reaching around to squeeze her breasts.

The woman came undone in his arms, screaming in pain but also delight as he thrusted his massive cock into her. All the while he focused on only his own pleasure, uncaring for whether she could handle his power as he slammed into her over and over.

Surprisingly, Margaery Tyrell managed to hold on and not slip into unconsciousness like he thought she would. If anything, the Tyrell maiden only screamed and begged more for him to fuck her harder. She was hardly a pushover in bed, and if he was any lesser a man then Harry would have found himself taken by surprise.

But at the end of the day, there was only so much a skilled woman like her could do against his stamina. For all her yells demanding that he ruin her and stretch out her tight pussy, Margaery Tyrell eventually succumbed to his brutal lovemaking.

“Yes! YES! Just like that!” Margaery moaned loudly as his hips rhythmically collided with her bum. “There’s no way Joffrey will compare to this!”

Harry growled, feeling satisfaction that the girl decided to loosen her tongue a bit. If there was one way to find the truth of the matter when it came to women, then Harry believed a good fucking was the best way to start. “You really think I’d stay in this stinking city for decades just for you? All so I can be your side bitch while you play Queen?”

Her body writhed and she moaned in pleasure on his cock, as he continually pummeled her core. “P-Please! I need to get fucked like this for the rest of my life! I’ll give you anything as long as you keep fucking me!”

“You really think I’d fall for that.” He leaned forward, moving one hand to grasp her breasts while the other gripped her shoulder. It made his thrusts that much more powerful, blurring Margaery back and forth on his dong. “You just want to use me!”

“No! I just… don’t want to be stranded with Joffrey.” She panted hard. “I need someone as smart as myself by my side. And that person is you! You’ve proven yourself since you got here, saw through all my words. Gah! Please just… trust me for a little longer and I’ll help you! That’s all I ask, just a chance to prove myself.”

Harry didn’t say anything, instead continuing at the brutal pace he had set until Margaery gave a loud cry of pleasure and fell onto the bed as her legs and arms lost their strength. He continued to fuck her exhausted and limp form until his release finally came, and vindictively slammed himself into her before blowing his heavy load.

A knock on the door got his attention then, and Val entered, dressed as a mere servant who worked in the Red Keep, rather than a former wildling. Her gaze roaming over Margaery’s well-fucked form, and he noted a woman standing behind her. “Lady Swyft is here to see you, my Lord.”

The redhead handmaiden to Cersei Lannister entered his room warily, her gaze shaky as she eyed his and Margaery’s conjoined forms. No doubt Val made her wait and listen to their brutal fucking before bringing her inside.

“Hello, Jocelyn.” He pulled his shaft out of Margaery’s well-fucked tunnel, and it popped out with a bucketload of male and feminine juices that splattered all over the bed.

“L-Lady Tyrell… my Lord.” The redhead bowed after a moment, clearly shocked by the scene.

He remembered that saying from his old life, the one stating how everything was about sex. It seemed that the same was doubly true in Westeros. Knights fought in tourneys to impress and attract maidens, all while Lords sought out beautiful wives and hired whores to work in their keep. Even King Robert spent his days surrounded by prostitutes and whores, while the Queen went behind his back to seduce men like Harry to her cause.

Harry already knew that the Queen was trying to get her claws into him, just as he knew the woman had sent Jocelyn to seduce him. And as far as he was concerned, he was happy to play along and see where it went.

He acted nonchalant, grabbing some of the sheets and using the linens to wipe his cock clean of Margaery’s juices. He then stood and crossed the room, his thick shaft dangling between his legs as he moved to sit down in an adjacent chair. Jocelyn eyed him all the while, as if he was some ravenous beat who would suddenly choose to have his way with her.

“Do you plan to participate in the tourney, my Lord?” She asked meekly. “I know that the Queen will be present, and would be delighted to see you perform.”

He knew that Hand’s tourney would begin soon, as Lords and knights from all over the realm were pouring in to King’s Landing to attend it. Harry was sure than many ambitious knights and blushing maidens were waiting anxiously for the the tournament to start, and yet Harry wasn’t all too excited for it.

For him, it eerily reminded him of the Triwizard tournament from his previous life. The promises and riches and glory simply put a bad taste in his mouth, especially when the stakes riding on it were so high. It didn’t help that every time he even considered participating in it his stomach did a nasty flip.

“No, I don’t think I’ll be participating.” He said. “But you didn’t come here to talk about that, did you? Tell me, what is it the Queen wants?”

She swallowed thickly. “Her Grace is willing to reward you with anything you desire should you decide to join her cause. All she asks is that I bring you to meet with her, my Lord.”

“Anything?” Harry snorted, trying not to roll his eyes. What’s with all these women and their promises?

/////

Arianne Martell

They maneuvered through the hordes of traitors and backstabbers that made up Robert Baratheon’s court, each member worst than the last in her mind. Every other word out of their mouth was some jab about Dorne losing the war, or some jape about Dornish fucking goats. And if they weren’t doing that, then they likely eyeing her large breasts or even going as far as to offer marriage proposals.

By the time she got a break and was able to speak to her uncle privately, Arianne was nearly frothing at the mouth with frustration.

“I don’t think I could last a day as Queen if I had to be surrounded by these people.” She stated.

“Hah! You’ll learn how to deal with courtiers in time.” Her uncle laughed at her misfortune. “To tell you the truth, your father was always better at these things than me.”

She could see why her uncle would quit trying to advance Dorne politically if it meant dealing with people like this, leaving the job for her father to take on. As much as she hated to admit it, realizing her father had to deal with people like this on a daily basis made her respect for the man rise substantially.

A somewhat rugged man walked into the great hall then, entering from beside the Iron Throne as he drew quite a bit of attention to himself. Arianne immediately recognized him as Ned Stark, the new Hand of the King, but it wasn’t just the Stark Lord who got her attention.

A rugged Northman with bright green eyes followed the Stark Lord, tall and muscular with clothes that spoke of his high stature. The man looked downright dangerous, yet highly delectable for a woman like her to take to bed, and Arianne found herself licking her lips. He must be Lord Stark’s bastard, the man who supposedly rules from the shadows.

She only knew about him from rumors, speaking of the dangerous bastard nephew of Lord Stark, supposedly acting as the new Hand’s dagger in the dark. Some of the Red Keep’s residents and maids even told her that it was him who used sorcery and not Lord Stark, manipulating everything from the shadow of his uncle.

And yet, when she actually used her brain and thought through it all, Arianne concluded that the rumors were utter nonsense. They vastly underestimated Ned Stark’s own abilities and political power, instead coming up with an excuse as dumb as magic to explain how he achieved so much in such a short span of time.

The man was the linchpin of Robert Baratheon’s rebellion, as well as the man who the Usurper trusted most throughout the entire kingdom. In retrospect, it shouldn’t surprise her in the least that Ned Stark was so capable, nor that his own nephew was just as capable as him.

“It seems that Lord Stark is here, perhaps we should speak with him?” She inquired of her uncle, all while she eyed the Stark Lord as well as the handsome green-eyed Northman beside him.

“Patience, my niece. Lord Stark is quite busy, and that boy of his isn’t going anywhere.”

Arianne felt heat rise in her cheeks. Was she obvious? “Still, better we speak with him sooner than later. Lady Ashara said that the Tyrells have already approached Lord Stark, and things might sour if we wait any longer. My father did send us here to make me the next queen, after all.”

“You and I both know you don’t want to be Queen, my dear.” Oberyn smirked as her face twitched in annoyance. “Do not worry about approaching Ned Stark, as I was already planning to do so after the tourney.”

She frowned. “After?”

Oberyn’s gaze gained a dangerous edge to it. “Let’s just say there’s a man participating in it that I’m looking forward to cutting down. If things go in our favor afterwards… then I’m sure Lord Stark will be happy to speak with us.”

Arianne couldn’t understand what her uncle was getting at, other than he had some unfinished vendetta against someone participating in the Hand’s Tourney. As for who the person in question was… she didn’t particularly care.

“Your niece is right, Prince Oberyn.” A familiar woman’s voice butted in. “In fact, it would be even better if you approached Ned sooner than later, especially if you want to cover up your true purpose in traveling to the capital.”

It was Ashara Dayne who joined their conversation, sauntering up to them casually from behind a nearby pillar. Arianne hadn’t even noticed the woman, and yet she seemingly listened in on their entire conversation.

Oberyn grimaced at her words, recognizing she knew something he was trying to keep secret. “Very well.”

A horde of smaller Lords and flatterers were already surrounding the Stark Lord, but her uncle maneuvered through them with ease. Arianne followed behind him, twisting and bending her way through as she tried not to hit anyone with her large assets.

“Lord Stark!”

Eddard Stark looked up at their approach, as the King’s court moved away to give them space. To see the Hand of the King meeting with Prince Oberyn Martell was a spectacle to them all. “Price Oberyn, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Herself and her uncle finally faced Lord Stark then, and Arianne couldn’t help but notice the presence of Stark’s bastard nephew behind him. She gave him a sultry grin and leaned forward to emphasize her chest, and took a great deal of satisfaction when his gaze subtly dropped.

“I would like you to meet my niece, Princess Arianne Martell.” Her uncle introduced her.

Arianne curtsied. “Congratulations on becoming Hand, my Lord.”

Ned Stark nodded, before gesturing his bastard forward. “Thank you, Princess. This is my nephew, Harry Snow.”

“A strong lad.” Oberyn noted with a smirk, and Arianne couldn’t help but agree. “Are you participating in the tourney? I certainly plan to, and would like to cross blades with you.”

“I-”

“Perhaps we can expect to see sorcery in the tourney as well?” A voice suddenly interrupted their conversation, the words projecting through the throne room. A thin man exited the crowd of courtiers and approached them then, successfully creating a spectacle. “Both the Lords of the Realm and the smallfolk alike whisper of your sorcery, Lord Stark. And not just yours, but also the witchcraft utilized by your nephew!”

“Littlefinger.” Lord Stark said with some disdain, yet he looked somewhat taken off guard. “I see you finally decided to show your face. And to spread such baseless rumors as well?”

The man grinned. “Baseless you say? That is not what everyone seems to believe! Word is that you’re using your powers to manipulate King Robert-”

“Lies!” Stark barked, trying to cut the man off, but it was already too late.

The crowd began to become anxious and whisper to one another, with most of the nearby Lords looking at Lord Stark with suspicion. The accusation seemed to have already made its mark, and she doubted that the new Hand would forever be stained by the lie unless he did something drastic.

Yet, it seemed that Littlefinger was offering him a way out. “I say we try and find the truth of such rumors! And what better a place to do so than in a tourney? We can let the gods decide the truth then!”

Disclaimer: All characters are over the age of 18.