The Shadow of Winterfell Chapter 9

Jocelyn Swyft

“Harder.” Her queen demanded.

Long, delicate fingers dug into her red hair and pulled harder, urging her onwards. Her licking intensified, her tongue moving so fast it was beginning to hurt as her face remained buried between the Queen’s thighs.

“Tell me you’re not this useless.” Cersei Lannister sneered at her. “My other whores are much more skilled than you!”

Tears crept into the corners of her eyes, as she pulled away in shame. “I-I’m sorry your Grace!”

“Now, now,” A brown hand petted her hair. “Not every maiden can be as skilled as one such as I.”

Jocelyn looked over to see a mature woman standing over her, her skin brown and seductive in color, with a body of a high-class whore. Large breasts that were huge in size, a fat ass that jiggled with each step, all fitting on a curvy figure of a mature noblewoman. It was the type of woman every man wanted in bed, especially when the woman was of noble birth and not a whore.

“Taena.” The queen said tightly. “Your boasting does you a disservice.”

“Perhaps.” The buxom woman grinned. “But the fact remains true, that no man nor woman is as proficient as me in bed.”

Taena’s boast made her think of that rugged Northman she had met in Winterfell, and wetness began to pool between her thighs. Jocelyn thought of his mighty cock pounding away at her core, his rough, coarse hands spanking her ass and grasping her tits as she screamed in pleasure.

There’s no way that Taena can match him. Jocelyn had been nearly split in half by Hadrian Snow’s harsh fucking, and she knew that not even Taena Merryweather could outlast him in bed. Even when they finished it seemed that Harry could go another round, or ten, and not even put in the slightest effort.

It was almost too much for her to handle thinking of, and she bit her lip to maintain focus. A glance over at the Queen revealed a strange sight, as even Cersei seemed to be somewhat out of it by the barest mention of Hadrian Snow.

“I can think of one who could challenge your claim.”

“Oh?” Lady Merryweather’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “And who would this person be?”

“The same man who’s been causing such an uproar as of late.” The Queen said. “Ned Stark’s bastard.”

Jocelyn coughed. “His bastard nephew, actually. Harry Snow is his name.”

“Interesting.” Taena replied. “I didn’t know you were so familiar with him, Jocelyn.”

She blushed brightly, her reaction giving her thoughts away as the busty woman from Dorne laughed.

“The bastard in question has become quite troublesome.” Cersei voiced. “I may rely on the Lannister men-at-arms for protection here in the Red Keep, but Janos Slynt was loyal to me. His services could have benefited me immensely had the appropriate time come.”

“Was his loyalty to you? Or was he loyal to Lannister coin?”

Cersei gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Either way, Ned Stark has taken control of the City Watch with the help of his bastard. Robert’s letting the Stark Lord do as he pleases, and it’s time I reign him in.”

Jocelyn felt worry stir in her gut. “You wish for me to get closer to him, your Grace?”

“I do. But it’s clear that a useless girl like you won’t be enough to fully satisfy a brute like him.” The Lannister Queen smirked. “Give yourself to him, and then promise him more, whether it be whores, gold, or power. When he accepts, bring him before me.”

“Yes, your Grace.”

A knock sounded on the door to the Queen’s chambers then, and a maid briefly entered before handing over a letter. Cersei took the letter in hand, broke the Tyrell seal on it, before reading over its contents with an irritated expression.

“The Tyrells want a private meeting with me, it seems.” The Queen scowled. “Those upstarts should know their place, contacting me directly.”

“Lady Olenna and Lady Margaery were seen in court just yesterday.” Jocelyn noted. “It’s said they traveled here to attend the Hand’s tourney.”

“That’s just their excuse, their true purpose here is to claim my son’s hand in marriage.”

“Highgarden seems to be reaching quite high then. I had heard that the Lady Olenna was ambitious, but not to this extent.” Taena looked surprised. “I’ve also heard that House Martell is traveling here as well, with the intention of making Princess Arianne the next Queen.”

“Hah!” Cersei gave a loud, condescending laugh. “As if I’d ever let some Dornish whore near my son!”

/////

Margaery Tyrell

“The Queen has declined our meeting request.” Her grandmother said quite frostily.

Margaery sat at the table in their apartment within the Red Keep, feeling as if her worries had all come true. So far they had no luck with the King’s court, nor with getting ingratiated with King Robert’s good side.

The plan to meet with the Queen seemed to be an outright failure on her Grandmother’s part, leaving them aimless and adrift in their quest to make her queen.

“We’ll do your plan.” Olenna finally sighed. “You were right before, the boy Ned Stark dragged down from the North is not just his bastard, but his shadow. That makes him valuable.”

Margaery tilted her head slightly. “You’d have me seduce him?”

“I’d have you befriend him.” Olenna said, though her eyes glittered, conveying her true meaning. “And if you do that well enough, then let him fall for you. He’s a Northern bastard boy, raised in the cold with ice in the veins. Melt him, let him take in your kindness, your cleverness, your beauty. Let him whisper Stark’s secrets to you as you drink wine together.”

“And then what?” Margaery asked, with a frustration beneath her voice. “What use is a bastard when we aim for the crown?”

Olenna smiled, sipped her tea, before carefully placing the cup down. “Because the crown already has a prince. A wretched one, yes, but a prince still. Once the bastard serves his purpose, we’ll pivot. The people will love you, the court will praise you, and the bastard… well, he’ll be left behind, but still useful to our cause.”

“And Joffrey?”

Olenna’s smile flattened. “He needs a leash. And you, my dear, will be the silk ribbon tied around the lion’s throat.”

She imagined the rugged Northman that was Hadrian Snow, the man who so many ladies were whispering of as of late. He was Ned Stark’s right hand man, his nephew, and the Shadow of Winterfell.

“I’ll speak to him.” She said finally, rising from her chair.

Olenna nodded once. “Good, just make sure you start small. A smile, a question, let him think he’s being seen.”

“And if he doesn’t bite?”

“Then you make him.” Olenna leaned back in her chair, intertwining her fingers. “Every man bites eventually. Especially the desperate ones raised in the cold.”

/////

Hadrian Snow

“I would say it is a lovely day, but it’s far too hot for my liking.” Wendel Manderly was sweating profusely. “Is there something you needed, my Lord?”

Even with clothing Harry enchanted to be cool, the heat of King’s Landing still made him sweat like never before. He supposed it came with being a northerner, along with all the time he spent in the cold, Scottish weather as he attended Hogwarts in his previous life.

And if he was having a hard time, then it was even worse for Val, who spent her entire life in the freezing weather north of the Wall. The woman looked close to exhaustion from the heat when he last saw her, caked in sweat that somehow made her look that much more attractive.

And yet, despite the heat, rather than meet in the cool Tower of the Hand, his uncle requested both himself and Wendel Manderly meet in the Red Keep’s Godswood, out in the open beneath the blazing sun.

“I once again would like to thank you for traveling so far south.” Ned said to Wendel. “It was a tall order for you to take command of the Gold Cloaks, but a necessary one.”

“I was proud to do it, my Lord.” Wendel Manderly replied, seeming proud to get such praise from the Stark Lord. “If anything, I should be thanking you for your foreknowledge about the problems within the City Watch. Even in White Harbor we have problems with our own guards, but nothing like this!”

“What problems have you faced so far?” Harry asked.

While he hadn’t met Wendel Manderly personally before, he had seen the man from afar. Harry had visited White Harbor several times on his travels, and as such was familiar with the identities of the Manderly family members. They were typically round and fat, with thick mustaches resting above several chins.

That said, Wendel Manderly seemed quite competent, and took over Harry’s temporary position as Commander of the City Watch with ease. Just like himself and Ned, Wendel seemed just as concerned as them as to the corruption within the city, and vowed to get to the bottom of it.

“Corruption and crime seem to be rampant in the city, and somehow it even seems to infect the watch itself.” He said solemnly. “Already I’ve had to dismiss ten of my men for taking bribes. The rest of the officers are being tested, but the men-at-arms you called for from the north arriving by the day to fill in.”

“I should’ve done a better job rooting out all the corruption.” Harry said. “It runs rampant in this city like a plague, making even the finest men turn into cravens and backstabbers.”

“Aye.” Ned nodded tightly. “Even I did not imagine the lengths to which the City Watch was corrupted, filled with men that belonged in cells rather than keeping the smallfolk safe.”

“Speaking of cells.” Wendel Manderly said gruffly. “Should we arrest our resident Master of Coin soon, my Lord? Just the findings from his brothels alone would be enough.”

Harry’s face tightened at that question, knowing exactly what the man was referring to. Petyr Baelish’s brothels had all been shutdown and searched thoroughly, revealing a vastly complicated criminal enterprise that had levels to it. Everything from laundering money, human trafficking, widespread abuse of smallfolk, along with a spy network had all been uncovered.

It was enough to send a man to prison and throw away the key in Harry’s previous life, yet here things were different. Littlefinger was a Lord, a member of the small council, and someone supposedly trusted by Jon Arryn. And yet his special status wasn’t enough to protect him in Harry’s opinion, but for some reason Ned still refused to remove him.

“No.” Ned declined. “Continue your investigation, but do not detain him until I give my approval.”

“Why do you hesitate, uncle?” Harry asked, reaching the end of his patience. “Littlefinger is clearly guilty, why not take action?”

For a moment, the Hand of the King looked ready to change his decision. That was until Ned Stark gave a deep sigh, looking to have suddenly aged a decade. “I… still need some time to process everything. Petyr Baelish was fostered at Riverrun with my wife and her family, and Cat continues to hold him in high regard. To ruin such a man, and maybe even execute him… it is a tragedy.”

“I understand your hesitation, my Lord.” Wendel Manderly nodded solemnly. “Just know that the longer he remains free, the more harm Littlefinger is going to bring to our cause.”

“I am aware.” Ned stated. “The both of you are dismissed.”

Harry found himself leaving the Godswood and wandering the halls of the Red Keep then, feeling more despondent than usual. As much as he wanted to fight his uncle’s decision, he knew how Ned Stark felt. It reminded him too much of the tragedy of Tom Riddle’s story, and the way he had misused his abilities and fooled everyone around him for nefarious purposes. Similar could be said for Petyr Baelish, someone Ned believed he could initially trust because of his wife, only to find out the dark truth.

He sighed to himself, knowing that he would likely have to make a move to correct his uncle’s mistake sooner than later, only to suddenly come to an abrupt halt when he heard a nearby conversation. It was in one of the Red Keep’s many courtyards that a group of ladies were speaking to each other, yet the contents of their gossip caught his attention.

“Did you hear the news?” A noblewoman asked. “I heard that Lord Stark is using powerful sorcery to control the king.”

“I did too!” A younger one said. “Although one maid I spoke too said it was blood magic.”

“Maybe that’s how he managed to convince King Robert to make him Hand. Why else would the King give a northern barbarian such a prestigious position!”

Harry’s eye twitched in irritation, and he ignored the ridiculous gossip as he continued onwards. It was his mistake to enter the part of the Keep that so much of the court resided in, and he was ready to leave at that point, only for a gorgeous brunette to make her way in front of him.

“I don’t believe we’ve met before.” She held out her hand. “Margaery Tyrell, at your service.”

“Hadrian Snow.” He replied slowly, recognizing the noblewoman’s House. “But most call me Harry.”

“Oh?” The girl’s eyes gleamed. “You must be Ned Stark’s nephew, I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

What does she want? Clearly the girl had sought him out, yet Harry didn’t know what her angle was. Just play along.

“Only good things, I hope?”

Margaery giggled. “I’ve heard you’re quite capable, getting so much done in so little time. It’s no wonder that Lord Stark relies on you. It’s certainly something that women like myself look up to.”

She’s very direct… if a bit clingy for my tastes. If he was a smudge less intelligent, Harry would have believed the girl in front of him wanted to sleep with him. But it’s not sex she’s after.

Harry could see the plots and schemes laid bare in the woman’s eyes. Those same eyes she was staring deeply at him with, as if she was trying to fuck him with her gaze alone. He was split between either using legilimency or simply continuing their fake conversation further, only for another person to intrude.

“The Tyrells are the same as usual, it seems, still trying to climb their way to the top.” A woman with a Dornish accent suddenly interject.

Harry turned to find himself facing a woman that was tall and seductive, not overly buxom but still curvy enough to make most men drool. She wore a purple dress that showed very little of her form, as if wanting to not draw attention to a body most women would kill to possess. She wore a silver jeweled mask to hide her identity, with two holes that revealed purple eyes underneath.

“P-Pardon?” Margaery asked. “What is the reason for this intrusion?”

“To save the Hand’s nephew from House Tyrell’s machinations.” The Dornishwoman answered easily. “Everyone knows you failed to get an audience with the Queen, so it’s not overly surprising you Tyrells would try to ingratiate yourselves with the Hand next.”

Margaery’s face froze, clearly caught, and Harry couldn’t help but snort. The two women turned to him then, and he spoke. “My uncle isn’t exactly one for courtly games, so simply asking for a meeting with him or even sending a letter would have worked. You didn’t have to go through the trouble of speak to me, Lady Margaery.”

The girl looked caught barehanded, and she took a moment to recollect herself before she finally spoke. “Still, taking the time to meet Lord Stark’s nephew never hurt anyone. I’ll be sure to pass your words on to my Grandmother. But it was still worthwhile to meet you, Harry, and my door will always be open to you.”

The Dornishwoman snorted, and Margaery Tyrell ignored her before walking away. “Be careful with that one.”

“Oh?” Harry turned to her.

“I spent several years of my life as Elia Martell’s handmaiden.” She said. “This place is filled with the worst sort of people. And even with the Mad King gone, the corruption and depravity in this place knows no bounds.”

“Lady Tyrell didn’t strike me as the bad sort.”

“You’re right, but she’s still one who wishes to advance her own interests. I doubt she would fully backstab and ruin you if she had the chance, nor would she cry if someone else did so. Which I guess is the best one can hope for in this world.”

“Not everyone can be fully altruistic.” He turned to face the woman. “I wonder who you are then?”

The Dornishwoman smiled, before reaching up and removing her jeweled mask. Underneath was a beautiful thin and tall mature face with purple eyes. “Ashara Dayne, at your service.”

/////

Petyr Baelish

This was the third bar he visited that evening, full of smallfolk looking for purpose in life or even something to complain about. As with the other establishments he visited, loudly proclaiming he’d pay for a round of drinks along with a tale for everyone to hear made them all go quiet. 

He let himself gain a smug grin as the smallfolk enjoyed the wine and ale he payed for, as they all quieted down and listened to his tales. 

“You’ve seen our city since the new Hand arrived from the North, and what has he brought with him? Chaos! The City Watch murdered and killed in the streets! Brothels ransacked and pillaged, while the poor souls who worked there flogged! One could almost ask why the King lets Lord Stark get away with all this?!”

“Aye! Why would King Robert let this happen?!” A drunk man called out.

“Because Lord Stark has King Robert under his spell. Northern Sorcery has taken over the Red Keep! Blood magic that the North is so infamous for has seeped into our city, as the Stark Lord simply controls who he pleases! All while Ned Stark and his bastard nephew pillage and rape our city!”

“S-Sorcery?!”

“What? Is this even true?”

“I knew it! My cousin once traveled through the Neck and grew a sixth toe!”

“Now that you mention it…”

Littlefinger let his grin deepen as his tale took hold. He didn’t need a full uprising to occur, just a simple wave of rumors to spread and take hold throughout the city. It was all part of the plan, after all, and soon Ned Stark and his bastard would be dead.