The Northern Tyrant [Game of Thrones] Chapter 33 - Vale’s Joy, Maidenpool’s Submission & Meeting the Enemy

Doc - https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Pm68MwPiDuVYbQ4MPNcI7Owgtpfyu8jnsQGtZ9vsA5U/edit?usp=sharing

________________

If I die, it all ends. For me, for Lyanna, Elia, Rhaella, their kids, my kids. No Tyrant's Squire without me. 

Wylis woke up that morning with that thought in his head. Bare, he got off the bed and walked over to the small window of the castle. It gave him a view of the Bay of Crabs. He had plenty of time last night to think and decide on his next steps. 

The risk he'd taken yesterday, trying to bring down an entire fleet of pirates on his own, was unnecessary. Now that he knew who the pirate commander was, he was lucky to have come out alive. If he'd been unable to loosen the anchor tied to his ankle, he'd have drowned right there. 

I better build a proper army and navy first. 

In the end, the main conclusion he'd reached was that he lacked men to rely on. He couldn't do everything on his own, and he couldn't be everywhere at all times. 

With a sigh, he looked back towards the bed and smiled at sleeping Ros, lying on her belly, half draped with a quilt, her red hair messily sprinkled around. He'd taken out a lot of his frustration on the bed last night, and Ros had moaned through all those hours. 

Should get her a gift. Maybe a nice necklace? 

He knew it was immoral to have so many partners, let alone those giving him children. But ignoring that, he wanted to treat every woman he slept with kindly and with warmth. It helped that Ros was going to live in his castle to begin with. 

"Ummh… My lo—Wylis?" 

He chuckled at her struggle to call him by his name in private. "Nothing calls for us today, Ros. Go on and sleep a while longer. We ride for home at first light tomorrow."

Walking closer, he fixed the quilt properly on her and headed to get dressed. He wiped his face and fixed a shortsword on his hip since his large one was lost at sea. One last time, he eyed Ros sleeping, hugging the pillow with absolute calm and peace on her face. 

Kept her waiting too long. 

Shaking his head, he walked out. 

"My lord!" 

"Chett." He gave his page a steady nod as he walked on. "Ready the men to march for home. We ride at first light."

There was no denying that his mood was sour, and it was likely going to stay that way for as long as he remained in Maidenpool. The entire town was decimated, and Lord Mooton was dead. William, Lord Mooton's son, was naturally very timid. 

It felt wrong to leave a devastated town like that. Riverlands and Westeros at large lived by the survival of the fittest rule. Sensing weakness, the wolves would come out to tear apart whatever was left of Maidenpool. 

At last, he arrived at the solar of the lord of the castle. It was housed in a high tower overlooking the port and the waters, a truly breathtaking view that was now spoiled by destruction. Upon entry, he found Lord Hoster Tully seated in the lord's seat, Ser Brynden standing behind him. The new Lord, William Mooton, was also there, meekly sitting on a chair without an arm, clearly still in pain. His mother, Lady Diana Mooton, was present in another chair, looking nervous. 

"My lords." Wylis gave them a nod and stood against a nearby bookshelf, arms crossed, looking menacing without even trying, thanks to his size. The stubble beard didn't help either. "Any word from King's Landing?"

Lord Hoster gave a slow nod as he took up the parchment. “I sent word to them on all matters yesterday. The fault lies with the steward of Maidenpool, and with the Freys as well, yet we cannot accuse them without proof.”

"W-What happens to… Maidenpool, my lord?" William Mooton asked after his mother nudged him. 

"That choice belongs to Lord Kaiser," Lord Hoster said as he slowly rose. "The raven declared Lord Kaiser's words final on this matter. He was sent by the Crown to handle this duty in the first place."

"But you're the overlord of Riverlands."

Lord Hoster chuckled and shrugged.

"Ah, His Grace." Wylis realised why he was being given so much say in this. 

"He trusts you, son." Lord Hoster came to his side and set a gentle hand on his shoulder, guiding him toward the chair. "Maidenpool has endured enough, as you said yesterday. You're a good man, and I trust your judgement."

Ting!

[Trueborns & Bastards Triggered!]

[Son(Bastard) - Lysa Arryn née Tully]

"..."

Talk about the timing. 

[Strength - 1/10
Dexterity - 2/10
Intelligence - 2/10
Charisma - 3/10
Vitality - 1/10]

Blessed with dexterity and intelligence? 

Wylis liked the numbers. Charisma was always high for his children, and three seemed like the starting value for all. Vitality was at one, and that meant the babe was born healthy and safe. But more were needed to be fully at peace.

[Strength - 1+2/10
Dexterity - 2+1/10
Intelligence - 2+2/10
Charisma - 3+2/10
Vitality - 1+3/10]

He still added two to Charisma because that was one effect that showed immediately. Knowing Lysa, she wouldn't have the patience to wait for strength and intelligence. Beauty, however, she'd be able to boast about right away. 

Finally, returning to reality, he looked at the Mooton mother and son from his seat. He reckoned it must feel infuriating for them to see him sit where their lord did before. 

“Before your steward’s treachery came to light, I meant to take every ship in Maidenpool’s fleet, and the law would have stood behind me. But seeing how matters truly fell out, I’ll leave you half.”

"No, my lord, I beg you," Lady Mooton cried. "To do this would cripple all trade in Maidenpool. Have mercy, I pray you. The town is gone already, burned to cinders."

"It's for that reason I'm leaving you half of them. I'll set up a trade post in Maidenpool too, and keep it free of taxes for the next ten years. Take this as a true gift if you've got the sense for it. It'll draw more merchants your way come next year. And I'll claim those eight pirate ships I took." Wylis stated as plainly as possible. He really needed those ships to make money. 

"How a—"

“My lady.” Wylis softened his voice as best he knew how, yet she still shrank back. “I near lost my life because your lord husband let that steward run wild. The first thing I did at Ramsgate was put the steward down. Took less than an hour to mark him rotten. This may seem cruel to you, I know, but one day you’ll see it was a kindness I gave you.”

Wylis genuinely meant that. With his trade post, Maidenpool was going to become a major hub for his goods in the future. At that time, House Mooton would benefit greatly. Of course, they were all simple ideas for now. 

"Lady Mooton," Lord Hoster said as he stepped forward. "Lord Kaiser paid thousands of gold dragons for a fleet from Lord Manderly. He's a man of action, and the bards sing the truth of it. Take him at his word when he calls this kindness, for what I offered would have seemed cruel beside it."

Fists clenched on the hem of her gown, Lady Mooton nodded, her head low, feeling humiliated. 

"My lord, will you aid the town?" Her gaze drifted toward Hoster. "They emptied the vaults with that rat’s help. The people will starve, and I shall starve as well. Will the Crown offer help?"

"Don’t look to the crown for aid. The King still holds your Targaryen loyalties against you. I have no coin to spare, yet I will send what food I am able."

Wylis didn't meddle there. That was how things went. Noble or smallfolk, they were both one crisis away from losing it all. In the noble's case, the crisis required a larger scale, but the end result was the same. The only way to mitigate such a crisis for a noble house was to have familial connections to other nobility. 

But House Mooton's situation was troublesome. Because of their love for Targaryens during the rebellion, the other houses wouldn't be interested in helping. Perhaps Lady Mooton's side of the family would, but nobody else.

With some tears in her eyes, Lady Mooton left with her son after that. What she could do was gather the precious items left and sell them for some coin. 

"What are you thinking, son?" Hoster eyed Wylis sitting still in the chair. 

"Ah, nothing." Wylis jolted awake from his thoughts. "I think I’ll hold off my leaving for a week. With Lord Mooton and the steward gone, I doubt Lady Mooton can make sense of the ledgers on her own."

Hoster let out a weary smile and a long breath. “Your heart is as large as your frame. Aye, she would bring ruin to the house without meaning to. I spoke of your ship purchases for that reason. She may not grasp the worth of vessels, but she knows well enough what a few thousand gold dragons mean. I’ll send someone to aid her, and I would be thankful if you stayed until they arrive. Soon enough, the traders will gather like fishers to a wounded catch, each offering bargains that look generous but would cost her dearly.”

"I expect that as well," Wylis said and rose to his feet with a purpose in mind. "I will go and see how the ships fare."

He left the solar, hearing Lord Hoster speak with his brother behind, all praises on how good a man he was. 

I fucked your daughter, man. 

Of course, that string of words wouldn't have mattered if he were Eddard or Jon, but he wasn't. And now that daughter had birthed the heir to the House Arryn.

Rubbing the corner of his eyes, he walked downstairs alone. Chett had gone to prepare the men to march, which was now halted. He really didn't want to spend time there, but leaving Maidenpool to the wolves wasn't beneficial to him since he was serious about establishing a trade outpost there. 

What Wylis had in his mind was a medieval version of an Amazon fulfillment center. He wanted to establish various trade outposts with large freight holding capacity where some regular-use items would be stored, or items most in demand. As per the order location, the nearest trade outpost would send those items to the town or city needed. 

It was quite simple, but it needed a lot of manpower, bookkeeping, and coin to set up initially. His own advantage was having a tax-free trade grant in King's Landing, the biggest market, for many years to come. Then there was Stoney Sept, and now Maidenpool. With that, he had all of the Riverlands, most of the seaside towns of Vale, the northern part of the Westerlands, all of the Crownlands, and the northern part of the Stormlands under coverage. He needed just a few more outposts in the south to cover the Reach and Dorne.

Once I start digging for treasures from the sea on a large scale, I won't lack coin for years to come. 

That meant scaling the trade rapidly was a high and achievable possibility.

All those should have made his mood good, but that wasn't the case as he walked through the burnt streets of Maidenpool. 

The people had all been moved to temporary shelters made out of tents. Lucky for them that it was no longer winter. 

Still, Wylis visited every intact house and checked if they were still habitable. Those on the verge of falling, he fixed secretly with his Earthbending. It was mostly mending a few pillars at times. But most houses were made of wood, or had a lot of wood in them. That made the fire too devastating.

I don't think any city has a dedicated fire service yet. He pondered over what he could improve with his own soon-to-be city. 

After making a round and ensuring nobody was following him, he finally headed to the location of the hidden Targaryen treasure chest with empty bags slung over his shoulders. It was close to Jonquil's Pool, but it was still underground. First, he had to clear some burnt debris from a shop and find his way down into the basement. It was ruined, and the ceiling was on the verge of falling. 

He mended that first, slotted the support beams in their places, or used Earthbending to reinforce some parts. Then he searched further on the ground, tapping his feet to find the trace of a cavity. 

After many failed searches, he eventually found the one that looked like a tunnel entrance. But after being left untouched for so long, it was barely bigger than a rat hole. So he dug it out, pulling big chunks of dirt until the opening broadened for him to crawl inside. 

He reckoned it must have been a full-fledged walkable stairway entrance back in the day. But the wood had rotten away by now, and damp dirt had covered the rest. He had to dig for every inch of the way. 

It was easy, however. His mastery of Earthbending had increased significantly. He reckoned he could make a whole city wall in a single night. Raise a castle in a few days with the right plans. 

Almost there. 

The tunnel began to grow wider. From crawling, he started to walk with his back hunched. Then slowly he stood up straight, which was a feat as he was seven feet tall. Nobody usually made tunnels that high. Not unless it was planned. 

At last, he felt an even larger opening. He stopped using his senses and grabbed the unlit torch he'd brought with him, and used flint rocks to set it on fire. 

Holy! It's a whole chamber. 

It wasn't that big, but he could spread his arms wide and rotate without touching anything. The ceiling was just about as tall as he was. And right in the center was a small square platform on which a jewel-jutted chest sat. But it wasn't alone; there were more chests at the corners, on the floor. 

Cobwebs covered every inch. He burned them first and set the torch on the wall holder. With his hands free, he quickly tipped open the chest on the raised platform. 

Let's see—huh?

One golden with silver flecks and the other entirely black. Placed on plush cushioned material were two head-sized dragon eggs. 

Ting!

[Dragon Eggs Found!]

What? 

Wylis had never seen Tyrant's Title light up based on just finding something. If it did now, then those eggs must mean a great deal to it. 

[Awaken The Dragon Eggs - Yes/No?]

I can do that? 

With a silent gulp, Wylis grabbed both dragon eggs, one in each palm. Laughingly, they looked small in his hands. He tried to feel them using Earthbending, but sensed no life in them. That was if Earthbending even worked on it. 

He looked at the notification again and read the fine print under the option. In very tiny text, it said that awakening the eggs would take two years. It made sense, and also annoyed him. He didn't know if he wanted to bring dragons back. 

Well, the better word for it was, he didn't know if he wanted to give Viserys or Daenerys a dragon. However…

Rhaella is willing to give me children. If her pregnancy is fruitful… 

He eyed the eggs again and gently placed the two in the chest. He had enough time for them. Besides, he needed to create his own base first, both in wealth and might. Or else, he'd be put down before the dragons even got to fly. 

Not to mention, he knew where to find more dragon eggs. He'd received the location of all the forgotten Valyrian steel and dragon eggs in Westeros and Essos from The Most Wanted Man quest. He could remember plenty of places in Essos. But there were no eggs in Westeros. 

As to why he didn't learn of these two, the only answer was that they weren't forgotten. Someone had placed them there with some intention. The question was who. 

To find clues, he closed the dragon egg chest and searched the others. Pretty quickly, he found significant things. One chest had three crowns neatly placed inside. He grabbed the first one, crude to look at with even spikes at a space. Getting a better look near the light, he noticed the sigil of a wolf on the inner side of the crown. 

Is this? Torrhen Stark's crown? 

To confirm that, he grabbed another crown from the chest. This was one entirely golden with red gems on it. By the amount of lion markings on it, he knew it belonged to the last Lannister King. 

The third one was also made of gold, but it was shaped like vines with petals, green gems here and there, and on the inner side was the marking of a hand, the sigil of an extinct House Gardener of Highgarden.

"These are all… Aegon the Conqueror's loot." He muttered and checked another chest, which was full of precious gems. Another, he checked, and it was a folded parchment, marking the map of the full Red Keep, which was confusing because Aegon didn't have a finished Red Keep. 

Another chest contained books of travels, from Essos to beyond. There were more gems, gold coins that bore the ancient markings of an era lost. There were daggers of Valyrian steel. There were rings, countless of them, bearing markings of houses Wylis didn't even know existed. There were parchments holding royal decrees and trade agreements with banks. 

Clearly, the secret vault was accessed by multiple people. The fact that even Aegon's artifacts were there meant the people who accessed it shared the same ideas, possibly all were Targaryens, if not all kings. 

In monetary terms, the treasure wasn't worth a lot. But in terms of significance, it was priceless. He imagined what a man like Tywin Lannister would be willing to give in exchange for the last Lannister King's crown. 

What would House Tyrell do to get the crown that meant nothing but would solidify their claim even further? They were but mere stewards of the House Gardener, after all, before Aegon roared. 

Eddard wouldn’t give a shit. But Brandon would sell his left nut for it, I'm sure.

Chuckling to himself, he started gathering everything in the empty cloth bags. He was extra gentle with the eggs and grabbed the entire chest itself. It had jewels on it as well. He shoved the rest of the things in like they were rubbish, and headed out. 

He had no fear that someone would halt him and ask him to show what he was carrying. 

Everyone in Maidenpool liked to have their head on their shoulders, and annoying a seven-foot-tall giant was the way to lose it. 

Let's see Maidenpool's ledgers after this.

####

King's Landing, 

"Gods, Jon, you old goat, you did it!" Robert roared with delight, joy in his voice for the father-like figure. "At long last, the Vale has its heir."

Jon Arryn smiled solemnly, being the only one there who knew the truth. But it was still a matter of joy as he prayed for a son. It was Wylis', but having seen that lad's mind and might, he reckoned it was for the best. 

"Aye, Your Grace. I had near convinced myself I would need to seek an heir in the streets. Yet the Gods granted me this mercy," Hoster said, his voice calm as he sat in the Hand's chair. "Still, the joy of it is touched by the shadow of what has come to pass."

Robert slammed his fist on the table so hard. “Seven bloody hells! Those poxy Freys and their piss-soaked bridge nearly got Wylis killed! I swear by the Gods, old and new, I’ll have their guts for garters. And this slimy bastard Salladhor Saan, tell the royal fleet the next time they spot his ragged sails, sink the cunt on sight, no questions, no parley. 

“And Stannis! Where in the stranger’s arse is that Targaryen bitch and her whelps? I didn’t smash my warhammer through half the realm just for that dragonspawn cunt to fuck off to the Free Cities and breed an army to come take my throne!”

Stannis uncomfortably shifted in his seat. “I’ve combed every corner of Dragonstone, Your Grace. Sent riders and ships to scour every port in Essos she might have touched. She was heavy with a babe and burdened with the boy, yet no one saw her. She’s either lost to the sea or lying dead in Essos.”

"I hold the same belief, Your Grace," said Lord Varys, the spymaster. "My little birds sing no tidings of the woman. Ser Willem Darry was found sorely cut, and Rhaella's room laid waste. It seems a mutiny brewed among those sworn to serve."

"That better be the damned case, or else I'll have your heads." Robert grumbled, “Stannis, you will hold Dragonstone as my heir till I shove a proper son up Cersei’s royal cunt. And wed some highborn girl before your cock falls off from disuse. Jon can rattle off a few names worth bedding. And prepare for my royal visit to Ramsgate. I'm itching to spar with my giant friend and drink enough wine to drown the Narrow Sea.”

"..."

They had never seen the King look angry and excited at the same time like that. And honestly, nobody had the guts to say no to him at that moment. Losing Rhaella was an immense failure.

"Ha! Wylis lost his bloody sword, didn’t he? Then get the man another one. A proper blade, a big damned sword. I'll bring it to him myself."

Robert seemed too excited, in fact. 

####

Maidenpool, 

Plap! Plap! Plap!

Wylis rammed down hard into the soft, voluptuous woman, her legs thrown over his shoulders, her tits squeezed between her knees, while his hulking frame fucked her into her marital bed. The sloshing and squelching sounds emanating from her noble cunt hinted at the loads of buckets he'd already spilled inside her, and he kept giving her more.

"Oooooh! Too hard… my lord—No! Don't… I was merely… blurting nonsense… harder!"

It was a rollercoaster living in Maidenpool. At first, Lady Diana Mooton didn't trust him. She didn't even look at him and just obeyed his word out of duty. He gave her advice on the ledgers of Maidenpool, taught her what those strings of numbers even meant. 

He showed her where the steward stole. He showed her all the dirty deals. But still, the air of hostility remained. He even offered a thousand gold dragons from the treasure he'd found to help the town get back on its feet. 

However, everything changed when the first set of traders arrived. He allowed Lady Mooton to deal with them. But when he saw through the so-called win-win deal proposed by the traders, he grabbed them by their throats and made them confess to what they were planning. 

Some of them offered to use the Maidenpool's port for trade into the Riverlands. But the fine details revealed how they wanted to avoid paying for storing their goods by using their own ships in the port as storage. 

Another trader offered to pay a slightly higher price to use the port’s warehouses. In return, he wanted tax exemptions. Wylis quickly ended that offer when he saw through it. Once that agreement was signed, it would hurt his interests, and really, warehouse income wasn't that much. 

Day by day, Lady Diana Mooton came to trust Wylis. From not even talking, they started eating at the same table. From eating together, they started working in the solar together. Wylis taught her how to read the ledgers and make sense of them. How to maintain them as well. That way, even with the man Lord Hoster would send, she wouldn't be fooled. 

It started with simple flirting. The woman wasn't that old, and she was wed young, as most women in Westeros. She gave Lord Mooton two sons, one of whom died in the rebellion at Wylis' own hands. There was certainly hatred regarding that. 

But, by his actions, he tried to change that. He even offered to take William as his squire and help him get used to a life without an arm. 

They never realized when the lines got blurred. In her late thirties, Lady Mooton had maintained a soft, curvy frame, a face of high cheekbones, a mole on the cheek, blue eyes, and dark brown hair. On the rather shorter side, she had hips to bear a brood.

Before long, Wylis found himself reading the ledgers of the town while Lady Diana Mooton sat under the table between his legs, her puffy lips lapping his manhood like a god's offering. He'd tried to give her every excuse, in case she felt obliged to do it. 

But it seemed romance was dead in her marriage for some time. And now, as his last day in Maidenpool dawned, she willingly took him to her marital bed and moaned underneath his pounding thrusts. 

She cried to the gods, how lovely it felt to be split open by his fat cock. She moaned his name, singing of how good he felt. Her nails clawed at his bare chest and arms, and she bit his neck. He was big, a little too much, and by the Seven, she drank on that sensation. 

Wylis looked down at the woman pinned beneath him. 

Lady Diana Mooton was flushed crimson, sweat glistening along those high cheekbones. Her full breasts shuddered with every brutal thrust, the swollen nipples a ripe, angry red at the tips. And there, just above the right areola, another tiny mole, a secret mark that made his cock throb harder inside her. She looked like sin offered up on silk sheets.

Dark brown hair spilled across the pillows, a few silver strands catching the light. It should have reminded him she was old enough to be a mother to half the young men he’d fought, yet they only spiced the hunger.

Plap! Plap!

Each thrust sent ripples across her soft belly and thighs, the flesh there so plush it swallowed sound and gave back only obscene, liquid music.

He had her legs hooked over his shoulders, her shorter frame folded nearly in half under his bulk. Her soft, squishy, impossibly warm calves so close to his face. His teeth grazed the tender skin while he slammed down, his thick cock grinding so deep her lower belly bulged with every thrust. There it was again, that lewd little swell beneath her navel, proof that his cock was carving its shape into her.

"Mmm… You are… so heavy!" Melodious moans spilled from her lips between each breath.

Wylis feared he was overdoing it. But as soon as he tried to ease the weight, she grabbed his arms, her tear-bright eyes wide and frantic as she shook her head. 

“No-oh… I like it… don’t stop! Please… I’m close!” she yelped in desperate, wet sobs, hips bucking upward to chase the crushing press of him.

Chuckling, Wylis let her legs slide from his shoulders. 

Leaning down, he planted his elbows beside her flushed face, caging her in completely. His mouth found hers in a slow, filthy kiss while his hips kept their relentless rhythm. Deep, grinding strokes that jolted her entire body up the mattress. He could feel her cunt fluttering around him, that tell-tale quiver that meant another climax was clawing its way out of the widow. 

"Mhhhh!" Diana drooled into the kiss, a thin trail of spit slipping from the corner of her mouth to gleam on her chin. 

Her eyes were half-lidded and glassy, drunk on cock and pleasure and the forbidden thrill of being thoroughly used in her own marital bed. Two hours of sweat and seed, unending moans from her lips. And still she milked him greedily, still begged with her body for more. 

Wylis had already flooded her multiple times, thick ropes painted deep against her womb, but the Tyrant's Squire hadn’t notified him yet. He reckoned age was a factor. 

Slosh! Slosh!

Her cunt was so bloated with his cream and her own slick that every thrust forced creamy rivulets out around his shaft.

He broke the kiss to drag his mouth lower. He scooped both heavy breasts into his rough hands and squeezed them together until the flushed swells spilled over his fingers. Then he latched on, mouth wide, taking both fat nipples between his lips at once. He suckled hard, tongue lashing the stiff peaks, teeth grazing just enough to make her sob. He feasted like a starving man while his cock speared her cunt again and again.

"Ooooooh! Gods!" Lady Mooton's back arched upwards, her heels dug into the bedding, her hips high. 

Every hard pull of his mouth sent lightning straight to her cunt; the swollen walls seized around his buried cock in frantic, gripping pulses. Her thighs trembled violently, slick with their mingled juices, and the wet heat fluttering around his cock throbbed even more fervently.

Wylis reared back onto his knees, hands clamping down on the generous flare of her hips. He dragged her plush body up and down his shaft like he was polishing his sword, slamming home again and again. Each brutal plunge lifted her ass clear off the mattress, her breasts bouncing wildly, the lewd squelch of her soaked cunt echoing loud.

Squelch! Plap! 

Gods, the sight of it. Her ripe cunt splayed wide around his girth, petals flushed and glossy, clinging desperately to every veined inch he fed her. 

No matter how many times he ruined a woman, he never got bored with that sight. A delicate entrance stretched thin and trembling, strained to take what it was never meant to hold. And yet they always begged for more. Diana’s body was no exception; her pussy gripped him like a fist, impossibly tight for a woman who had borne two sons.

He felt the warning flutter deep inside her, sucking at him with greedy desperation. Her pussy lips swollen, angry red, and glistening from the relentless pounding, like a flower drunk on abuse.

“Aaaaaaah! Yes, yes, this… is… my first… ever… climax! Oh!” The confession tore from her throat in a broken, delirious wail. Her entire body locked rigid as the wave crashed over her.

First?! 

It was hard to believe, but that was the reality for many noble women out there. Noble lords mostly grew up pampered and dumb. No wonder most didn't know how to please their women. 

“Come here, Diana.” His hands slid under her ass and back, and he lifted her entire body. He settled her to straddle his lap without ever leaving the grip of her cunt. 

His cock speared upward so deep she cried out, spine arching as the blunt head battered the mouth of her womb. He crushed her to his chest, arms iron-tight around her soft frame; her cloud-like breasts flattened against his muscle, nipples scraping skin with every ragged breath.

Diana tried to straighten, to ease the impossible depth, but her spine only bowed further, impaled and trembling, every inch of her pinned by that merciless, iron-hard pole buried inside her. 

Diana gasped and received the magnificent man's lips. Her lips parting on a gasp as though his tongue alone could save her from drowning. Oh, she hated him, still hated him for what he did to her firstborn. Yet at the same time, she lost herself to his charm. How could a man be so perfect in so many ways? 

“Wylis!” She moaned raw and broken, over and over, as though the gods themselves had abandoned her to this sin. Oh, she hated herself for moaning his name. But he was so… 

He was everything her husband had never been; thick, relentless, alive inside her. If she couldn’t have a man like him forever, she would at least remember what it felt like.

Every upward drag of his claw-like hands on her ass lifted her, then slammed her back down like she were a weightless toy. His cock churned the thick batter he had already poured into her. It sloshed deep in her belly, hot and heavy, bruising her from the inside out, a dull, delicious ache that made her sob with every stroke. Her ruined cunt burned, stretched beyond reason, yet still greedily swallowing him to the root like it had been starved for years.

“Uughhnnn–!!”

She surrendered entirely, lost in pleasure, eyes rolling white. No man had ever reached so deep inside her, not even half. Oh, how envious she felt of the Lady of Ramsgate, molten envy that coiled tight as her body sang for him.

“Yessssss!” Her cry muffled against his mouth as her arms locked around his thick neck. 

Her climax crashed like a storm. She shattered on his cock, hips jerking in frantic little circles, trying to wring every last pulse of ecstasy from her bones so she could keep the memory long after he was gone.

“Ugh! Tight… Diana!” he growled. 

Whatever her plan had been, hatred or seduction or both, he no longer cared. She was milking him too perfectly, her spasming walls sucking at him recklessly.

Her orgasm clamped down so violently that his vision narrowed. With a brutal squeeze of his arms, he crushed her waist, grinding her down until her swollen pussy lips kissed the coarse hair at his base and his fat cockhead battered the gates of her womb. There, lodged in that slick, greedy furnace, he burst.

His cock jerked once, twice, then erupted in thick, obscene ropes. Pulse after savage pulse, he flooded her in sheer volume. Hot, virile cream jetted so hard it splashed against her battered walls and made her shiver in utter pleasure. Each throb of his balls forced another gush, painting her insides white, stuffing her until her belly felt swollen with it.

He stared at her ruined face. Her blue eyes rolled back to slits, her lips parted in a dazed, drooling smile. There were dark streaks beneath her lashes, her hair a wild tangle plastered to her sweat-slick cheeks. Every pump of his cock sent another shudder through him, his balls drawing up tight and twitching in delight as they emptied his seeds into the widow he had widowed.

Wylis fisted her hair and yanked her head back. Her tongue lolled out in surrender, soft and willing, and he fucked his tongue into her mouth the same way he had her cunt, slow and possessive. He tasted the salt and sex while his cock kept pulsing, kept filling, kept branding her from the inside.

Jolt after jolt, he poured the last of it into her, until the overflow spilled out in sloppy, lewd streams down his sack, and dripped in heavy strands from her stretched hole. The scent of it filled the chamber like incense.

Diana stayed impaled on his lap, trembling through the aftershocks, her soft body wracked with shivers. She clung to him, breath ragged, cunt still fluttering weakly around the cock that had just ruined her.

Ting! 

[Name: Diana Mooton
Age: 39
Occupation: Lady of Maidenpool
Current Loyalty: 50%
Status: Impregnated]

There it is! 

At last, the notification came. He finally loosened his grip on her waist and let her fall backwards onto the bed. 

On its own, his cock slipped out, and he got to see the filthy mess he'd made. Her cunt was swollen, lips flushed, glistening and gaping slightly, painted thick with his spend. A slow, lazy river of white oozed from her entrance in pearly strands.

Aye, she can feel it. 

He saw the way Lady Mooton was rubbing a hand on her belly. He'd really bruised and filled her up. But it was their first and last moment in bed, as he was to leave come morning. 

"My lady… I'm a very… potent man."

"Hah." Lady Mooton laughed throatily, insanely even. "Ummmh…"

Her hand went between her legs, her fingers parting those battered folds. The middle finger sank easily into the creamy mess, stirring once, twice, and then came out covered in his cream. Still smiling, she brought the digit to her lips and licked it clean, slow and intentional. 

"I suppose, Lord Mooton left me one last memory to cherish."

Uh… Would make sense… but evil. 

With a sigh, he lay down beside the woman, on his side, head on one folded hand. His free hand rolled over her breasts, feeling the softness that sent jolts back to his cock. 

"Maidenpool will be an important part of my trade route soon." He assured her, rolling fingers over her nipples.

"Umm… Time will tell."

Of course, she didn't trust him. Fifty percent wasn't enough. Currently, she was unsure because his words were just words. 

"Would like to continue this or… I can leave." He asked honestly, because really, he was growing hard again. He reckoned he could unload one more time. 

"Gods…" She pressed the back of her hand on her eyes. "Are you a man or a god of pleasure? I feel pity and envy at the same time. Lady of Ramsgate is blessed and cursed by your size."

Wylis chuckled because Lyanna was probably the only woman who screamed at him to break her. To go as hard as humanly possibly, regardless of his size. That woman loved every inch of him, including every experience he gave her body. 

It was hard for other women to understand. 

"Aye, my lord… let's continue… so I won’t ever forget this feeling."

With that, Wylis grabbed and pulled Lady Mooton on top of himself. 

He still had hours before dawn. 

####

Riverlands, Kingsroad

Wylis sent Ros, his found treasure, and forty of his men on a ship to Ramsgate. He initially planned to join it and head home, but midway through his planning, he changed his plans.

He came to the realisation that by heading home, he was giving his enemies time to plot against him. Now that House Frey likely knew he had foiled their plans, they'd see him as an enemy. It was only a matter of time before House Frey and House Bolton joined hands against him. And worked together to hurt his trade, yet to begin. 

"My lord, this is risky." 

"What’s safe in this world, Chett? I served the Mad King and kept my head. Walder Frey is just a filthy old rat in a damp castle. Some bridge-keeping cunt thinks he can name me foe without ever looking me in the eye. I mean to correct that," Wylis said, riding Caliburn. The Twins were already visible in the distance. They'd been on the road for many days.

But he halted right there. They had been riding alongside the river Green Fork, the very river House Frey monopolized on with their bridge. He went off-road and entered the forested area to hide from clear sight. 

"Five of you stay here and raise a camp. Chett and four more ride with me to the Twins." His voice cut through as he studied each man sternly. "Sunset is five hours off. Tonight, remember this. You obey my word without question. No ifs, no doubts. You do as you are told. Clear enough?"

The men gulped, feeling the weight of the situation. 

"Don't worry, there will be no battles, no clashes of swords. But once I'm done, we'll have to make haste and leave for the North," he reassured and patted Caliburn's fluffy mane. "The realm will never believe in what’s about to happen. But know this, your lord did it. As to what, you will know soon."

Finally, with a simple nod, Chett picked four men who would join him. After that, they set out immediately at full speed, making their presence known to any passerby. The Twins thankfully didn't sit on Kingsroad. It sat on the only route that connected the North to Riverrun and the rest of the Westerlands directly. Crossing Freys' bridge reduced distance and time significantly, as there was no other bridge on either side of the Green Fork for hundreds of miles. 

As they truly approached the castle on the eastern shore of the river, Wylis understood why it was so hard to conquer. The Twins sat on the banks of the Green Fork, but channels were dug around the castles to form moats, which turned each castle into an island. The only way in was through high curtain walls, a barbican, and portcullis gates. 

But having infiltrated the Red Keep, castles didn't intimidate Wylis anymore. With pride, Chett, holding his house sigil flag, they all approached the castle. There was a very small town around the castle, as they all did, but it was insignificant. 

Since it was an unannounced visit, Wylis knew he'd have to wait. It was still worth it for what he had planned. 

Chett went ahead first and shouted Wylis' title, and then spoke with whoever was at the gates. Moments later, the master-at-arms of the Twins appeared, and welcomed Wylis with smiles and respect. 

No matter the animosity, most houses didn't act petty unless they were too dense. Wylis knew even Dreadfort would receive him with respect if he went there. What happened inside, however, was an entirely different matter. 

Passing through the barbican, Wylis noticed the many battlements of the castle where scorpions could be placed. As he reached the courtyard, he found dozens of armed Frey armsmen seemingly waiting for him. 

"My lord."

Soon enough, a few stableboys came and took the horses from him. Seeing them reminded him of his old days when he used to do the same. So much had changed. 

"This way, Lord Kaiser. Lord Frey is waiting for you in his hall." 

Wylis followed the master-at-arms and arrived at a small hall, or more like a dining room. A long table was set there, and the servants walked around. At the end of the table sat Walder Frey, eating, a girl seated on his left leg, his hands groping her freely. At least she looked of age.

"Ah, Lord Kaiser, about bloody time we meet. Forgive an old sack like me, I’d stand if these cursed bones allowed it. Sit, sit, and we’ll have supper together. No finer way to make friends, aye?"

Wylis had to agree, the fucker had a thick skin. Talking about being friends after nearly getting him killed. And old? The man was making kids even in his nineties, if he remembered correctly. The man just didn't want to stand up for an upstart, insignificant lord. 

He eyed the hall, and it disgusted him. It wasn't dirty, yet it felt dirty. The air was damp, not much light came from outside, and the torches washed everything in their light. The sight of almost-bald Walder chewing loudly, using his greasy hands to eat and use the same to grope the girl was… revolting. 

Wylis sat down, and five of his men stood behind him like a wall, covering his rear. In moments, a plate was served to him with fish stew and some bread. But the stew only had bones, no meat. And the bread was as hard as rock. 

"Please, my lord, eat. By the Father’s bones, my house hasn’t a single speck of Lannister wealth. Only this wretched bridge and the good folk who break their backs working for me," said Walder, drinking wine. 

Wylis broke the hard bread with ease and took a bite of the fish-bone stew. It was a show of disrespect towards him; he could see that. Walder Frey didn't consider him a threat, it seemed. And he would've been right if it were any other new noble. 

"By good folk, I remembered the steward of Maidenpool, my lord. Quite the story he told." Wylis got to the point. 

"Hah, rambling fools, the lot of them. For a scrap of our attention, they spit out all kinds of madness. You’ve heard it too, I am sure, all that cursed nonsense those bards bleat."

In short, those bards were lying about Wylis. Every word Walder said with a smile carried hidden venom in it. 

As Wylis heard Chett's clenched fists shaking and making noise against his belt, he eyed his page seriously, scaring the man to calm. 

"Must have been quite the loot, House Mooton's taxes to the Crown."

Walder Frey delayed lifting his spoon and eyed Wylis with a smiling sneer. "Big words from a big man, I see, eh?"

"Big words for a house fed by a single little bridge."

"A very big bridge," said Walder with a laugh. "Have you seen it?"

"They all fall the same."

Walder Frey slammed the spoon down at last and drained his wine in one foul gulp. He stared at Wylis with a filthy scowl, all pretense gone. “You’ll never be taken in, boy. You’re a dog, Crown’s bloody dog. The old houses spit on me as some upstart toll-collector, yet they all shut their cursed mouths when they need my bridge. And you? Compared to me, you’re a proper little upstart. Upstarts like you fade quickly. I’ve got generations of legends and histories at my back. What in the Seven hells do you have?”

"That's why I'm making it myself."

"What? A fool out of yourself?"

"Legends and histories," Wylis replied. He finished eating the hard bread and stew. It seemed to irk the old Walder Frey as the man seethed visibly. "Once, King Aerys blabbered nonsense just like you. Rhaegar as well. I trust you remember their fate, don't you?"

Walder Frey's master-at-arms reached for his sword's hilt right then, and so did a dozen other Frey guards. They did it because Wylis had gotten up and walked towards Walder. 

But halfway, Wylis grabbed the wine pitcher and returned to his seat, drinking straight from the jar. 

"You will make an enemy out of House Frey?" asked Walder coldly. 

Wylis didn't reply and kept drinking until he had gulped down every last drop. Then slammed the jar down hard, cracking the table slightly, splintering the wood.

"You gave me a choice?" 

All hands were on hilts, be it Walder's or Wylis's men. But the two lords in question remained seated in calm. 

"You come beneath my roof, take my meat and bread, then bark your threats. I know not whether to call you fearless or witless. One flick of my hand and they will cut you down to pieces, boy."

"Hm…" Wylis leaned back in the chair, the wood groaning beneath him. Arms folded, he eyed everyone in the small hall. "Aye, you can do that. But I can say this with absolute certainty that each man and woman in this room dies before my last breath. If you're willing to make that wager, go ahead."

He stared directly into Walder Frey's eyes, as the old lord did the same. The tension reached its peak, all the maids halted in place; gulps were audible. The master-at-arms looked to be sweating, the other Frey guards nervous. In comparison, Chett didn't show fear, only loathing towards Walder, like a feral beast. The other four men were scared, however. 

Pa!

"Aaaah!"

And right then, all of a sudden, Walder Frey spanked the girl on his lap so hard she yelped out. Then echoed the old lord's laughter, erasing the tension in the room completely. 

"Hah! When I was a whelp, my Father spat in my ear that there are two sorts of men to watch for. The ones who got nothing to lose, and the ones who are willing to lose everything. Mad men like you are a rare sight. Don’t you go dying too soon, my lord. I want to hear the damned legends and histories you spin."

"I'll show them alright," Wylis replied and rose. "It was charming meeting y—"

"Ah! Before you go. I hear you got yourself a son. Why not tie the whelp to one of my girls? If the living ones aren't to your liking, I can always make another. Got plenty more seed left in these old bones, eh, girl?" Walder croaked, grinning at the girl perched on his lap.

Ugh… Fuck, that… 

That suddenly reminded Wylis how he and Walder Frey were similar in a certain way. In fact, Walder Frey had him beat. 

"Dreaming never hurts, Lord Frey," Wylis said and headed out. 

Nobody stopped him. Nobody was foolish enough to do that. Not just because of him, but because Robert Baratheon backed him. And the King was still just fresh out of the war, and angering him was the last thing anybody wanted. 

As they arrived at the courtyard, they received their horses. The sun had almost set. Without wasting time, they left the castle and headed south on the Kingsroad. 

"Why do all that, my lord? Was meeting him necessary?" Chett asked.

"Aye, because now he'll know that I'm behind what happened, yet he'll never be able to prove it," Wylis said, easing Caliburn to a slower stride. "No questions. Chett, take the men back to camp. Fill your bellies, then ride north at an easy pace. I will catch you soon with Caliburn."

"My lo—"

Wylis gave him a stern eye, enough to shut up the tall page of his. He saw the conflict on Chett's face, but the man begrudgingly rode away with the four men. He watched until they fully vanished from his view. 

By then, the sun had fully sunk, and it got dark. But he could see just fine with his night vision ability. He turned back towards the Twins and led Caliburn closer to the riverbank. 

The dimly lit walls and towers of the Twins were visible in the distance, as was the bridge and its middle Water Tower. 

"Look carefully, Caliburn. Admire that bridge for the first and last time."

"Neigh-ehehe!" 

"Of all the people he could make an enemy out of, he chose the one who could move earth… literally."