The Northern Tyrant [Game of Thrones] Chapter 15 - Making of a Tyrant I: Honorless, She-Wolf & Fatherhood

"Hold your tongue. The man is not what he once was." Rickard Stark unhorsed with slow purpose, following the white cloaks into the Great Hal

"Hold your tongue. The man is not what he once was." Rickard Stark unhorsed with slow purpose, following the white cloaks into the Great Hall. "I’ll not have your reckless words stirring trouble before it’s due."

Brandon scoffed angrily and walked beside his father, along with some more loyal men to him and Rickard. They had rushed to King's Landing with no greater plan. By now, it was confirmed by many eyes that Lyanna was kidnapped by the Kingsguard. And the only one to be accused was Rhaegar. 

Soon, they were ushered into the large, but eerie throne room, not as crowded as they were expecting from a royal court. The Mad King was sitting on the throne as usual, beside the throne stood the Lord Hand. There were Gold Cloaks and Kingsguards all around, guarding places. 

As expected, Prince Rhaegar couldn't be found anywhere. That made Brandon more furious, and he somewhat guessed why Wylis must have left King's Landing. But what Wylis did to gain that fat bounty, he was keen to learn. 

"Your Grace." Rickard Stark formally greeted the King by getting down on one knee, an act his son visibly hated, and hesitantly followed. "We are grateful you've received us with such haste."

"Heh… heh… heh…" The Mad King chuckled from his high throne, eyes red like never before, face pale, veins visible on the forehead, the long, unkempt hair and beard more vile than in the past. "Heh! Stark! Yes! From your little snows and stones—all the way to MY throne! Hah! Look at you! Cloak of honor, tongue of knives. Do you think I don't see it?! I see it! I see everything! The wolves circling the throne? Hmm? You come to cast stones at the dragon… in his den? Hah… brave. Brave or mad. But we are all mad here, aren’t we? All of us… but only one breathes fire."

Lord Rickard recoiled a little, the tone feeling too unhinged. So much so that he doubted if he could even discuss the matter with the King. 

"Your Grace, House Stark has kept faith with the Crown for generations. My forebears served with honor, and I have done no less. We are not a people of whispers or daggers in the dark. We speak plain, and we stand by our word. It has reached me that Prince Rhaegar may have taken my daughter—where, I do not know. She is promised to Lord Robert Baratheon. I ask only that Your Grace help see her returned to u—”

"SILENCE! SILENCE, I SAID—do you think I’m blind?! Hah! No... no, I see, I hear your whispers, licking through the stones! You slither with Baratheon, and him—my son—scheming, always scheming! You’d crown the brat on my bones! This is yet another scheme, isn't it? My—my champion, my beast of might, if Ser Wylis hadn’t shattered his smirking mouth, he'd have eaten the Iron Throne whole, chewed the steel, and spat out my name! Burn you all... burn you all, traitors!"

The Mad King had to say only that. Gold Clokes moved in, and some strange-looking men wearing dark robes came out holding large vials full of a green liquid. 

"I hold no quarrel with the Crown, Your Grace," Rickard shouted in panic as the Gold Cloaks nearby kept circling them. "But your son stole my daughter. He is no less a traitor to me than he is to you."

"Hahhh! There it is, the whisper of guilt—your icy tongues thaw at last, little wolves. Claiming my own son, my own blood, a traitor? Burn them all. No, wait—wait! Not yet, not yet. Fetch the chains, the Tyroshi claws, the singing knives! The dragon stirs today, yesss, yes. Hang the Stark… slow, slow—let him feel the fire lick his cold bones. Let’s see if the snow screams."

"Enough of this!" Brandon roared, ripping the steel from scabbard. "This is madness! Look at him! That’s no King, that’s a gods-damned demon! Maegor, Aegon the Fourth—they rotted the realm, and you still cower to madness! No. I’ll not stand by while madness wears a crown. I’ll end him with my own hand."

But Brandon knew it was easier said than done. The great hall was teeming with Gold Cloaks and some Kingsguards. Even if he could kill the King, he wouldn't make it out alive. But Brandon was willing to accept that over dying for the King's entertainment. 

“Heh-heh... the wolf yowls, yowls before the dragon’s teeth! Good... good, let him whimper, let him burn... Rossart, the flames, the pretty flames, bring them closer, I want to see his fur curl! Barristan—make them crawl, crawl like ash before me! They forgot, they forgot, who the fire belongs to!"

Swords came out instantly, and clashes echoed. It wasn't much of a battle, more a one-sided beating. 

Rickard fell first, and then the rest of the loyal men. Brandon fell last after cutting down a few Gold Cloaks and getting injured. 

“Ahhh—yes, yes, let him see the little wolf pup, see his sire sizzle and scream. Bind him tight, tighter! I want to hear the fear leak out of him. Hah! And then—yes, then—we feed the flames. Let the fire dance!”

"Hhngh—damn you!" Brandon struggled, trying to punch at the men coming closer. He was a large and powerful man. But wounded in that moment. “You fucking madman! This is treason—treason against all the Seven Kingdoms! You think the North will bow to this? You think Robert Baratheon will watch in silence? Your throne is a lie! The dragons made it—they're gone. Count your days, Aerys. The end is clawing at your door—"

Someone shoved a cloth into his mouth and tied his arms behind. Meanwhile, Rickard Stark was hanged from the rafters of the throne room. 

At that moment, Lord Rickard Stark glanced at his son in silence. He regretted it, coming to King's Landing. Honor and justice were dead in the King's hall. He was blind to the truth all along. 

He didn’t demand a trial by combat. He didn't demand honor. The Mad King wasn't going to change his mind. But Rickard knew that his death would light up a flame. While he supported Rhaegar initially, now he despised the Targaryen bloodline itself. They were all insane, father or son. 

"May you suffer worse than this fire, Aerys," Rickard muttered as he watched the fire light up underneath him. The green flames burn brighter and start to reach him. 

"NO! STOP THIS!" Brandon roared, kicking his feet. “You’re mad—every one of you! Can’t you see it? This is madness!”

Yet all heads remained bowed down, eyes hiding from the injustice before them. The Gold Cloaks, the Kingsguards, all the knights in that Great Hall, all the talk of honor and chivalry, dead as wisdom to the Mad King. 

Brandon's curses and Aerys' mad laughter. Only two voices rang through the hall. Lord Rickard didn't scream, accepting his fate in silence. His blood boiled from both fire and anger. Regrets were plenty. His southern ambitions. Getting involved with the South. It all felt insignificant in that moment. 

Lyanna was lost. Brandon was going to die. He had doomed his house. 

And yet, he remembered a face in that dying moment. Wylis, the mere stableboy. Somehow, that boy had been more successful than he was in his southern ambitions. Alive, wise to stay away from King's Landing. 

Rickard remembered something that Wylis had said when he was just fifteen. A young boy, mucking stables. He just wanted to test the boy's wits to decide if letting him handle a sword was worthy. 

“All the money and might in the world are useless if you're surrounded by scheming bastards and wise fools. The blade that kills you usually comes from behind—and it’s often your own damn pride that handed it to them.”

As much sense as those words had made to Rickard, he couldn't accept them as they came from a mere boy. An illiterate boy who knew nothing in life but servitude. But now… he couldn't help agreeing with everything Wylis had said. 

My own pride… my damn confidence… M-Maester Walys, that cunt!

Moments passed, and the last of Lord Rickard's breath escaped his lungs. Charred black, he was dead and lost, his flesh a husk. 

Thud!

His corpse fell from the tied ropes into the fiery pit itself. 

"More... more, yes... the others, the rest—hah!" Aerys shouted, pointing at the men Rickard and Brandon had brought with them. “Toss them in, toss them in like kindling. Let’s see how they dance. In the pit. MAKE THEM DANCE FOR ME!"

The Gold Cloaks quickly used spears and pushed the men into the wildfire pit. This time, screams were loud and blood-curdling. It was exactly what the King wanted. 

Lacking much energy, Brandon didn't roar or flail his legs anymore. He just waited for his turn. 

"The pup! Yes, yes, the pup. Drag him closer—closer! Let’s peel his skin with flame, let him howl. Release him, chase him, let him run on burning feet. Hah! No more wolf now. Just a dog!"

"Your Grace…"

Right then, Ser Barristan stepped in front of the throne and knelt on one knee. 

"Kneeling, kneeling—why are you kneeling, Ser Barristan? You think that saves him? No... no, no, no. Burn the wretch. BURN HIM!"

"Your Grace, may I speak?"

"I want him in flames!"

"He's crucial to finding Wylis, Your Grace!" Ser Barristan responded in a rush. "Ser Wylis was Brandon’s squire—they grew up side by side, near as kin. If he hears Brandon is in peril, he’ll come. Of that, I’ve little doubt."

Aerys eyed his Kingsguard, and then Brandon. With a bright gleam in his gaze, Aerys nodded strongly. "Mmm, yesss... my Kingsguard, clever, cleverer than the Hand ever was, aren't you? My bright blades in white! Hah!—Beautiful, my champion will return to me. Yes, the pup shall be a fine bait. Black cells! Throw him in the Black Cells, starve him, no—feed him just enough to hear his bones rattle! And then… hah! I shall have my champion slay the pup—Mm… A gift for my eyes! A gift!"

"Understood, Your Grace." Ser Barristan wasted no time and lent his shoulder to Brandon Stark, leading him out of the throne room. 

Brandon was in a momentary shock, however. Whatever Barristan had said was bullshit. Sure, he and Wylis were close, but they were just good friends, nothing close to being brothers as Barristan had described. Wylis had no reason to come and save him. 

"W-Why?" 

"Shh..." Barristan whispered. "If you want to live, be silent."

####

Tower of Joy, Dorne.

"Ser Wylis! There!" 

Wylis stopped roasting the meat and quickly crawled prone in the dirt. He slid beside Qyburn and looked over the ridge. They didn't use the far-eye, knowing it'd reflect light. But still, the movement was clear. 

Three men riding horses, dressed in the noble attire of the Kingsguard. They escorted a walled carriage which was being steered by what looked like a Septa by her attire, and a Maester by the chains around his neck. 

It was impossible to hear them, but just looking at them made Wylis furious. He didn't respect the Kingsguard already, but now, he couldn't give a shit. For fuckers so stuck up on honor and duty, ignoring Rhaella's screams, were now acting as kidnappers for the fucking prince. 

"Lyanna," Wylis muttered when he saw the dark-haired woman get pulled out of the carriage. Another Septa was with her, holding her arm, as if keeping her from running. Lyanna seemed furious, shouting at them, but also appeared weak, walking limply, her belly swollen. 

"Heavily with child," Qyburn commented. "A curious choice, dragging her so far in that condition. Risky—for both mother and babe."

Hearing that, Wylis only felt angrier. He watched the two Septa take Lyanna into the tower, followed by the Maester. The three Kingsguards stood at the tower's entrance, guarding. One look and he knew who they were. Ser Arthur, Ser Gerold, and Ser Oswell Whent.

"Fetch me the chipped armor piece and that cloth from King’s Landing," Wylis ordered. "Stay put and keep watch. If anyone else approaches the tower, signal me with the mirror. The rest is mine to handle."

"All by yourself? They appear quite formidable, Ser Wylis."

Wylis crawled back and stood up. He didn't have a full plated armor, just some padded gambeson, chainmail, and shoulder pauldrons. He had a helmet, but he didn't plan to use it in that fight. He didn't plan on making it a fair fight either. The rebellion had started, and he couldn't afford an injury. Besides, honor was a distant concept to the three Kingsguards. 

"Aye, they’re strong. Shame, they stand against me," Wylis said, and reached for his new six-foot blade. Sleek, golden at the guard and pommel, the brown leather grip molded to his hand. It was lighter than his last sword, sharper too. 

Finally, he packed the chipped armor piece and the cloth in the saddle pouch and then mounted Caliburn.

"Start packing. Tonight, we take shelter in the Tower of Joy. From there, go to Vulture’s Roost and stay out of sight until she gives birth. After that… we move as the winds allow."

With that order, he rode away. First, he went down the mountain, going around it before reaching the flatter lands. From there, he began riding towards the Tower of Joy. It was the middle of the day, the sun was at its peak, and the summer had begun to show its wrath as sweat poured out of his winter-loving body. 

####

Ready to fight already? 

Wylis neared the Tower of Joy and noticed the three men stopped relaxing. Ser Gerold and Ser Whent wore their helmets, one hand on their sheathed swords' hilts. Ser Arthur was relaxed, however, standing between the two men. 

With a lengthy, powerful grunt from Caliburn, Wylis came to a halt and dismounted his horse. With his sword hanging on his back over the cape, he casually walked towards the rising, hilly path of the tower. Between two boulders where the path became narrow, the three Kingsguards stood in wait. 

"North is that way, Ser Wylis." Ser Oswell Whent pointed towards the North with his finger in a mocking tone.

Wylis chuckled and eyed the three men with disgust. "I know."

"Then why are you here?" Ser Gerold asked.

Wasting no time, Wylis grabbed the sword from his back. "Found you left King's Landing without me. I couldn’t resist chasing after the realm’s most admired Kingsguards. There’s much to learn from you three—like kidnapping." 

Scrrrrr~

Ser Gerold and Ser Whent unsheathed their swords. Ser Arthur finally put on his helmet and grabbed his famed, pale sword. 

“Turn back now, boy,” Ser Gerold said, voice like cold iron. “We showed mercy once. You’ll find none today.”

"Really?" Wylis wiped the smile off his face and held his massive sword in front, both hands on the grip. "You sure it was you showing mercy?"

The three knights chuckled at the same time. 

Wylis didn't and took a few steps back to make some space. He eyed the three, their feet, to see who would attack him first. He was sure they'd go one by one at the start, but join in if he was winning.

“One last time—leave this behind. You’ve skill, speed, and time yet to grow," Ser Arthur advised him. "Walk away from this royal mess. This royal game… it taints better men than us.”

Wylis scoffed. "How would you feel, Ser Arthur, if I said I took your sister to my bedchamber and fucked her, took her maidenhead, made her mine in every way a man can?"

"Hah!" Ser Whent chortled. 

Ser Arthur sneered. 

Ser Gerold waved one hand, seemingly dismissing what Wylis had just said. "Why drag Ser Arthur into this? Lyanna is no sister of yours."

"Aye, but she is…" Wylis raised his sword in a striking position. "...the mother of my child—Ha!"

Wylis lunged forward and smashed his blade at Ser Arthur. He was faster now, at the peak of his physical state, and also, he had no reason to hold back anything. 

CLANK!

Ser Arthur quickly blocked the incoming strike. But he gnawed his teeth, feeling pushed back by the monstrous strength in Wylis' strike. He felt his palm turn sore from the vibrations, and to his further shock, he found his feet stuck to the ground. 

"HAAAA!" Wylis launched a contentious barrage of attacks, a sideways slash following the first strike, then an upward swipe from the lower side. He used the chance every time Ser Arthur stumbled backwards, his feet not really working as he desired. 

BAM!

Clash!

Steel rang against steel. From the onset, Wylis proved his power over the Kingsguard. He used his massive height and the reach of his long arms and blade to his advantage. Ser Arthur couldn't even counter him that well. 

“I have no intention of mercy!” Wylis roared, continuously cutting, countering, and blocking, gaining an inch each time, a chance to kill the man for good. He had to aim as the man was well-armed. “An equal fight? That’s for those who carry honor—I see no honor here.”

Ser Arthur was on the back foot from the beginning. Earning a flickering moment, he glanced towards Ser Gerold and Ser Whent. But it appeared, for some reason, the two Kingsguards were ankle-deep in the dirt. They were struggling, using their swords to dig the soil around their feet. 

"Shocked?" Wylis grumbled and…

THUD!

Wylis slammed his right foot into the dirt and used Earthbending. As Ser Arthur tried to take a step back, he felt the dirt was too soft. He lost balance and started falling backwards. 

"Too many eyes watched us in that damn throne room." Wylis coldly watched the famed Knight fall on his back. "Here, I have no reason to hide—For none will live to tell the tale."

"Argh!"

Ser Arthur tried to get up, but before he could even move, he found his sword swallowed by earth, and then both his feet and arms, holding him flat on the ground. The dirt that had grown softer turned hard as stone. 

"W-What sorcery is this?!" Ser Whent shouted from the side. 

Wylis didn't look at them and aimed his blade at Ser Arthur's neck, the gap between the helmet and the chest armor. He pressed the tip of his sword there, ready to press down and kill. 

Creak!

But then, Wylis also pressed one foot on Ser Arthur's chest, and then the other foot, putting his entire body weight on the chest, caving that armor with it. 

"Gaaaah!" Ser Arthur groaned. 

"Kingsguards my ass. You men have no honor." Wylis growled at them with hatred, his sharp tongue aimed at the entire order. "All that claim of honor and duty, yet all I see is cowardice in a golden shell. You, the same cunts who turned your heads while the King ravaged Rhaella, now claim honor in kidnapping a pregnant woman—my woman! Fucking filth in gold—You abandoned real duty the day you started serving madness."

"We serve the Prince!" voiced Ser Gerold from the side, now knee-deep stuck in the dirt. 

"And that changes anything?" Wylis growled at them. "While the father sits on the throne and burns half the realm in madness. The son chases prophecies and some promised prince nonsense—I see no Prince, just the madness draped in a younger shell—I'll end it. I'll kill Rhaegar, and then I'll kill Aerys—After you three."

Shhh~

"Glurk… Ghk… Gaaaahk~"

Wylis mercilessly dipped his blade into Ser Arthur's throat. Smooth as a hot knife on butter, piercing through the skin and the windpipe, drawing blood like a boiling pot of crimson. The famed Knight of the Morning choked on his own blood, coughed crimson from his mouth, and was helplessly held down by his arms and feet. 

"Anger? Helplessness? Lyanna must have felt the same."

In mere moments, Ser Arthur died. 

Wylis pulled his blade out and turned towards Ser Gerold and Ser Whent. The two men were now waist-deep stuck in the earth. The more they tried to move, the more they lodged deep. 

Clank!

Wylis swung his sword like a bat and smashed into Ser Whent's sword. The man couldn't hold onto the grip, and the sword went flying. Before Ser Whent could even speak, Wylis had once again dug his blade into the knight's throat. 

All that time, Wylis stared at Ser Gerold. "I find no joy in this. But I have battles to fight. A rebellion to join. And I won’t waste my blood or breath on filth like you."

Woosh!

He pulled his blade out of Ser Whent's throat with a bloody splatter.  

Ser Gerold released his sword on his own. He looked up at Wylis, eyes proud, no shame or regret in them. The man believed in what he did, even if it was madness. 

"What is this?" Ser Gerold asked, looking around himself at the dirt that had now solidified. 

"A gift," Wylis said, steady as he leveled the blade at the man's throat. "And when the light fades—remember this: you died without honor. For abducting a pregnant woman so your master could defile her later. Remember that."

"Gh-lurk…" 

Just like the previous two, Ser Gerold choked on his own blood and died a slow death. Wylis kept repeating, reminding the dying man of his crime. 

In mere moments, the three famed knights died. Wylis felt that his way of killing them was dirty. But he couldn't afford wounds or deep scars that early in the rebellion. He had people depending on him, especially Lyanna. 

Finally, he stepped away from the three corpses and kicked the dirt while moving his arms in simple gestures. Earthbending on a smaller scale had become easy now, ever since he dug that tunnel. 

He created three deep, human-sized graves right there and buried the three Kingsguards along with their swords. He removed every sign of blood as well. And then, he also killed the three horses, giving them an instant death. He buried them, effectively making the three Kingsguards akin to ghosts. 

Not a soul would ever know what happened. At the same time, if Arthur's death was the reason why Ashara jumped off that cliff, the hope of the man being somewhere out there would expectantly keep her alive. Alive until he'd get the chance to take her away if he could. 

Then Wylis waved towards the distant mountain. In response, he received some flickering light reflections. Finally, he took out the chipped piece of armor and threw it on the ground, and then the dirty piece of yellow cloth with markings of black dogs. Only one was visible; the second was half-ripped.

With Qyburn notified, he walked towards the tower. It was a simple-looking one, like a rook on a chessboard, but with a conical roof in this case. The door was also simple, made of wood with barely any protection. It was like a lighthouse. 

Bam!

He kicked the door open. Expectantly, they must have heard the commotion outside. He found nobody on the ground floor. So, holding his sword in front of himself, he went up the spiral staircase. 

Once again, the second floor was empty. So, he continued up to reach the final floor, and sure enough, the wooden door there was locked. 

Bam!

A single kick, and the hinges gave up. The wooden door fell flat into the large, round chamber. 

"Haaaaaa~"

Wylis instinctively backstepped and avoided the old Septa from slashing him with a knife. The same couldn't be said about her when Wylis shoved his blade through her chest cleanly, in from her front, out from her back. 

"W-WYLIS?!"

His head snapped towards that known voice. That beautiful, tired face, that dark hair, that slim frame. His feet moved on their own towards the bed, his heart beating a little faster. Under that strong exterior, he worried a lot for her. His first friend in that world, his closest companion, his partner in banter, and… his lover, mother of his child. She meant a lot to him, and time had made him understand that. 

"Lyanna…" he whispered her name. 

"Wylis!" Lyanna wept loudly, tears dripping down her cheeks. She sat up with a rush and tried to jump out of bed. But then…

Clank!

She fell back onto her bed. Her left wrist was chained to the headboard, keeping her from even getting out of bed. 

Wylis’s eyes burned with fury. He marched straight to the Maester and drove his blade into the man’s gut, killing him slowly. "You, Septa! Release her hand—No! Wait! You could be hiding a knife. Remove them, all your clothes—Now!"

The woman not only rushed to take off her garb, but also wet herself while doing that. She shivered, crying with a wrinkled face. But Wylis kept shouting at her, threatening her until she climbed on the bed from the other side and unlocked the cuffs. 

Lyanna got out of bed right away and impatiently jumped into Wylis' arms. She jumped high despite her body's state and wrapped her arms around his neck, practically dangling there until Wylis embraced her back, his big arms around her, lifting her with one hand under her bottom, the other rubbing her back. 

She sniffled into his shoulder, rubbing her face there. Her hands rubbed on his chainmail. "I didn't want this. I just wanted to… I left Winterfell to reach you… I… They found me and…"

"Shh…" Wylis patted her back, holding her in his arms. But as he was doing that, he turned on his feet and noticed the Septa was trying to escape. 

Thud!

With half a swing of his hand, a stone flew and slammed into the Septa's head, knocking the woman out. With that, he returned to comforting Lyanna. Holding her slim frame brought back so many memories and emotions. He carried her weight easily towards the nearby table and gently allowed her to sit there, while he stayed standing right in front of her. 

"I know. That’s why I came for you, Lyanna," he said, voice steady, eyes locked on hers. His rough palm cupped her cheek, covering it like a wide shield. "They’re dead—and Rhaegar won’t be far behind."

That only made Lyanna cry harder. That long journey, her pleading cries falling on deaf ears. All that had taken a toll on her mind. She felt hopeless, that nobody even knew what had happened to her. She felt scared that Wylis would never learn about her fate. She had never felt so scared in her life before. Especially in that vulnerable state. 

She leaned her head into his hard belly and wrapped her arms around him as much as she could. "I was so sure it was the end… I kept thinking—gods, I wouldn’t get to say goodbye. To you. That was the scariest part—"

She cried, she choked up, and rambled about all her trauma. He stood there, caressing her raven hair, giving her the warmth she needed the most. He was patient and let her digest the relief at her own pace. 

After some time passed, she finally sat back normally and looked up at his face. She received a warm, caring smile in return, and his two big hands caressed each side of her face, his thumbs wiping the trails of her tears. 

But then Lyanna's eyes widened. Her hands caressed her belly without realizing. Then, amplifying her panic, Wylis also caressed her visibly pregnant belly. 

"W-Wylis…" She stuttered heavily, fear visible. "I… It's yo—"

"Let's get married, Lyanna."

"..."

She froze, speechless, her grey eyes grew wide. She gulped, felt warm throughout her body, especially from that hand caressing her face. She gulped more when his hand caressed her belly. She gulped again when his words truly settled into her head. 

"W-What?"

"I know the child is mine, Lyanna. And I’m damn glad it’s you who’s carrying it." Wylis poured all the affection he could into his words. His desire for her, his greed for this woman. He felt like a dragon possessive of his treasure. "That night, when we made love, when you said you loved me, it changed everything. I feel the same, Lyanna—I should’ve taken you away right then and there. Should’ve never let you return to that cold castle, I—”

"Wylis, I hate you." 

"..."

"For being so fucking tall that I can't bloody kiss you."

"..."

Brows furrowed, and then relaxed, Wylis froze for a second. But then he realized he was indeed standing there like a wall, and she wasn't really in the state to jump. But still too slow, he felt her punch on his chest. 

"Kiss me now, dammit!"

"Ah, fuck!" Wylis quickly leaned down, placed both his palms flat on the table beside her hips, and just leaned his face into her. He let her hold onto his face and guide him to her lips. He felt her passion, her desire, and… her love. 

It was a slow kiss but filled with zeal. She rammed her warm lips onto his, locking and then pivoting her face to kiss him from each direction. She drank him, and he drank her. Their tongues slithered out into each other's mouths naturally, and they accepted that warmth even more. 

"Mmmm…" Lyanna moaned into his lips, her breath getting rough. 

And when they both felt each other's taste linger, they finally stopped kissing. Both were afraid it'd be hard to stop if they really went all the way. 

"So…" Wylis murmured. "You're willing?"

"What?" Lyanna frowned. "Marriage? Yes, gods, yes! And don’t speak to me of status, Wylis. I gave you my maidenhead when you were nothing but a stable boy. You plowed me like a fucking stallion in heat—I knew then what I know now—I love you. I'd marry you a thousand times over."

Against that passionate, blunt confession, Wylis felt overwhelmed. Not by love, he loved her too. But by guilt. He felt scared and worried. How could he tell her about his other affairs? The other women. The bastards that were growing in wombs. The bastards that he had to sire continuously in the years to come. What wife would happily let her husband bed women throughout the realm and sire bastards? 

Fuck! I… I'll tell her before we exchange vows. Hiding will just make it a bigger mess. 

Ting!

[Lyanna Stark Loyalty Updated!]
[Lyanna Stark Loyalty - 100%]

Ting!

[Tyrant's Title Updated!]

[Tyrant’s Title - Secret Friend of House Stark
Description - You have bred her, loved her, cared for her, and now she has given you her life and soul in return. Rejoice, Tyrant, the North is now your playfield.
Effect - Making love to Lyanna Stark will make you stronger by 0.08% each time.
Effect - All Starks are now genetically fearful and fond of Tyrant's blood.
Current Loyalty - 100%]

What?! A hundred percent? No longer the enemy?

There were a lot of changes to that title. Secret friend, the strength percentage doubled, and the second effect. He gulped and feared that he'd lose it all when he would tell her the truth about his bastards. 

Wait, the loyalty and rewards didn't change after Rhaella aborted the babe. Is the loyalty permanent? 

"Wylis?"

"Hm… Yes…" Wylis woke up from the daze and looked at Lyanna's lovely face. With a big inhale, he spread his wide hands on her soft bottom and lifted her off the table again. He took her to the bed while kneading her rear, feeling that supple flesh had grown softer, her hips now wider. Then, he laid her down on the bed. 

“We’ll camp here tonight. At first light, we ride for Vulture’s Roost,” he explained the plan. "That’s where we take our vows—and wait for the babe to be born.”

He chose not to tell her about Rickard and Brandon. Not until the baby was born, at least. He wanted her to be in the best physical and mental state. He wanted her to live this time. 

"But father will never acce—"

"Shhh… We’ll deal with that after we get past this hill. Right now, Aerys has branded me a traitor and put a price on my head—one million dragons. He wanted to sacrifice me for some sick blood ritual. I barely got out of the Red Keep alive."

"What?!" Lyanna sat up in panic. 

Wylis gently pushed her back to rest. "Don’t worry about me—I’ve got what I need to survive. You should focus on resting now. I don’t want you wearing yourself down. Qyburn must be on the way here with all the game I hunted."

"Who's Qyburn?"

As he put the quilt on her body, her peeking upper half of her face looked cute while she asked questions like a curious cat. Her big, happy eyes moved, following wherever Wylis' head moved. 

"He’s my student now. An ex-Maester. I’ve been teaching him the healing arts. I know, don’t give me that look—I’ll explain when we get to Vulture’s Roost." He assured her and got off the bed's edge. "I'll deal with these bodies."

Still, Lyanna didn't sleep. Like a puppy scared of losing her favorite person, she kept watching him with only her eyes above the thin quilt. She watched him put the clothes back on the naked Septa. She watched him drag the bodies downstairs and then return upstairs.

She was really tired, and her eyes started to get heavy eventually. But unlike other nights, she felt completely safe and comfortable now. With Wylis around, she felt untouchable. 

"Wyli-sh…" She sleepily murmured, wanting to mutter it out before her eyes went shut. 

When she felt him stand at her bedside, she smiled under the quilt and spoke. 

"I… lu-wuv… yo-uh…"

That was it. She fell into a deep sleep. 

Unbeknownst to her, Wylis stood there, arms crossed, finding it harder and harder to tell her. He needed a strategy, but knowing that each strategy would lead to one end revelation scared him. He really didn't want to lose Lyanna. 

Fuck! This is bad for my big heart. 

####

"Ummmh… Mmmmm… Nnnnnmmm…"

Wylis' eyes opened to that humming noise. Resting flat on his back, the ceiling of the round tower came into his view. Then the faint morning light shimmered through the window. It was so faint that the nearby candle helped him. 

Candle?

His head turned to the side, and Lyanna wasn't there. 

"Mmmh… Morning… Mm…"

Finally he felt it, that wet, slimy slick heat on his throbbing, hard cock. He lifted his head and looked down, and there she was, the she-wolf, naked on her knees between his massive legs, crouched down on her elbows, worshiping his thick shaft like a warrior's prized sword. 

God, I missed her. 

Slurp! Slurp! Slurp!

Lyanna's mouth made wet, messy music as she suckled on him like he was her survival. Her tits, a bit rounder, a bit heavier than he remembered, hung down and brushed against his thick thighs. Each swing of her body dragged warm wet skin over his muscles, and the trickle of her drool ran down the length of his cock, pooling in the trimmed, sparse curls of his dark hair.

He couldn’t help but groan. “Fuc…”

Lyanna’s lips popped off his flushed tip with a gasp and a grin. Her breath was ragged, and her eyes, wild with hunger.

"Mmmm… Call me silly… mh…" Lyanna looked up with a gleeful smirk. "I missed this fat… thing… Gods, you're a beast… my beast."

Her voice was haughty, like she was still some lady and not the woman on her knees gorging herself on the cock that had knocked her up. But her hands, those dainty, pale fingers, told the truth. They pumped his shaft with the skill of a seasoned milkmaid churning butter, twisting at the tip, pressing into the ridges of his veins. Her thumb smeared his pre-spill across the crown before her mouth sealed over it again, her cheeks hollowing as she tried to suck him deeper. 

"Ugh…" Wylis bit down on a groan, jaw clenched. It had been too long. His body remembered her better than his mind did. Every lick, every slurp, every breath from her nostrils against the base of his cock. He missed it all, with every fiber of his being.

Her lips could barely stretch wide enough to cover a quarter of his length. Her throat tried to take more but failed, and he could feel her whimper around it when she gagged.

She looked up at him with storm-grey eyes, shining with mischief and need, locking eyes with his as her lips popped free again with another lewd slurp before plunging back down.

Honestly, she wanted more. She wanted to feel that monster stretching her again, split open, filled until she burst. But fear held her back. Her belly had grown with his child, and she didn’t dare risk it, not after being stolen and nearly lost. So she did the next best thing.

Wylis’ toes curled at the sight.

"Turn around… On me… Lyanna," he told her.

Her brows arched in surprise. Then she smiled, gleaming and wet. 

Lyanna crawled up with feline grace on his massive frame, turning around and straddling his face until her glistening rosy pussy hovered above his mouth, inches from his tongue. Her ass faced the candlelight, pale, perfect, and just slightly fuller than before. She was still light on her feet, but maternity had kissed her with a softness that made him growl.

He grabbed her by the hips and yanked her down.

“Umph..” Her gasp was muffled by his cock, feeling her cunt smashed down on his face.

Lyanna’s mouth sank even lower, smothering his shaft in a wet heat, like a challenge on who could use their mouth better. Her soft thighs hugged his head as she lowered herself completely into position, belly lightly pressing on his chest, swells dangling and brushing his skin with each eager suck. She took him in with a sigh like a long-lost comfort, tongue swirling over his cockhead as her lips slurped down to the ridge.

Wylis didn’t wait; he devoured. His tongue spread her open, licking her puffy, glistening lower lips with the broad flat of his tongue. Every flick made her hips jolt. Every circle around her throbbing clit made her thighs twitch against his skull.

“Oooooh! Fuck…” Lyanna whimpered, lips pulling off his cock with a sharp breath. “Not just your cock that’s… big—mmmfuck!” 

Wylis being the one to touch her like that made it all the more thrilling for her. Just a single lick of his warm tongue had her on the edge. It dove into her, slathering her slit like he was starving, like her cunt held the cure to death itself.

She bent low, wrapping her lips around his crown again, moaning into his cock. Her voice vibrated through his shaft as she stroked and licked him like he was her favorite treat. She smeared his precum across her cheek like war paint, then rubbed his cock along her flushed face, coating herself with it. Filthy. Shameless. And impossibly aroused.

“Missed this fucking beast,” she panted, kissing the length of his cock before licking it again like a slow-melting ice cream. “Missed your cock in my mouth… my cunt… fuck, it’s too big, it’s so big…”

Her mouth had him right there. Tittering on the edge, throbbing inside her throat, held back only by the tightening knot in his belly. He could feel her breath on his cock. Her lips kissed his tiny slit like a priestess sealing a sacred vow.

Wylis groaned under her shivering body, his mouth full of her taste. Her pussy was soaked already, but he wanted more. He licked her like a man missing a spoon for soup, his tongue swirling, stabbing, scooping. He circled her clit slowly, then flicked it faster and faster until her thighs started to tremble. When her body trembled, he clamped his lips around her small swollen bud and sucked.

“Aah—aaAAAAH! FUCK!” she screamed into his cock. Her voice cracked, loud, lewd, and helpless. Her body jolted as if struck by lightning, pussy gushing on mouth, slick flooding him.

She came hard, whole body shuddering uncontrollably, clit twitching between his lips, fingers slipping from his shaft as she collapsed half-limp across his belly. Her thighs clamped around his head.

But Wylis didn’t stop. He didn’t drink her in, he lathered her own nectar around her pussy with his soaked tongue, painting her folds with her release, teasing her overstimulated nerves with silky featherlight strokes that made her legs shake like leaves in a storm. 

His stubble glistened. His chin, utterly wet.

"Aaaaah… I… so… needed that… Wylis…"

“Close, Lyanna… fuck!” Wylis groaned, his teeth clenched, jaw locked like a man about to explode.

Lyanna heard it and responded with desperate fervor. Her hands cupped his balls, rolling them with care while her mouth bobbed down his shaft, fast and sloppy. Her cheeks hollowed around him, her tongue lapping like she meant to drown in him. Her hair whipped into a wild mess, dark strands sticking to her face and sweat-damp skin as she moaned, gurgled, choked.

Wylis wanted to cum. Gods, he needed to.

"MMmmmmmmmmmm~" Her throat clenched as his cock pushed too deep, his hot flesh bouncing on her tonsils. She sputtered, tears stinging her eyes, but she didn’t stop. She loved this. She loved doing this to him, making him struggle on the cliff before plunging into utter pleasure. 

His balls tightened in her palms. 

A twitch. A sharp pull of muscle.

Then, a thick, scalding rope of cum shot into her throat. The very same taste that had made her heavy with his child.

“Uunnghh!” Lyanna whimpered around him as her lips sealed tight over the swollen cockhead, sucking with obscene determination. He kept pulsing, kept pouring into her. Her cheeks puffed as she gulped down every white-hot spurt, swallowing fast, swallowing hard like it were god’s nectar.

He filled her small mouth like a man who hadn’t spilled in weeks. Burst after burst.

She moaned as she drank, fingers curling around the base of his cock like she could squeeze out every drop. Her mind raced, she wanted him in her, wanted to feel that thick cock stretch her open again, stuff her full. The heat, the scent of his seed, the sticky feeling in her throat, all of it brought back memories of times he fucked her to delirium. She couldn’t wait to do it all over again.

But for now, this was enough.

Spent and dripping, Lyanna finally let his cock slip from her mouth with a messy pop. Her lips were wet, her jaw aching, but she wore a soft, dreamy smile. With slow grace, she pivoted and laid flat on his chest, just like always. Her head rested over his heart, her bare breasts flattened softly over his ribs as she exhaled and melted into him.

His arms wrapped around her on instinct.

"We should start moving, fast." He muttered. 

"Without morning supper?" Lyanna looked at his face, grinning.

He looked confused. "What do yo—Oh!"

Lyanna shifted up and straddled his lower chest, easing herself up with that soft, feminine confidence, and leaned forward, letting her newly swollen breasts brush against his face. They were rounder now, fuller, tinted with maternal ripeness. The tips, tight pink buds, looked like overripe berries begging to be tasted.

She dangled one down to his lips, teasing him.

Without a word, he opened his mouth and latched on.

"Mmm… Heh—So… dirty but… God, I wanted to do this once… Oh! Fuck!" She wasn’t prepared for how sensitive she’d become. The perks of motherhood, she figured.

Wylis’s eyes widened as his lips pulled gently at her nipple, tongue flicking and swirling, and the warm gush of milk filled his mouth. He froze for a moment, surprised. He’d never liked the taste before. Not from the other women. That strange mix of sweetness and salt, rich but faintly sour, had always made him grimace.

But this?

This was Lyanna. And it tasted like hers. Warm. Raw. Real. Like he was drinking from her soul. And fuck, he loved it, the taste, not just the action.

He sucked harder, one hand pressed to the small of her back while the other slid down over the ripe curve of her ass. Her pussy hovered too high for him to reach with his cock, she was too short, but that didn’t stop him. His fingers found her soaked slit, and he teased it gently. Two fingers slid between her lips, rubbing slow circles as he suckled like never before.

She melted into him, her body writhing with every breath.

“Aahh… aahhh… Wylis…” she gasped, running her fingers through his thick curls, urging him to savor more, both of them. “Don’t stop… more… you’re… taking all of me…”

Her thighs trembled as his fingers worked her pussy, teasing her clit in tandem with his lips on her breast. Her nipple throbbed. Her pussy leaked. Her whole body buzzed with heat as pleasure built and built until…

“OHHHHHH--!”

She spilled again, flooding weakly across his stomach, her juices slicking his abs, her hips jerking forward as her body convulsed. The orgasm wasn’t loud this time; it was deep. A wet surrender against his chest.

Then she collapsed on him, breath heaving. "You… Wylis… make me… lose it so… easily."

He chuckled and held her there, no longer taking it any further. He waited and let her catch her breath while he also came down from that high. 

Knock! Knock!

A knock came from the door. A makeshift one, as Wylis had broken it yesterday. 

"Ser Wylis, if your morning ritual is done, shall we prepare to leave?"

"You were too loud." Wylis scolded Lyanna on top of him. 

"Hmph." Lyanna scoffed and softly smacked her finger on his forehead. "And who made me scream?"

"Fair," Wylis said and sat up along with her, keeping her on his lap. God, he loved to hold her in his arms. He wanted to slide into her warm cunt and throw her on his lap, but too bad, he couldn’t.

As she got off, he did too. 

"Let's do that, Qyburn." He yelled at the door. 

####

Truly, getting to Vulture's Roost was the easy part. The hard part for Wylis was trying to find the best way to reveal his brood that he'd already seeded, and the future brood that he'll have to keep growing. He didn't want to tell her about Tyrant's Squire as it could make her depressed, feeling that her existence was reduced to a few numbers. 

He genuinely cared for Lyanna and wanted to give her all the happiness in the world that a wife deserved. Sadly, cheating on your wife wasn't one of those happinesses. And knowing her fiery temperament, he was also worried for the babe in her belly. What if she became self-destructive and harmed herself or the babe? 

Fuck, damned if I do, damned if I don't. 

"So, I'm dead now?" Lyanna asked as she walked beside him, helping him carry their things into the ruined castle of Vulture's Roost. She was carrying a tiny cloth bag, though. 

"For the time being, you are," Wylis said, shaking his mind off the worry. "We've burned the Tower of Joy to the ground, it's a complete rubble now. The female dead body we left behind was the same height and build as you. Any half-competent maester will swear it was you. Let them.”

Lyanna nodded her head, half calm and half vexed. Faking her death would get her out of her betrothal with Robert, and give her the chance to marry Wylis and live with him. But it also meant that she couldn't use Stark in her name. She can't go home. 

"Ellyn," she breathed, almost afraid of how much she liked the new name. "It feels like someone I could be… with you. Someone else—someone freer."

"Hah, can already imagine lords calling you the dainty little lady of the big lord Wylis."

“I’m not that short,” Lyanna said, poking him hard in the ribs. “I reach your chest just fine."

"Lower chest." He corrected. 

"Careful, love. If you’re trying to sleep on the floor, you’re doing a fine job of it."

Wylis laughed out loud. "Girl, we're all sleeping on the floor in this ruin."

"..."

Speechless for a moment, Lyanna started laughing too after that. She strolled closer to his side and hugged his meaty arm. "Look at you, still so damn infuriating. I missed that. I missed this. Us. Trading jabs, no one getting their feelings bruised. It's like breathing again."

"Careful, she-wolf. I could knock that breath right out of you, if that’s what you’re after." He cheekily replied. 

Lyanna grinned back. "I'd be all for it—gods, would I—but I'm afraid the guest won't like that. Mama bear needs to keep breathing."

"Pfft… Mama bear?"

"What else am I, huh? Wylis, you bloody beastly ox. Your head’s in the clouds, feet like tree trunks. You think our babe’s coming out dainty? Gods, I’m already terrified. That child’ll tear me in half… I'll die."

“I won’t allow it,” he said firmly, locking her arm tighter against his. “Why do you think we keep Qyburn around? Isn't that right?"

Qyburn quickly responded from behind, also carrying a box of his own supplies. "That is correct, Ser Wylis. But I'm still learning from you." 

That earned Wylis an instant glare from Lyanna. She was interested in his miraculous sudden knowledge in the field of medicine. Especially in childbirth. Qyburn also talked to her about the germ theory, which she found hard to believe. And many more things. More shocking was that her beloved giant had invented them. 

Fuck you, Qyburn. 

####

Taking into account when he likely impregnated Lyanna, which was on the last day of the Tourney at Harrenhal, Wylis and Qyburn had an idea when she would give birth. Almost eight months had passed since the tourney, and at least another month was needed. 

Wylis used that time to feed his beautiful wife-to-be healthy meals, make her exercise, and do everything he could to ease the process for her. He set up a clean, almost sterile area within the ruins for the eventual. He prepared all the tools needed for emergencies. He prepared all the chemicals, pure alcohol, cotton, and other things. 

Just as Lyanna had said, he was worried the babe might be too chunky for her. And seeing her belly swell, the worry was starting to become a reality. 

Weeks passed in Vulture's Roost. By then, Wylis reckoned the Rebellion had already entered its early stages. The Battle of Summerhall must have already happened, he reckoned. The Rebellion would only grow stronger after that, and he wanted to join.

And surprisingly, as Lyanna’s pregnancy neared the final stage, her lust grew by leaps and bounds. He'd wake up with his cock in her mouth, and he'd then satisfy her with his finger, or she'd just rub herself on his thickness, teasing herself to completion. 

He didn't hate it at all. If anything, it made him feel more guilty. He'd promised her that he'd exchange vows with her. But nearly a month had gone by, and he was still undecided. He was almost certain that he wanted her to go through the pregnancy first. 

"Mm—Aaaaagh!"

Wylis woke up to Lyanna's cry one night. That was it, the moment he'd been waiting for had arrived. 

"QYBURN!" 

Wylis lifted her gently in his arms and carried her into the isolated, clean delivery area prepared beforehand. He'd even built the entire delivery bed with the backrest and raised leg boards, made out of smoothened wood, so her legs were kept spread and high for the delivery position. 

He was quick to strap her and prepare her for the final push. 

"Aaaaaargh… W-What the fuck… did you put in me! It's not coming out!" 

Fuck! 

Although he'd cut open a woman's belly before for delivery. Seeing the woman you actually cherish so much go through it was different. On top of that, knowing she died in another reality worried him. 

"Qyburn!" Wylis ordered, guiding the old man. "Keep an eye out for bleeding!" 

He stood beside her the entire time, letting her claw at his forearm, gripping him so hard that her own knuckles turned white. She growled, gritted her teeth, and cursed profanities at Wylis, even Qyburn wasn't spared. 

It being her first childbirth, Wylis knew it was going to take hours. If not days. But he was prepared and stood by her. The clock ticked, although there was no clock. The night turned into day, and hours passed. 

"Don't you lose it now, Lyanna! You listening?" Wylis roared at her tired face. "If you don't push that fat babe out, I'll have to cut open your belly!" 

"Fuck you! Who's babe are you calling fat?" Lyanna snapped and pushed again. "It's our… babe… What? Cut me? You madman—Aaaaaargh!"

"I SEE IT!" Qyburn roared, the poor man too tired for the new profession Wylis had assigned him. "The head's out!" 

"Let me see!" Wylis tried to move Lyanna's claws from him. But she wouldn't let go. "Lyanna!"

"Don't… you… bloody… cut me!" She growled.

"..."

"I won't." Wylis exchanged positions. Now it was poor Qyburn getting his arm squeezed, and unlike Wylis, it actually hurt him. 

Quickly, Wylis checked the condition and made sure everything was alright. There were no complications. 

"Push! Keep pushing, Lyanna, or I'll have to cut you!"

"NO!" 

The threat of being sliced open seemed to work. Lyanna pushed and kept pushing. Slowly but surely, the baby came out naturally. And once the chunky babe was fully out, Lyanna gasped a deep, soothing breath. 

Wylis was quick at work already. He waited a few minutes before tying the cord in two places using a thread he and Qyburn had made just for that purpose. Finally, he cut the cord. He ensured that the placenta was out. By then, Qyburn was at work, wiping the baby’s nose and mouth, then rubbing its back until the sharp cry resonated. 

"Waaaaaa~ Waaaa~"

Quickly, Wylis washed the baby with warm water, pure to perfection beforehand, and wiped the baby dry. Finally, using a clean cloth, he swaddled the baby tightly. However, just as he was doing that, he remembered he hadn't even checked the gender, too worried and rushed to bother. 

"Oh!" He noticed the tool. "It's a boy! Lyanna, did you hear that? Hah?"

Ting!

[Lifespan increased by 1 year!]
[Remaining Lifespan - 61 Years 5 Months]

[Legacy (Trueborn & Bastards) - Customizer Unlocked]
[Customizer - Customize your newborn. A Tyrant's seed must not stand weak.]

Ting!

[Newborn detected]
[Son(Bastard) - Lyanna Stark's
Life Points Available - 10]

[Strength - 1/10
Dexterity - 0/10
Intelligence - 0/10
Charisma - 0/10
Vitality - 1/10]

[TIP: Tyrant's Squire advises you to carefully distribute the ten Life Points. Beyond this, each nameday shall earn the Tyrant's offspring one Life Point.]

[Tip: 1 is basic and 10 is peak on the human scale. An average human can only achieve 10 points in two of the five categories in their entire lifetime.]

Holy… fucking… shit!