The Northern Tyrant [Game of Thrones] Chapter 14 - The Tunnel, The Madness & The Chaos

Wylis felt his heart pound. He was no god. He was no Dragon. He couldn't face an entire city's army alone. It was unknown what lay beyond th

Wylis felt his heart pound. He was no god. He was no Dragon. He couldn't face an entire city's army alone. It was unknown what lay beyond that timer, and he really didn't want to find out. 

He wasted no more time and jumped down into the tunnel he'd made. He made sure to leave behind a perfectly looking floor so no one would ever know how he escaped. Then, with a small homemade torch, he crawled through the tunnel. 

Crawling down floor after floor, he soon arrived at what was the torture chamber, the deepest level. 

"Aaammm…"

What?

That night, he heard a lot of sounds coming from outside his secret tunnel's walls. The torture chamber was right on the other side. 

"MMmmmngh!"

Someone's getting tortured? Who? 

Curious to at least know who it was, Wylis made a tiny hole in the wall. So tiny that it was barely the size of his fingertips. But it was enough to get a look inside. A dimly lit large chamber, a stone block in the center, on which a man was tied with his arms and legs locked in chains. 

As the prisoner writhed, he got a good look at the face. And no, he couldn't recognize the man. However, he did easily recognize the torturer. It was surprising. 

Pycelle? What the fuck's he doing here? 

Pycell's rookery wasn’t inside Maegor's Holdfast. The man was a long way away from his bunker. 

Right then, he saw Pycelle walk towards the prisoner, holding a tiny vial in his hand. As usual, the old man dismissively ignored the prisoner's panic and forced the vial's contents down into the mouth. 

“Ah… yes, yes, be still now, lad, be still. You—killed a family. Four, yes? For bread. Bread. Hmph! You should hang, truly, but… I am merciful. If… yes, if you survive what comes next—my, ah, experiment—you may walk free.” Pycelle muttered, although the locked man couldn't speak, his mouth once again stuffed with cotton. And in mere moments, the prisoners stopped moving entirely. 

"Mmm, fight it, fight it, lad... yes. If that dung-shoveling brute could do it, you can too! How could he... how could he thwart my Strangler? I brewed it myself, oh yes, finest tincture this side of Lys. Hmph. Immunity to poison... a rare gift, unnatural, unnatural... When His Grace finishes with the brute, I must secure... yes, a vial of his blood, just a drop, for study, for the good of the realm. Mm? Another one? Dead? Gods preserve us. That's fifteen now, isn't it? Guards! Fetch in the next unfortunate."

He poisoned me?! 

Wylis sat on the other side of the wall, wide-eyed, his skin crawling and goosebumps raised. What Pycelle mumbled gave too much information. The King had something deadly planned for him. Pycelle plotted to kill him, and likely not on the King's demand. And…

Fuckers trying to replicate my poison immunity?

Of course, it was bullshit. His poison immunity couldn't be attained naturally. 

Really, he wanted to bust through that wall, grab Pycelle by the neck, and get some answers. Was it Rhaegar? Was it the Princess? Was it the King? Or maybe the Lannisters? Who the fuck was it?

But with that continuous timer flickering in the corner of his vision, he patched up that hole. Pycelle was going to last past the dynasty. He'd have his time to torture the old fucker and get the answers. 

He crawled past the Maergor's Holdfast's limits and then under Godswood. In no time, he was back under the outermost, western wall of the castle. He once again removed the opening he'd covered before and found the scarcely lit city not far away. 

Shhhh~

He slid down the dirt hill and soon landed on the periphery road that ran adjacent to the city's wall. Knowing his size was a major issue, he quickly rushed into the nearest alley before the patrolling guards could see him. 

He didn't go towards Eel Alley, as Qyburn had already left. He'd told the man to grab his precious horse, take the delivery of his new sword from the blacksmith, and leave the city before the gates closed. The man was supposed to wait for him outside King's Gate, near the slum-like houses. 

Ding!

Ding!

Ding!

It wasn't the chime of Tyrant's Squire. No, it was far more haunting. It was far more real and loud. Coming from a distance, from the West. 

Fuck! What now?!

It was late at night, and it didn't make sense that the Great Sept of Baelor would ring its bells. It felt far too ominous.

But the timer didn't change! 

He still had two hours and one minute left.

Ding!

Ding!

Ding!

The Sept's bell was continuous, and it kept ringing for a long, long time. Following that, Wylis heard increased footsteps on the main street not far from him. The metallic noise of armor clanking was unavoidable. They were Gold Cloaks. 

Is this for me? 

Once again, he reminded himself, he was no god. He couldn't brutishly push his way out of the city. The gates were already locked for the night, but his plan was to get close to a southern wall, at least, and climb it using Earthbending. 

But that plan went down the drain now. The nearest wall to him led him out onto Aegon's High Hill. From there, he'd have to cross Blackwater Rush. 

He ran his brain fast, trying to think of the shortest route out. One thought came that he could hide in Flea Bottom. But then he realized, a seven fucking feet tall man can't hide anywhere. That night was all he had. He had to escape. 

Fuck! Fuck it! 

Before every street in the city could be crowded by Gold Cloaks, Wylis ran back to the hill he'd just slid down from. He climbed it up again, opened the tunnel opening he'd come out of, and vanished back under the Red Keep. 

He kept crawling back until he found a lot of roots protruding down. From there, he dug up using Earthbending with complete ease, compressing the loose dirt, and in no time, he came out in the dark Godswood. With a rush, he flattened the ground again and then ran to the thick wall of the Red Keep nearest to him. 

He used bare hands and earthbending to make a temporary ladder for himself. Each latch to hold he made, he erased once used, hiding his steps. 

After careful surveying, he ensured that nobody was above the wall. If the Great Sept's bells had rung, it meant most of the soldiers were running across the city. And since the wall he was on overlooked the city, atop the hill, it was impossible to sneak in from there, requiring even less security. 

Now the fucking Kingsguards!

He moved on top of the wall, eastwards, as the pathway curved. He crossed the rookery easily since Pycelle wasn't there anyway. But then came the White Sword Tower, which housed the Kingsguards. 

But he knew where they were stationed that night. He had access to that information. Some were likely resting as well. 

Carefully, he went around the White Sword Tower, using Earthbending to silence his footsteps by turning the floor softer. From there, he ran through the place where Elia Martell and the ladies would gather. 

At last, he arrived on top of the Eastern wall of the city. He looked inside from there, back into the large courtyard, open from all sides to look into. But it also houses crucial buildings like the Small Hall, the Tower of the Hand, the Kitchens, the Royal Sept, and the part he was after, the stables. 

Quickly, he jumped off the edge of the high wall and carefully lowered himself into the courtyard, right beside the stables. He wasn't fully sure, but he had reasons to believe that a tunnel was right underneath the stables. It was hidden under a slab of stone, but it was there. 

He'd sensed it during the countless walks over the past few days while following the Queen and her bratty son, and at times, entertaining Elia's daughter. In fact, he had sensed a shit ton of tunnels, but none felt so clear and fresh as this one. 

Where the fuck is it? 

The noise was audible from a distance. Men running and shouting. The horses were all gone from the stables, meaning the defense was low. 

He walked inside the stables and purposefully looked for a secret spot. Soon enough, he located the small storage room inside the stables, filled with crates, buckets, tools to shovel dung, and other horse-tending tools. 

Found it! 

As soon as he put his hands on the dirt floor, he felt it. The tunnel's entrance was right underneath the crate. But he didn't need to move it. In that limited space, he just pulled a fat chunk of earth out. It was mostly stones and dirt. 

Fuck, I've got no torch!

Right then, he heard some footsteps nearby. No longer having the luxury to grab some light, he just squeezed himself into the claustrophobia-inducing hole, all the while pulling the excavated dirt back on himself, returning the floor to as it was, hard. 

Thud!

He eventually fell down once his thick body squeezed through the initial grip of the surface. And the tunnel sure was tight for him. It was only wide enough for a single man, and high enough for the same. But again, Wylis was anything but an ordinary man. 

So, he had to walk sideways with his head tilted sideways as well. He relied solely on his senses, using Earthbending to feel where he was going. At first, he easily sensed the surface above, but then he noticed the tunnel going upward, and the surface became elusive to his amateur Earthbending senses. 

Oh? Holy shit! 

As he went, he sensed some strange things on rare occasions. Sometimes on the sides, at times above him. There were secret vaults, storages, or more tunnels running separately to somewhere else. There were also bones, some human and some clearly… dragons. 

But then the tunnel ended abruptly. As if whoever was building it didn't get to finish it. 

What the fuck?!

He touched his hands everywhere to feel the surroundings in that darkness. 

Wood?

Woosh!

He felt a wooden panel right behind him, squeezed against his ass. He gave it a push, and it clicked open like a door. 

Thud!

He fell back, ass first in a dirt covered dark area. It was roofed, and looked like a basement. There were racks and crates everywhere, and the scent of rotten… something, was in the air. 

That wasn’t what Wylis was expecting. He moved quickly and located the stairs. Once he reached upstairs, it was in an even worse condition. The place was abandoned, likely a shop of some kind. 

But that was good for him as he easily got out of the building. He surveyed the surroundings, and the scent of filth was strong. Flea Bottom was close by, he reckoned. The street outside the shop was small, but curved down as it went right, meaning he was on Rhaenys' Hill. 

From there, Wylis relied completely on his memory of what he'd read and known. He looked for a stable, one that sat on another cave. This one was supposed to be on Rhaenys' Hill itself. 

Still, he had a general direction in mind, knowing where to search. He had to be careful to stay clear of the main streets. The occasional footsteps kept him on the edge. 

"Neigh… snort…"

Horses?

There were many stables around there. So, he went randomly with the likely direction of the cave in mind. And as expected, it wasn't his lucky day. 

He kept searching, kept hiding, his breath panting just from the sheer nervousness. He found two more stables before he finally ended up at the right one. 

Right behind a stable, he found a hidden trapdoor. Wasting no time, he jumped inside and ended up in a much better, and slightly bigger tunnel than before. 

This has to be it!

Once again, he followed the dark path. He soon felt the sensation of the cave turning downward again. By then, he knew exactly where he was headed. 

Thanks Tywin! You probably tried to kill me. But your fucking tunnel's gonna save me too. 

Moments later, he felt the end of the tunnel. It instead stretched upward now, and there was a metal ladder attached. 

Careful not to make too much noise, he climbed up, perhaps a few floors length, even going above the likely street level. The surroundings changed from dirt to wooden walls. By then, he was sure he was in the right place. 

Thud! 

Agh! 

He hit his head on the ceiling. The ladder's end had come. It was dark, but the scent was noticeable. Spicy, soft, alluring. 

He felt a wooden panel on his right side, large enough for a man to walk through its frame. He pushed it further and further, and then. 

Creak! 

It felt like some doors opened behind that wooden panel. And then there was light, barely. It all became clear. The tunnel secretly opened into a large wardrobe, concealed by the back panel. 

Hope nobody is using it. 

He lowered his head a little and smoothly moved out of that secret wardrobe opening to get a complete view of that turret room. It was large and round. A great canopied bed marked the center of the room, with a single narrow window on one side, with leaded glass in a pattern of red and yellow diamonds. 

It was Chataya's Brothel. And effectively, it brought him just two or three streets away from the Northern wall of King's Landing. Close enough to make a run for it and escape for good. The timer still had slightly over one and a half hours left.

Clank!

His head snapped towards the noise with a predatory precision. His massive body cast a huge shadow in that already dimly lit room. 

Fuck! I'm not alone. 

Hidden behind the bed's canopy curtain, he noticed a tall, female figure. It was only her, thankfully. 

"I’m just passing through, whoever you are," Wylis said, voice steady but guarded. He couldn’t make her out in the dark. "I mean no harm." 

"Ser Wylis?"

Wylis frowned, still unable to see. But that accented speech did give it away. "Lady Chataya?"

"Mmm, I thought I knew that voice. No other man’s bold—or foolish—enough to call me a lady." 

Chataya finally walked out of the shadows, into the light of a single candle on a dresser nearby. Surprisingly, she stood naked there, not a single thread on her, but she held a knife in her hand. 

She stood proud, tall, and perfectly proportioned. Her smooth, ebony skin caught the candlelight in all the right places, revealing subtle muscle beneath her curves and a gleaming softness that made her flesh look almost edible. Her hair was styled similar to a golden-threaded Nubian bun, intricately wrapped and held together with delicate braids. It was regal and exotic, like an exquisite flower from a distant, forbidden isle. Untouchable, yet begging to be tasted.

Wylis' gaze rested on her busty, full tits for a moment, and then those curvy hips filling up those plump, curvy sides. She was a sight to behold, her ebony skin smooth and shimmering even in that flickering candlelight. And the best part, she was taller than any woman he'd seen yet. Certainly close to six feet. 

“Any man with eyes would call you a lady—and he'd still be underselling it. The so-called ladies out there? They can’t hold a candle to you.”

Chataya smiled sultrily, her dark red lips curving wide to reveal her pearly white teeth. She put the knife away and paced closer to him. "I see the Lord Hand's secret isn't a secret anymore."

Feeling awkward, Wylis unashamedly grabbed the wooden back panel and shoved it back in, and then closed the wardrobe's doors. Then, he clapped his hands, cheekily eyeing the proudly naked woman. 

"I saw nothing, and I know nothing, my lady."

Chataya chuckled at that and walked even closer to Wylis. With grace, she looked up at his face, meeting his warm gaze, and then dusted his shoulders, wiping the dirt. "Mm, I doubt you came here to request the same thing you did last time, Ser."

Wylis's single brow raised high. He saw the signs, the signs as old as man. The signs of a woman's desire for his body. A sign he'd seen in plenty of women already. 

"Why? Ready to accept it this time?"

Fuck! What the fuck am I doing? I should run away! 

She smiled faintly, lips pursed, while her long, elegant fingers grazed over his chest. Even through the fabric of his tunic, she could feel the solid wall of muscle beneath, the quiet strength of his body. Her touch was slow, almost curious, tracing the broad plane of his torso with ease. Then, gently, she let her hand trail upward to his thick neck, her thumb grazing the pulse there with something like reverence.

“Perhaps I am, sweet Ser…” Chataya’s voice purred, her Summer Isles accent wrapping around each word like silk, more exotic. “But tell me… is it not true that you bested the White Bull, the Sword of the Morning, and even Barristan the Bold himself—all on your lonesome?”

Wylis ground his teeth, trying to resist the pull. But he couldn’t ignore the faint shimmer of that goddamn timer in the corner of his vision. Another hour left, maybe more? And here she was, everything he needed to seal in some more years to his life. And more than that, she was offering herself willingly. 

With hungry intent, he gripped her at the waist with both hands. His big, calloused hands engulfed her smooth curves completely. Her skin was satin-dark and warm under his touch, hips flared wide like a goddess of fertility. It felt like she’d been made to give life, and just maybe, made to take his seeds. She was a mother, her body ripe from recent motherhood, a woman already proven to bear life.

"I did, my lady. Though calling it besting feels generous. They came close to finishing me off—and even then, they didn’t strike with full force, holding back." Wylis confessed truthfully, feeling that lying to Chataya would hurt him in the long run. Chivalry was hard to earn. 

"And? Did you hold back?" Chataya asked, as if unwinding him with mere words of desire and an invitation. Her one hand on his chest, the other took the liberty of going down and cupping his bulging, growing erection. Her fingers were a sin, moving over his breeches, tickling him just right to make him grow more. 

"I did." 

"Could you have… killed them, if you hadn't?"

At that mention, Wylis's blue eyes turned starkly bright, oozing absolute confidence and pride in his abilities. He responded with firmness. "With ease."

Chataya's eyes widened a little, not expecting a response as powerful as that. She'd seen men, men who sang praises of themselves, false each time. Men who hid secrets and kept their lips tight. She found no lies in Wylis' declaration. 

And that… made her grip harden on his throbbing shaft, larger than any man she'd ever taken or felt. He was, in true essence, Westeros' most beautiful beast in a man's skin.

"Mmm… The gods made us this way, isn't that so? They gave you these strong arms." She muttered and while keeping one hand on his cock, used the other to feel his upper arm. "They gave you this chest, this face, and to me my soul, my body, and… our desire. If a man such as you gives his seed as a gift, Ser, then let me be the soil that honors it. What is more sacred than giving ourselves to the joy they made us for? Isn't that the greatest worship?”

Sadly, Wylis only heard two words, not all that explanation. 

Breed me! Breed me! Breed me! Breed me!—Those two words echoed in his head. 

His hand moved almost subconsciously, sliding up her sides with a purpose. Over the curve of her waist, along her taut belly, and then straight to one of those magnificent, dark breasts. They were full, with only a breath of sag from nurturing, and already glistening at the nipple with a creamy bead of life’s nectar. 

His fingers sank into the heavy swell, and he gave it a rough squeeze. Warm milk oozed down over his palm, sticky and thick, and the feeling of it, her motherly body begging to be used again, made his cock flex harder in her grip.

"If that’s how your gods ask to be worshiped, then call me their most faithful servant, Chataya."

"Umm… Have me… how do you desire to have me, Ser?"

Wylis licked his lips, eyes full with intent to spill his seed in her. Seeing her tall, powerful body, he had an idea. To give her a cock so good she'd never forget and forever seek that sensation again and again until he'd return to make her womb swell once more. 

“In a way you’ve never known it, Chataya. But first…” He kicked off his boots with slow purpose, hands going to the ties of his breeches. He stepped out of them, baring himself without shame. “A moment of reverence, for your knight.”

"Ummmm… with pleasure."

Chataya lowered herself onto her knees with slow, elegant grace. Her long limbs moved like poured dark wine. Even kneeling, she still rose high enough to reach his hardness. A tall, beautiful creature on her knees for a man worth worshiping.

She wrapped one hand around his cock, and her eyes widened. Her fingers couldn’t close around the shaft, not fully. Her other hand joined the first, both of them working to properly grip him.

“Gods…” she whispered, eyes glazed with fascination. Then, she pressed his shaft up against her face, flat and reverent. The base rested heavily against her chin, and the tip throbbed high above her hairline, casting a shadow on her forehead.

His scent, musky, raw, and masculine, flooded her senses. It was thick with sweat, skin, and something deeper… the unmistakable heat of a man, a warrior. She breathed it in and moaned quietly.

"Mm… Gods… made you for this, Ser… I can see… To spill and sow… You'll be the most faithful inde-heed… Nnnnmmm…"

Chataya's tongue came out, long, thick, and dark pink like a petal dipped in syrup. She licked him from the base to the very tip in one long, slow, wide stroke, dragging that warm, wet muscle up his length. Her plump lips, painted deep red, parted. Her cheeks, already warm and flushed as she let her spit trail over his shaft in silken strands.

She looked like a goddess created for sex, exquisitely crafted for worship. Her full lips wrapped around his head, suckling with devotion, while her hands stroked his girth with wet, rhythmic pumps. She moaned against him, slathering him in slick, warm kisses, drool clinging to his shaft as she fed her hunger on his manhood.

Fuck! Don't got too long! Wylis never stopped looking at that ticking clock. But he had to sow his seed because it took nine months for the reward to come.

Slurp… Slurp… Squelch~

The sounds were obscene. Her hands moved faster, twisting and kneading as she nursed his swollen tip, tongue dancing around the tiny opening. She suckled like she was tasting salvation, her moans vibrating along his cock.

Wylis felt his thighs tense, knees threatening to buckle under the sheer wet ecstasy of her skill. It was overwhelming, as if she knew every button to push. Every bump, every groove. 

"That is… quite enough, my lady," Wylis decided to move on, although he was loving it. "Against the wall, if you will."

Wylis didn’t wait. He pressed her back against the nearest stone wall with his full frame. The sudden coldness of the wall made her gasp, but his heat devoured it in seconds. He dipped his head and kissed along her collarbone, tasting salt, perfume, and sweat. Her flavor, rich and sultry, like the Summer Isles she came from. He then lowered further and latched onto one of her nipples, tongue circling before he suckled it hard between his lips.

The faintest taste of milk hit his tongue. He hadn’t liked it with Genna, and he didn’t like it now. But gods, he loved doing it. There was something so filthy, so fucking primal about nursing from a woman he was about to fill. His cock throbbed harder just from the act alone.

He gave both tits their due, teasing bites and firm squeezes. 

“Ummmhhh! Yes…” Her moans grew louder and breathless. 

Then, he straightened up, meeting her gaze with a cocky grin before his wide hands moved behind her and clamped down on her asscheeks. Thick and juicy, perfect for pumping into.

Without even asking, he yanked her up. One sharp, brute pull by her soft, plump ass and her body lifted. 

“Ah!” She gasped, her full bosom pressing into his chest again. 

Midway, before she could fully wrap her legs around his waist, he pressed her into the wall to hold her there, and slid both his arms under her knees, one on each side.

She dangled there by her own weight. Knees bent upward and legs splayed open, her slick cunt fully exposed, parted by the sheer stretch of her thighs. She could feel it already, his cock throbbing against her soaked slit.

"Ooooh! T-This… I've never… Gods!"

Chataya tits, still glistening from his spit, rubbed against his tunic, staining it with spots of maternal milk. Her dripping pussy, swollen and begging, glistened inches from his cock. She was tall, nearly six feet of goddess flesh, and yet no nobleman or brute had ever managed to lift her like this. No one had ever made her feel small. 

But Wylis? He held her like she weighed nothing, cock heavy, grin wicked.

Chataya moaned again and clung to his neck, legs spread in his grasp, as she slid one hand down between their slick bodies. She grabbed his cock, still hard, still angry, and lined it up against her aching, wet lower lips.

"Mmmmmmmmh! I feel it… Oh, the blessing… you… are a blessing in FLESH! Yes!"

With an invitation that obvious, he slammed it in with no mercy. In one brutal thrust, he rammed his cock straight through her drenched petals, splitting them apart like a virgin maid’s first ruin. 

“Ahhh!” she cried out in holy ecstasy as his thick girth speared her open, stretching her like she was birthing in reverse. Her walls gripped him like satin fire, clenching and fluttering, trying to make space for the cock that had no intention of going gently.

Wylis growled, grinding his teeth, holding her weight as he stuffed himself in. Fuck, she wasn’t tight, but still hot, still wet, and thoroughly alive and squeezing with each throb. He felt her around every vein, every twitch, every thrust, as if her cunt was sucking the life out of him. She made him feel more than alive, she made him feel like he was earning his next breath.

She screamed from pleasure. "Ohhh gods! Split me open, Ser! Fill me—split me so I never forget!"

And he obliged.

Without warning, he moved away from the wall, holding her suspended in midair as her body jolted from the shift, pussy clutching his cock tighter. His arms kept her knees wide, wide hands supporting her sides.

Now in the center of the room, Wylis threw her tighter against his chest, hips pistoning up into her slick furnace. His cock slammed balls-deep, each thrust landing with a wet clap that echoed in the room. 

His grip bruised her waist, but she didn’t care. Her head was thrown back, her moans loud, unhinged. Her weight made each thrust drill deeper into her core. She’d never been taken this hard. She hadn't known it could feel like this. The way his cock kissed the entrance of her cervix like a relentless, brutal knock, it felt like prayer to her.

"Blessed are the strong… Ohhh gods! May he plant deep and true—fill the temple with his holy seed—NNNH!"

Chataya, a woman, a whore… yet she felt like a patron, and he was the one unwrapping her sultry desires. 

Wylis grunted, sweat dripping down his back, hair plastered to his brow as he fucked her like a mad man. He didn’t even blink, eyes glued to her jolting tits, to the way her stomach rippled with each thrust, to the way her face twisted in something between agony and rapture.

Then, suddenly, she came. Hard.

Her entire body seized around his cock, walls clenching tight and refusing to let go. Her scream was blasphemous, long, cracked, wet. Her pussy gushed with pleasure, slick trickling down between them, painting his thighs, his stomach, the floor. It was messy and primal. It was perfect.

"Gck… Gods! I’m gonna—Fuck, I’m gonna bust!"

Wylis roared, hips slamming forward one last time as he came deep. His cock pulsed, throbbed, and unleashed inside her. Hot, thick spurts of batter flooded her womb, each pump twitching against her walls. His cream spilled out around the seal of her pussy, oozing down her ebony under thighs in slow, sticky dribbles. His seed stood out like spilled paint, milky white against a canvas of dark silk, clinging in globs to the soft curves of her ass.

Then, Wylis waited while standing there, balls deep inside her, throbbing. 

He waited some more. 

And more. 

FUCK! Why's the ping not coming? She's not pregnant yet?!

"Not… done yet." 

Still got an hour. Yeah, I can do it—fuck! I'm fucking crazy! Did I spend it all on Rhaella?

He didn't know, but he was scared that it might be the case. Still, he wanted to give Chataya another try. So, he walked over to the massive canopied bed and put her down on it. 

"A man… like you only comes once in… years~" Chataya cooed, panting as she lay spread on the bed, her back drenched against the sheets. "Have me… have me… and make use of this soil for your seed, and this moment as the food—Ooh! Yes!"

Wylis didn’t tease. He didn’t move her into a complicated position; he didn’t even think. He just dove straight into her in a half-missionary. Why? It was a basic, bland position, but the fucking thing always worked. It had never failed him before. It was his cheat-code. It had to work now. 

He grabbed her right leg, hooked it to his chest, flattening her body to a slight side angle, while her other leg remained outstretched on the sheets. Her dark pussy, already glossed with his last load, welcomed him back like a lewd chalice of soaked lust.

With one brutal thrust, he rammed his cock into her again. Squelch!

"Ahh!" Chataya gasped, her voice breaking into a near-cry as her hips twisted sideways to accommodate the angle. Her body glistened with lust, her lips parted in divine disbelief. "Yes… yes… Spill in me again, Ser… Make use of this… god-given… cunt!"

How could he say no to that?

His cock pistoned into her wet slit with single-minded fury, the head spearing so deep it felt like he was trying to pound through the back of her womb. Frothy white cream, his own from earlier, gathered around the base of his shaft and her lower lips, looking moonlit on her ebony flesh, each thrust mixing it deeper into her stretched love hole.

The bed groaned. 

And then the canopy snapped! 

The carved wood splintered, tilted, and collapsed around them, draping twisted silk around the writhing sex-drunk pair. Neither stopped nor even flinched.

"Ohhh gods! Ohhhh Ser…Yes! Keep going!" Chataya moaned like she was summoning a storm.

Wylis thrust forward with all the strength in his back, thighs, and soul. His balls slapped her dark ass wetly, each clap sharp and unrelenting. His grip was bruising, his mind pure static. Not just pleasure, but purpose. He needed to get her pregnant. That was all that mattered now.

Creak… creak… creak! 

The bed screamed in protest.

“Uuughhh…. Aahhhh!!” Chataya screamed, louder this time. Her body seized, back arching into the ruined canopy, and she squirted. 

A violent rush of clear, warm fluid exploded from her soaked cunt, spraying the sheets, soaking his thighs, and drenching the ruined bed below. Her eyes flew open in disbelief as her pussy convulsed.

"I… I—I don’t…. Ohhhh gods!!"

Chataya hadn’t squirted in years, if ever. Her own climax shocked her, a mess of shameful bliss and worshipful surrender.

Wylis lost it, drowning in the pure pleasure of her silky soaked cunt. He roared, one final, brutal thrust hammering home, the sound like flesh slapping into soaked meat. "FUCK! JUST GET THE FUCK IN—AAARGH!"

His cock buried as deep as it could go, his toes curled, his hips locked, and he came again. Not the same thick, heavy cream as before, but still a lot. A hot, eager flood poured straight into her stretched cunt. He filled her again, pulsing sticky cream into her womb, determined to paint her insides a second time.

White fluid oozed out around his cock, globs clung to the soft curve of her ass, sliding along her flawless dusky skin in sinful-streaks of filth. And still, he stayed inside her. Balls-deep, throbbing, twitching, and spent.

He collapsed forward, his weight pinning her, chest to breast, cock still pumping the last lazy twitches of seed into her soaked cunt.

He lay there, panting, feeling the slow squeeze of his cock one last time as his balls gave up their final drops.

Really? Did all those little tadpoles die or wh—

Ting!

[Trueborns & Bastards Triggered!]

[Name: Chataya

Age: 27

Occupation: Whore, Brothel Owner

Current Loyalty: 28%

Status: Impregnated]

Yes! Yes! I still have it! 

Done, Wylis finally pulled himself off of her. He looked down and realized what a nasty mess he'd made. Also, how insanely rough he'd been. Any other woman would have screamed and died impaled on his cock. But it seemed, Chataya was just built differently. Or maybe it was her height. 

Taller women can handle me rough? Hmm… will keep an eye out for them. 

"Here." Wylis took out some coins from his small pouch and put them on the side table. "It's a lot for me, fifty Gold Dragons, but not a King’s ransom, I know. But it’ll carry you through for a few years. When I return, I’ll have land and title."

Perhaps too spent, or maybe he did go too rough for even her, Chataya remained on the bed, her cunt on full display, oozing his virile batter, sticky, messy. "You needn’t trouble yourself, Ser. We offered our prayers together, and the gods heard. Only one thing I ask—if the babe is a boy, take him with you. If she’s a girl, she shall stay with me, and I will raise her in my ways, as my mother did."

My daughter? A whore? For what? So Robert can fuck her some day? Like hell I'll allow that! 

Wylis felt angry at that mere suggestion. But he didn't fight her on that. He had years to grow and gain might. Enough to take what belonged to him later, even by force. 

"Very well." He replied, neither agreeing nor declining. "I must leave now."

“I’m certain you do, Ser." She cooed, as if aware that those bells had rung for him. "The northern door will serve you best—it leads through the kitchen. Quiet as a prayer at this hour."

Wylis was done wearing his clothes by then and gave the woman a gentle nod. He wanted to maintain good relations with her, and maybe take her womb's service again, maybe even her daughter's, or other whores someday. But that all depended on what she'd birth him first. 

"Be well, Chataya."

####

The North, Winterfell.

“Aye, my Lord, I seen what I seen. Golden armor, white cloaks—Kingsguard, no mistakin’. Just the once, but it sticks in the mind, that sort of thing. Then I heard a lady screamin’. Followed the sound, quiet as I could. Found a tree, big and twisted, and another knight waitin’ there. They put her—Lady Lyanna, I think—into a wagon with a dragon on it. Red three-headed one. I swear it, by the Old Gods. Ain’t tellin’ no lies.”

Lord Rickard Stark furiously eyed the man, a mere farmer from a village near the White Knife river banks. “You expect me to believe three Kingsguards snatched my daughter? At the Targaryens’ command? Tell me how that’s anything but madness.”

“I-I'm no tale-spinner, my Lord, I swear it! It was right there, I saw it with me own eyes, I did!”

"Aye, it’s possible," Brandon said, standing straighter than usual. "At the tourney, "Rhaegar didn’t even pretend to be subtle, looked at Lyanna like a starving man at a feast. Sought Lyanna's favor in the joust, right before his wife's eyes. If Wylis hadn’t won, he’d have named her his Queen of Love and Beauty. Gods help us, the court’s split right down the middle—and those Kingsguard? They’re the prince’s lapdogs, every one of them."

Of course, Rickard knew all that. He was already furious at the Targaryens, and especially Rhaegar, for what he'd done at the tourney. He wasn't there, but to seek a betrothed woman's favor was akin to looking down upon his house, and also Robert Baratheon. 

"Prepare the horses, Brandon. We're going to King's Landin—"

Bam!

"My Lord! Raven—Raven from King's Landing! It's Wylis!" Maester Walys rushed into the Great Hall. "Raven…"

"Stop stuttering and speak, Maester!" Lord Richard shouted. "What's the matter?"

"It is Ser Wylis, my Lord. The Crown has declared him outlaw—there’s word of a bounty, no less than half a million gold dragons, for any soul who brings him before the King."

"..."

Brandon Stark looked at his father, and his father looked at him. Both men, and any other man in that hall, be it that farmer, or the Stark guards, froze in the moment. Bounties weren't uncommon, but they barely ever went that high. Heck, the highest they'd known was a few thousand dragons. To make it half a million, what the fuck did Wylis do? They were all curious. 

"What did he do?" Brandon asked. 

"Naught is written, Young Lord," murmured Maester Walys, wringing his hands. "But Ser Wylis is gone from the capital, that much is plain. W-We must put space between him and us. House Stark must not be seen as entangled. Lord Stark—"

Lord Stark nodded. “I ride for King’s Landing, Maester. I’ll see my daughter returned with all the justice the realm is due, and make it clear that Wylis is no ward of mine—or of the North.”

“No. No, I won’t have it.” Brandon snapped, fire in his voice. “He’s got more North in him than half the lords in these halls—giant’s blood or not. Gods, Father, have you gone soft? We’re not craven Southerners. We’re Starks. And Starks stand for their own.”

“He’s no Stark, and never was, boy." Lord Stark glared at his son. “And mind your tongue. You speak as if you wear a crown, not still clinging to your nursemaid’s tales. Don’t be a fool. Half a million gold dragons? Wylis may have crossed a dark line.”

“You assume too much, Father. You think this isn’t Rhaegar’s doing? He’s boiling after the tourney—Wylis knocked his teeth in front of half the realm. Let’s be sure what we’re dealing with before we start naming crimes." Brandon tried to control his father. "First, we find Lyanna. Wylis—he’s a tough bastard to kill. That much I know.”

To that, Lord Stark agreed and stormed out of the Great Hall. 

Left behind, Brandon looked at the Maester and snatched the raven from his hand. He read the little parchment himself and sighed deeply. 

Half a million? What the fuck did you do, my friend?

"Y-Young Lord?"

Brandon looked at the voice. The old farmer from earlier was eying him with fear. "What?"

"Beggin’ your pardon, my Lord, but… w-what’s Ser Wylis done? He’s a good lad, I swear it. Best of the bunch. Fixed my plough with his own hands when you camped nearby on the way to the tourney. Didn’t take a copper. Can’t believe he’s done wrong… not him."

Brandon eyed the farmer with amusement. At that point, Wylis was more loved in Winter Town than any of the Starks. 

Aye, that fucker… can do no wrong… other than bedding my sister—I'll bash his teeth out for that. 

####

Unaware that Brandon had known about his affair with Lyanna for some time, Wylis was busy rushing away from King's Landing, heading south into Kingswood. Instead of using the road, he used the cover of the forest and used his home-made crude compass for direction. 

It was the middle of the second day, nearing sunset already. He moved towards Felwood, the seat of House Fell. It sat somewhere near the southern edge of Kingswood, inside Stormlands. 

Ting!

[Mad King's Current Bloodlust - 105%]

What? How is that even mathematically possible?

Ting!

[Side Quest Completed - Escape King's Landing
Description - With the Mad King's Bloodlust peaked due to Rhaella's loyalty gift, you have become the most wanted man in the Seven Kingdoms.
Reward - Prince Rhaegar's secret vault's location.]

Holy Shit! It's… It's under the Tower of Joy? 

That information just entered his mind like a piercing arrow. He knew exactly where the vault was, what it looked like, and how to open it. 

Ting!

[Main Quest Triggered - The Most Wanted Man
Description - You have escaped, but now hunted. The King desires your life, blood, and soul, and the price he's offered is 500,000 Gold Dragons. Beware, every Tom, Dick, and Harry will be swayed by the lure. If enough ants strike, even the elephant falls.
Goal - Survive and thrive. You have sown the first seed of Rebellion.
Reward - Location of all forgotten Valyrian Steel in Westeros and Essos.]

"H-Half a million!?" Wylis nearly shouted and almost fell from the horse in shock. "Fuck! Aerys has gone mad!"

"Ser Wylis?" Qyburn eyed his young teacher. "What's the matter?" 

Wylis sighed and stared at the dishonored Maester. “The King’s declared me a traitor. There's a bounty on my head—five hundred thousand Gold Dragons. Don’t bother asking how I found out. Know it's true."

Of course, Qyburn was curious. But he was following the young man for that same reason. "Why? What does the King seek from you?"

"Everything, I reckon. From what I've pieced together, the bastard meant to use me in some kind of blood ritual—drain me dry for power or madness, who knows. Wouldn’t be the first wicked thing he's done. They don’t call him the Mad King for nothing. Now his precious little lamb slipped the noose."

Though the reward from that quest was high. The price and struggle behind it, however, would cost him an arm and a leg, he reckoned. 

"Let's settle down for the night, Qyburn. At first light, we ride into the Dornish Marches. From there, it's open plains—no cover, no time to dawdle. We’ll need to move fast." Wylis made the decision even though it was a few hours until sunset. 

They soon found themselves a decent opening in the forest and made a tiny camp. They created a small fire and surrounded it with stones to hide its bright flickering. Then, they cooked the food. 

Though they first had to take off the heavy sack from Wylis' horse's back, throw salt on it, and then hang it against a high tree branch. It had to be done as the scent of the rotting dead body was getting heavy, easier for wild animals to chase. 

A dark-haired woman, short in stature, dead. It was a smallfolk woman that Qyburn was called to save in King's Landing some nights ago. But by the time he reached her, the midwives had already ruined the situation, and the woman had died, but the child was safely born thanks to what Wylis had taught him. 

Paying some coin to the grieving husband, it was easy to take possession of the body for scientific research. 

"Rest now, Qyburn. Tomorrow won’t be easy. You’ll ride ahead—far enough that if blades come for me, they won’t find you too."

With that, Wylis tied his hammock between two trees and relaxed in it. 

####

King's Landing, the Red Keep.

"Where is he?! WHERE?! Roared the Mad King from his throne, eyes red with insanity, his breath rushed and heavy. The King hadn't slept for a whole night and a day, and now it was nearing the second night since the King's prized champion had escaped. 

The various lords and knights in the throne room stood in fear and panic. 

"And where is the fucking Lord Commander?! Where is Ser Gerold? Where is Ser Arthur? Where is my son—where are they?! Gone, all gone, hiding like rats in the walls! Do you think me blind? Do you think me weak? TRAITORS! Every last one of you! I’ll have you roasted—roaring—screaming, until your bones blister! This is treason, treason most foul!"

The Mad King shouted, standing in front of the Iron Throne. 

"Barristan! Speak! Have you found him? My champion—my glorious beast—he’s hiding, isn’t he? Skulking through the alleys like a rat! He wouldn’t flee... no, no, the gates were sealed, weren’t they? Still trapped in my city... still mine..." King Aerys asked, but then his crazed eyes looked at the other men. "Unless—HA! One of you let him go! Is that it? Did you conspire? Barristan! Question them! Skin their lies off like old paint! My brute leaves footprints—find them! Find him! FIND HIM!"

Right then, the sound of the doors creaking came. Grand Maester Pycelle walked inside and then whispered something to Lord Hand, Owen Merryweather's ears. That action didn't go unnoticed by the King. 

"Traitors in every shadow! What do you hide from me?!"

"Ah!" Lord Merryweather almost shat himself. “Y-Your Grace, a r-r-raven has come, just now. From Winterfell. Lord Rickard Stark and his son… t-they ride south. To King’s Landing. With haste. T-They…”

"Speak! Speak before I silence you forever!" 

"Oh, Your Radiance, the northern Lord babble of some abduction—claiming our Prince Rhaegar has kidnapped Lord Stark’s daughter, that Lyanna girl betrothed to Robert Baratheon—they beg Your Majesty’s divine hand to intervene."

Aerys sneered at his Lord Hand, and then at the rest of the men. "He spits slander at the throne? At me? The insolence! My son has bred the Dornish mare and foaled me heirs—grandchildren with fire in their veins! Let them come, yes, yes, the wolves with their snarling lies. I heard them whispering at Harrenhal, oh yes, conspiring in their furs."

Aerys sat down on his throne. But then, he jumped again to his feet.

"But no, no—first my beast! My beautiful brute of a man! Barristan, proclaim it—whichever house captures him shall have a mountain of gold, a million dragons high! And their daughter—or son, I’m generous—shall wed my second son… or perhaps my granddaughter. Let them hunt for him like dogs—do it, Barristan, now!"

Jaw clenched, Ser Barristan saluted the King, bowed his head, and left the throne room with a heavy heart. 

####

Ting!

Wylis woke up to the chiming of Tyrant's Squire. It was early in the morning, and the sky had started to turn blue with the rising sun. 

[Main Quest Updated - The Most Wanted Man]
[Updated Bounty - 1,000,000 Gold Dragons]

"..."

He got out of the hammock with a deep sigh, rubbing his face. He didn't even react to that damn update. Five hundred thousand or a million, it made no difference at that scale.

Ting!

"What now?!" He grunted, eyes red with anger. 

[Trueborns & Bastards Revoked!]

[Name: Rhaella Targaryen
Age: 37
Occupation: Queen, Mother, Grandmother
Current Loyalty: 100%
Status: Pregnancy Terminated]

"..."

Pat!

He smacked his face with both hands, his eyes felt heavy, as if sinking into his skull. He hadn't had a good night's sleep in weeks now. And now this update. While he expected it, Rhaella giving birth to a brown-haired babe was outrageous. But still, it annoyed him.

It's going to be a shitty day, isn't it?

Moving on, Wylis ate some food with Qyburn, prepared the horses, and rushed south again. With a crude map of all the towns and villages, and noble houses marked, he avoided them once he arrived in the Dornish Marches. He felt somewhat safe while in Stromlands since it wasn't loyal to the King. 

But once he entered Dornish territory, he had to be careful. He didn't take the Boneway, avoided Blackhaven, and eventually reached the ruined castle of Vulture's Roost, deep in the Red Mountains. 

In total, it took him more than a week to get there. Hiding, resting, at times traveling at night, even on foot, using Earthbending to avoid cliffs and rocks. And eventually, he and Qyburn arrived on the ridge of a small mountain, beyond which the Tower of Joy could be seen in the distance. 

"Stay here," Wylis said, hitching the horses. He set up a small camp just off the ridge. "It's empty right now. We'll move when they get here. Takes weeks to ride from the North to Dorne."

"Mind me asking, Ser Wylis… whom do we await? Forgive my inquisitiveness, but I confess, I’m quite unsure where we are bound.” Qyburn asked respectfully. 

A hint of a smile slipped through when Wylis replied, "Just a girl… the mother of my child."

"Ah, love." Qyburn also passed a smile. "I'm curious to see who won your heart."

"Aye, you will. And then you’ll take her, with my babe, to Oldtown. I know you've got friends in the shadows there. Hide her well. No one must know who she is—not for at least a year and a half. That’s your charge."

"Why, if I may ask?"

Ting!

"Why? Because some damned clever bastard once said chaos is a ladder. And chaos has come knocking, Qyburn."

This time, it didn't shock Wylis. In fact, he was waiting for that notification. The real turning point in his life. The chaos he was seeking. 

[Main Quest Updated - The Most Wanted Man]

[Updated Goal - The Tyrant's playground is set. Win the rebellion for the one you support.]

[Updated Reward - Location of all forgotten Valyrian Steel and Dragon Eggs in Westeros and Essos.]

He ignored the reward, his mind occupied by the cost of that quest update. The rebellion had officially begun.

Lord Stark… Did Aerys burn him? And Brandon?