The Northern Tyrant [Game of Thrones] Chapter 11 - The Northern Sword, The Goodbye & The Pipe

Fighting Ser Gerold, Ser Arthur, and Ser Barristan, three of the most renowned knights in Westeros, was too much for Wylis. He certainly had

Fighting Ser Gerold, Ser Arthur, and Ser Barristan, three of the most renowned knights in Westeros, was too much for Wylis. He certainly had a large body and explosive strength, but he was no superhuman. His technique was peak, but that still couldn't counter three other knights also at their peak technique. 

As the brightly illuminated throne room fell into absolute silence, Wylis took a few steps back and gauged the surroundings. There were at least two hundred men and women present. All had their eyes focused on him. 

Can't use Earthbending here—Fuck!

The floor was flat marble. Any unnatural change to it could easily be seen, and it was daylight. 

Shhhh~

The three knights took out their swords with a deadpan look. Though Ser Barristan did show some concern with his eyes. 

This is fucking unfair! 

Wylis wasn't wearing any armor. Not true armor, at least. All he had was a simple gambeson on his body and a few leather patches that were more cosmetic than armor, covering his chest and some of his thighs. The rest was just a simple cotton tunic and trousers. 

"Fight, boy! Show your king the fire in your blood! Let me see if you’ve the strength of giants, or the squeal of stable rats!" The King roared from his high throne and laughed with sheer excitement.

It was blood-boiling. Not receiving the promised reward for the work he'd done. Not receiving the welcome he deserved. Being treated like a court jester for the Mad King's pleasure. So close to his dream of being a Knight, yet so far now.

Wylis's fist tightened, and he reached for his massive sword on his back. At six feet in length, it towered over most men in the hall. It wasn't anything special, however. Just a simple blade, cheap and already degrading. 

In comparison, he was more careful of Ser Arthur Dayne. The man had the famed sword, Dawn, in his grip. Similarly, the other two had the finest swords the realm had to offer. And they were also fully covered in armor, from head to toe.

Won't come out unscathed from this.

With their backs facing the King, the three Kingsguards stood side by side, each holding their swords with two hands. 

Wylis faced them, eyed the raging, laughing mad king, constantly tapping his hand on the armrest of his throne like a little kid. 

He felt fear for the first time in a long time. Too confident in his martial abilities, he'd stopped taking the Mad King's madness into account. Sure, it was dumb, but he reckoned his achievements would make the man happy. He could still make it out alive with Earthbending if push came to shove, but that would mean revealing his trump card to the entire realm. 

"Let us fight with honor." Ser Barristan commented, standing in the middle of the three.

Wylis just nodded and started moving. They all moved, circling each other from a distance. The size difference was so apparent to all eyes, yet none had any doubt that the game was tilted to one side unfairly.

But, growing impatient, the Mad King cackled again, clapping. "Dance for me! All of you!"

Ser Arthur moved first with absolute confidence in his stride, not an ounce of fear from Wylis' height.

"Haaa!" The Sword of the Morning grunted. 

The blade came in slow, almost lazily—but Wylis knew better. He turned his body, letting it scrape off the flat of his massive greatsword, and retaliated with a brutal upswing counter. 

Dayne stepped back, and Barristan filled the gap, seemingly fluid synchronization between the Kingsguards.

Barristan was quick. His strike was tight, controlled, and meant to test; his feet almost glided on the stone. 

Clank!

Wylis blocked it again, then twisted his hips to shove the knight away with sheer strength. 

Gerold moved to flank him, keeping Wylis busy. 

That was when Wylis realized something. It was three-on-one, yet it didn't feel like that. The three famed knights weren't attacking him at the same time, but still made it seem as if they were fighting together by synchronizing their movements. That let Wylis counter them one by one.

"Take this!" Wylis roared and tried to gain some momentum. He launched a wide, horizontal slash towards all three. 

Scrrrrrr!

The three Kingsguards dodged back together. But thanks to the sheer length of Wylis' blade, their breastplates received deep, long scratches. 

Yet that didn't deter the three men. Their blades returned towards Wylis, launching a barrage of attacks. 

Ser Barristan first lunged forward and slammed a vertical slice straight down. 

Clash!

Wylis blocked it, albeit pushed back. 

Ser Arthur followed and thrust forward, forcing Wylis to sidestep to save himself. 

And right there was Ser Gerold waiting for him, the famed White Bull struck with breathless brutality despite his age, and directed a faint, followed by a quick diagonal slash. 

"Argh!" 

That one connected. 

Wylis stammered back, clutching his shoulder with one hand. It stung, it bled, and the pain was palpable. 

"Fuck!" Wylis cursed, quickly forcing himself to ignore the pain and hold the sword tight again. He frowned, growling like a slowly maddening beast. "Come on! That's all you got?!"

On the throne, the Mad King sneered, seemingly unimpressed by the show. Just a little amount of blood wasn't enough to excite the man. 

"Enough games! Kill him!" Aerys shouted threateningly.

Wylis frowned and eyed the small hourglass in Pycelle's hand. He needed to stay standing for fifteen minutes, and… it appeared only five had passed. Less than half a quarter of the sand had fallen. 

Fucking Kingsguards! King's bloody dogs!

Wylis gritted, noticing the change in the air and tempo. For once, the Kingsguard moved together and took a clear, planned formation to inflict the most damage. It was no longer a mock battle. The King had clearly demanded that he be killed.

Surrounding me now?

Barristan attacked from his right, slashing downward. Gerold, from the left, hammered a flat strike toward Wylis’ hip. Dayne lunged, straight for his chest from the front.

Clang!

Wylis backpedaled fast, dodging their triple attack, though his clothes were torn from the pointy tips of their swords. 

Steel rang again without a wait. Wylis blocked Barristan's strike with the hilt of his greatsword and twisted. That gave Gerold a chance, and he kicked from the side straight into his lower ribs, knocking the air out of him. 

"Aaaaagh…" 

Pain bloomed, Wylis felt it, overwhelmed from all sides, surrounded. 

They were faster than he was, a simple matter of their body sizes. His explosive strength was useless against the three-sided attack. 

Woosh!

Pinned by Barristan and Gerold, Arthur got the clearance to inflict heavy damage. The Sword of the Morning thrust his sword straight towards Wylis' neck. Although Wylis tilted his head sideways, the blade still deeply grazed his shoulder. 

"Ungh… Fuck!... You three!" Wylis hissed, bleeding, adrenaline holding back the pain from overwhelming him. 

Sadly, that was far from the end. Wylis only had to survive fifteen minutes, but at that rate, he feared he'd bleed to death from more wounds. 

Slow rage started to overcome him. Like a madman, he swung his greatsword to gain some space and keep the three men away. 

But it wasn't easy. The three Kingsguards had worked together for years. They were used to clash swords with each other, and also alongside each other. They pressed harder. The rhythm, relentless. Wylis was a storm, but they were the tide.

Woosh!

Clank!

Wylis dodged Barristan's thrust from his front. 

Woosh!

"Aaaargh!"

While he dodged, Arthur swung low from his left side. The blade cut his thigh, deep this time. 

Clank!

Wylis stopped Arthur from striking higher with the flat side of his blade. But that gave Barristan and Gerold the chance. 

While Gerold used a faint to make him lower his guard, Barristan shifted behind him and carved his back with a long, massive slash. 

"Nnnnngh! Fuck!" 

Thud!

Wylis dropped to a single knee, unable to hold himself up anymore. Blood oozed from his many wounds and soaked his gambeson, as well as the dirty grey tunic. The floor turned into a filthy texture of blood and dirt. 

His right thigh was wounded, and his back burned as well. His one shoulder also lay open. 

Clink!

Tang!

But Wylis still held on. Not longer with two, he used one hand to swing that massive, six feet long sword, maneuvering it over his head in circles, blocking strikes from each strike. That was all he could do; there was no gap to counterattack. 

"FINISH HIM!" Roared the Mad King from the throne. 

Panting, gasping for breath, tired. Wylis felt as if the world grew slow around him. His muscles started to feel sore. The three knights didn't hold back; even if they did, they clearly obeyed their King and did what they could to kill him. 

Clank!

A cacophony of clashes, steel against steel, rang out like broken music.

Fuck! I didn't want to… It's… one more year gone… Fuck, fuck! 

"That's it! Finish him!" Mad King mused louder. 

Damn you, Aerys—There will be no Kingslayer this time… I'll do it myself. 

Ting!

[Purchase Complete!]
[Peak Body Reflex - 1 Year]
[Remaining Lifespan - 60 Years 5 Months]

A sudden surge of muscle memory ran through his entire body. What he lacked was speed, and while he may never compete with the likes of Ser Barristan and Ser Arthur in speed, what he could use to counter was peak reflexes. 

Body reflex, an instantaneous movement in response to a stimulus. A quick, automatic response that didn't require conscious thought or decision-making. Only that could give him an edge in a battle like that. 

He no longer had to think. 

Swoosh!

Wylis rolled his massive body away, his sword scraping against the dirty floor. His wounds stung like hell. But he successfully created some distance between himself and the three Kingsguards. 

"Come on!" He roared and gave a quick glance at the hourglass. Five more minutes, he estimated. But it already felt like he'd been battling the three monsters for hours. 

Wylis exhaled once and rose to his full height. His heartbeat vanished behind a wall of calm. He forced it; he needed it. He had to win there, or at least defeat one of them. 

And then they came at him, together. 

Barristan attacked first, blade flashing. 

Clank!

Wylis deflected with the flat of his sword and slammed an elbow into the knight's face, caving the Kingsguard helmet in and drawing blood from Barristan the Bold's mouth. 

Wylis pivoted, like a man dancing. His motion was triggered by pure reflex, without a second of thought spent behind it.

Arthur was already there—quick, deadly. Dawn came down in a blur. 

Wylis stepped into the arc and killed the momentum, letting it scrape his shoulder and draw his blood with a purpose. With a snarl, he drove the hilt of his massive sword into Arthur’s stomach, leaving the Knight shocked by his strength, staggering.

Gerold struck from behind him.

Wylis spun mid-air, right as he ended countering Ser Arthur. 

He clashed with the White Bull, steel on steel. 

Sparks flew. 

He parried one blow, then another, then ducked under a third that whistled past his ear.

Barristan and Arthur quickly joined Gerold side by side—Three blades now—Every second.

Clank! Clash! Clank!

Steel howled endlessly, and now Wylis wasn’t the only one bleeding. 

While Baristan bled from his nose, Arthur bled from his mouth. They fought like a machine—three perfect killers in sync, their swords dancing, crashing, spinning around him like a cage of death.

And Wylis kept pace, like a man in sync with the three Kingsguards. He parried, he countered, and deflected each incoming strike. At times, he struck gold and landed a blow; other times, they scraped the corners of his body and made him bleed more. 

"Haaaaaaaa!" Wylis roared at the top of his lungs. His groan echoed like a raging beast in that massive, magnificent hall. Women flinched, and the men, who knew blades, felt their palms sweat by the sheer display.

He deflected a strike from Ser Arthur, shoved Gerold with the flat of his greatsword, and dropped to one knee to dodge a sweep from Barristan. 

Then he leapt up with a roar, a move so sudden and unexpected from a man already wounded in one leg.

His massive form took the men by surprise at how high he lunged in the air.

"Wraaaaaa!"

His six-foot greatsword crashed into Arthur's breastplate, denting it with full, brutal, blunt force, even cracking his own blade. And as soon as his feet landed again, he kicked the Knight of the Morning to the ground, only to catch a pommel strike to his temple from Gerold from the right. 

The White Bull struck red, and Wylis felt sore in his jaw. Blood spattered the air as he spat and… grinned, revealing his reddened teeth.

Then he retaliated with a brutal reflex. His massive blade drove upward into Gerold’s chestplate, staggering the old knight. 

Before Gerold could recover, Wylis grappled and ripped the Kingsguard's sword from his grasp and flung him aside like driftwood.

It was a shame for the Kingsguards. Ser Gerold, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, was thrown face-first into the ground in front of the full court. But the King only seemed to know how to cheer. 

With that, Wylis held two swords. His six-foot greatsword in his right hand. Gerold’s longsword in his left.

It was a matter of pride now. Arthur and Barristan gathered themselves from the unexpected change of tides and struck in unison, one high and one low. Both Knights were in their prime, hence more dangerous. 

Wylis blocked the low swing with the greatsword and used the longsword to parry the other, twisting at the last second to elbow Barristan’s helmet. It was all unplanned. His body moved on its own; he just had to focus and watch everything, keep his senses sharp. 

Not done, he spun, pivoted, and reversed his grip. The longsword struck Arthur’s gauntlet, snapping one of the armored fingers.

"Argh!" Arthur groaned out, but his blade didn’t falter.

For a moment, the two Kingsguard stopped raging forward and gathered themselves. Ser Arthur tightened his grip despite a broken finger. Ser Barristan shook his head violently, feeling blood ooze from his nose and mouth. 

They circled each other. Fast, desperate, and alert.

Clank!

Then the steel clashed again. The air was overcome with grunts, clangs, and gasps from the crowd every time Wylis used both swords and pushed the two knights back. It was clear that the Kingsguards were inflicting more wounds on Wylis. But as if his skin were stone, Wylis ignored those flesh wounds and kept hitting back, pushing the two knights.

Arthur slashed. Wylis blocked. Barristan lunged. Wylis ducked, rolled, and kicked his leg out. 

Barristan went stumbling. 

By then, Wylis was up again, swords moving like extensions of his fury.

A stab to Arthur’s side. A slice at Barristan’s ribs. 

They countered. 

One nicked his arm, another sliced his brow.

Blood streamed down Wylis' face. But he didn’t stop. Although his movements finally started to become sluggish. But he wasn't the only one. 

The two Kingsgards had also slowed down.

Clank! Clash!

Arthur drove him back with a furious flurry. Barristan followed with a shoulder bash. Wylis used the momentum, turned his body, and rammed both swords into their chest plates—hard enough to knock the wind from them.

"Wraaaaaaaah! Come on!" He screamed, a primal sound.

He followed up and kept lunging forward into the staggered knights. His greatsword smashed into Arthur’s right shoulder with brutal force. The other struck Barristan’s wrist. The sound was audible, like a crack of metal.

Clank!

Barristan's sword dropped from his grip.

Wylis headbutted Arthur right then, grabbed his sword hand, and bent it until the bones groaned.

Arthur, too, dropped his blade with a groaning roar.

Quick to take advantage, Wylis stomped his heavy feet on the two swords and aimed the two in his hands at the knights. They were as breathless as he was, but they stood unarmed, ashamed.

Wylis stumbled a little, drenched in blood, his own. His body was shaking. Muscles twitching, the adrenaline fading.

But he remained standing and eyed the hourglass. Not a quarter, it was half full.

Fuck… I can't stand anymore… just end this madness.

Clap! Clap!

Wylis looked to the right since the clap didn't come from the throne. No, it was Jaime Lannister in his Kingsguard armor. 

And that seemed to wake up the Mad King. He stood up from the Iron Throne and started clapping furiously, his hideous nails once again coming in the way. 

“Marvelous,” Aerys whispered. Then louder. “Marvelous! My champion bleeds, but my champion does not fall!” 

The Mad King laughed and clapped louder. The court followed him like a puppet and erupted in cheers.

At last, Wylis took a breath of calm and let the swords drop. Both of them, one on each of his sides. Sadly, as soon as his six-foot great sword hit the floor, it shattered into two pieces. 

Clap! Clap!

"More than I hoped for! My champion, my flaming sword! A dragon's roar in flesh! My roar!" Aerys laughed, descending from the Iron Throne with wild delight. "Wylis of Winterfell! What a terror you are! That blade, that brute strength—ha! Not just a beast, the realm’s mightiest—aye, let them all see!"

That fanatic praise unsettled Wylis. But titles had to be respected. In pain, he took to one knee again as the King approached him. 

“Your Grace, your words do me great honor."

“Yes, they do—as they ought. Ser Arthur, fetch me the sword.” The King demanded, since he couldn't grab the sword from the floor, his long, filthy nails would come in the way. “No longer shall you bear that dull name. Ser Wylis… Ser Wylis, the Northern Sword… blade of House Targaryen… Ah… what a wonderful name. Isn't it glorious? Like fire licking the heavens. Kneel, knight. Accept it. Burn with pride."

What a mad little shit! How the fuck did he live this long?

Wylis prayed, hoping that no more surprises waited for him. He lowered his head, his body reeking of blood, something that surely excited the King. 

Soon, those weak, thin feet stopped before him, and once again, Wylis felt the flat blade of Ser Arthur's sword land on his right shoulder. 

No more surprises. I'll fucking twist your neck, you sick fuck. 

"In the sight of gods and men—Seven be damned or blessed—I name you knight. I touch you with steel, but it is fire that makes you. Fire, yes… it cleanses, it crowns, it anoints." King Aerys tapped Wylis’ shoulder, and then the other, his words less an oath than a reflection of his madness. 

"Do you swear to defend the innocent? To uphold justice? To obey your king without question, without pause, without doubt?" The King smiled then, a face seen by all. "Even if the command is to burn them all? Do you swear to guard the weak, to serve with honor—no, with fury—and to be the sword and shield of the realm, even as the realm screams? Say it. Say you will."

Holy fucking shit! He's unredeemable. God! 

"I do, Your Grace." He replied nonetheless. Becoming a Knight was the most important. 

"Then rise… Ser Wylis, the Northern Sword. You belong to me now. To crown, to flame, to glory." King Aerys proclaimed and watched with glee as Wylis stood up, tall, to his complete height. The King only got more excited when he had to look upwards to measure his new Knight's face. 

Ting!

[Mad King's Admiration Triggered]
[Mad King's Current [Censored] - 99.8%]

Wylis's brows flickered from that sudden notification. But he digested it since the second notification filled him with joy. 

Ting! 

[Host's Status Changed!]
[Previous Status - Forgettable Pest (Legacy Duration - 3 Years)]
[Current Status - Champion Knight (Legacy Duration - 120 Years)]

Ting!

[Life Quest Completed - From Peasant To Knight
Description - You have taken a grand step in your journey. Won tourneys, won women, and now the title. This is the path of a Tyrant, do not falter, do not sit easy. This is only the beginning.
Reward - 2X multiplier to strength increase for making love with each noble, titled partner.
Reward - Legacy(Trueborn & Bastards) new feature unlocked.]

Ting!

[Side Quest Completed - Kingsguards, who?
Description - You have defeated three of the most renowned knights of Westeros. As expected from the future Tyrant.
Reward - 0.5% Overall boost to every ability and strength.]

Wait? Earthbending too? That's fantastic!

Ting!

There's more? It's really raining gifts!

[Tyrant's Title Acquired - The Northern Sword
Description - A title gained from hard work, spilled blood, and sheer strength. Witnessed by lords and ladies of the realm.
Effect - The Host shall enjoy a greater influence in the North—Respect, fear, and awe.]

“Ser Wylis… Ser Wyyyylis…” the King sang the name like a lullaby, as if finding some amusement. The man just stood there and then started to roam around instead of returning to the throne. 

“A prize… Yes, a prize. The blood my sword has spilled—so much blood. There must be a reward… a reward worthy of such crimson. A reward fit for a king’s justice.”

Honestly, Wylis wanted no more rewards. He had received plenty already. 

Just go back to the damn throne. I gotta get back to Lyanna quick. 

"Ahh, yes!" Aerys cackled, eyes alight towards Wylis. "The stableboy’s dream! A brood of little squires, was it? Hah! No whores for the king’s blade, no—no—no! The blade of House Targaryen must plant his seed in noble soil. Prestige! Ah! We’ve got a lady right here. Lovely, fertile... pure."

The Mad King turned towards the spectators and clapped with joy. “Ah! Such beauty—radiant, like flame! Ashara Dayne, yes… Ser Wylis, I name her your bride. Ser Arthur, send word. No—wait—your brother! Not your father, no, no, he’s dead, isn’t he? Burnt away like the rest!”

Wylis frowned and looked at Ashara in the crowd. She was all smiles, looking shy. His jaw tightened, realizing that she wasn't unwilling. 

Marriage? Where did that come from? Fuck… it keeps getting worse! 

He had no plans on getting married. Heck, he wanted to leave King's Landing right away. Nothing was under his control anymore. He was at the King's mercy and choices. 

"Girl… Ashara Dayne." The King addressed her directly from a distance. "Are you willing? You should be—must be! Look at him! My glorious beast of a knight, worth ten kings. A finer mount no mare could dream of. His seed—oh, the power in it! Your womb shall sing, and Westeros shall tremble with what you bring forth! Boys like mountains, girls like spears of silver. Ha! Blessed, yes… blessed!"

It felt dehumanizing the way Aerys spoke of them and their union. Ashara just nodded her head in utter shame. And Wylis was frozen, lost in thought. How to get out of that situation. How to stop the Mad King from ruining him further. 

Clap!

"Then it is done! But Ser Wylis… yes, yes, your sword still thirsts for purpose, does it not? Ha! My queen!" Aerys swept his gaze over all the men and women, even the Kingsguard there, hate in his eyes. 

"Rhaella, poor caged dove… Ser Wylis, hear me now—if any man or woman but me dares come within five steps of her—or my son—Viserys!—You will cut them down. If they do… even if they wear white cloaks… butcher them. No mercy!"

What? I don't have time for all that! Guard duty? Fuck that!

But seeing the state of the Mad King, it was best not to find excuses or deny the man there. It was better to just silently run away. He feared for Lyanna, and since he couldn't see Rhaegar there, he felt anxious. 

"Go on, then. Still bleeding, are you? Pycelle, see to him—heal him good. He shall begin his duties come morning." King Aerys declared and walked away, throwing Ser Arthur's sword casually and leaving the great hall through the door behind the Iron Throne.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck, fuck!

Wylis let out a long exhalation and almost lost his balance. He was pretty tired and wounded. 

"Easy there, Ser Wylis." 

Out of nowhere, a man snuck up to his side and dragged his heavy arm around his shoulder, helping him stand straight. 

"Ser Jaime?" Wylis recognized the young man, a year or two younger than him. 

There was a gleam of excitement and respect in the young knight's eyes. Wylis could feel it. Jaime was showing him respect. 

"You fought like a lion, Ser Wylis," Jaime said, helping Wylis walk out of the throne room. "I’ve never seen anything like it."

“Never had the misfortune of facing three named knights all at once, either, Ser Jaime. I barely lived," Wylis replied, acting all noble and knightly. That was what both Lannister siblings looked up to, at least in their youth. “Though by the stories, you’ve got a name of your own, from what I hear.”

"Not half as sharp as you, Ser Wylis. Watching you fight made my sword hand itch. Would you take a few passes with me?"

"Gladly. Just let me stop bleeding first, eh?"

"Of course, that comes first."

Ser Jaime helped Wylis walk all the way to the Grand Maester's healing chamber, where the old man had already fast walked first. 

"Down you go now, Ser Wylis, yes—carefully. Hahhh… Forgive an old man, but I must say—you are a marvel of sinew and bone." Pycelle was quick to cut open Wylis' clothes. "Forged by the gods, as if."

Wylis felt awkward in the presence of that man. It was hard to take Pycelle seriously, but considering the man had dubious loyalties, he still had to be handled carefully. King's Landing was a cave of vipers, and the Red Keep was the pit. 

"This ointment shall heal you well, Ser." Pycelle did some work, cleaned his wounds, and wrapped bandages around his shoulder, back, arm, and thighs. Finally, he wiped some small cuts on his face, and that was it. A shitty job, as expected from a Grand Maester. 

"Good to go, Ser Wylis."

Wylis really missed his student, Qyburn. 

Better take care of it myself. 

"Thank you, Grand Maester." Wylis rose up from the table and put on his tattered clothes again, still covered in blood. He didn't have any extra pairs since he didn't plan on staying in the Red Keep. 

Still a little limping, Wylis walked out of the Pycelle’s chamber feeling better. 

"With me, Ser Wylis."

Ser Jaime was waiting for him outside, leaning against the wall. 

"Looks like you're Her Grace’s one and only Queensguard, unofficial or not. You’ll be staying in Maegor’s Keep, near her chambers. That way you’re close… for whatever duties you’re meant to perform," Jaime said, but his face showed hints of anger. 

Wylis listened to the young knight and followed him through the many corridors of the massive Red Keep. 

"Each night, after supper, if His Grace doesn’t call on her, you’ll lock the Queen’s doors from the outside. Keep the keys. As for little Prince Viserys, he’s not to stay with her at night. He’s got his own room, and Kingsguard to keep him from wandering."

What kind of fucked up family has he built. Wylis wondered about the Mad King. Most of the pain and problems the man was experiencing were born from his own actions. 

"At first light, you’re to open Her Grace’s door and let the handmaidens in—after you’ve searched them for blades or venom, of course. Then you trail after her anywhere she wants in the Red Keep. She mostly stays in Maegor’s Holdfast and spends time with the Prince."

So she's pretty much a hostage? Then what am I? Also a hostage? 

As they walked, Wylis looked left and right to read the layout of the Red Keep, to find his way out of the damned place. It reeked of backstabbing and madness, enough that he started longing for the North again. The open, spacious, cold but fresh air of the North. 

Finally, Jaime led him into the castle within the castle, Maegor's Holdfast, the heart of the fortress. It was surrounded by a dry moat and pikes, only to be crossed by a drawbridge. In one walk, Jaime showed him the location of the royal apartments, the Queen's Ballroom, the private reception hall of the Queen, and a few other places. He was also shown the path leading to the four floors of jails under the castle. But there wasn't enough time to explore them. 

At the end of the tour, Wylis was shown the tiny room for his lodging. Since he was supposed to spend only nights there to sleep, it was bare bones. A small, square window, barely more than a foot tall and wide. A single bed, not big enough for him, and a table to write on with a chair. Most of the other space was just cupboards where he was to store his armor and clothing. 

The small room was right underneath the floor of the royal apartments. And sure enough, he was also right underneath the Queen's bedchamber. There, by the window, was a two-inch wide brass pipe going up into the ceiling with the wall, connected to the Queen's chamber above. It could be used by the Queen to call for Wylis in case of danger. The contraption was supposedly made during the Dance era, barely ever used since then. 

"Sleep easy tonight, Ser Wylis. I’ll give you the keys at first light," Jaime said, and for some reason, raised his hand high to pat Wylis' shoulder. "It's not an easy job. Gets under your skin. Boils your blood. Don’t let it get the better of you—It did to me."

Wylis just nodded, somewhat knowledgeable of what could boil his blood. King Aerys wasn't just cruel to the realm. He was also cruel to his wife. 

Thud!

Finally, Jaime left. Wylis shut the door, locked it from inside, and fell down on the bed. It was barely enough for a six-foot-tall man, so his feet hung beyond the bottom edge. He was insanely tired and just tried to relax. 

The sun was setting outside, and he was hungry. But he had no energy left to go out. 

Maybe a quick nap first. Wait, there was also that reward. 

Quickly, Wylis summoned the Tyrant's Squire screen and looked at the Trueborn & Bastards feature. Sadly, he was left disappointed. 

[Legacy (Trueborn & Bastards) - A Tyrant is born not from name but fame. Spread the name and the seed, Trueborns or Bastards.
-> Trueborn - Each Trueborn adds 5 years to lifespan and unwavering loyalty.
-> Bastards - Each Bastard adds 1 year to lifespan and unwavering loyalty.
-> Customizer (Locked) - No Offspring Found]

Seeing offspring mentioned, he thought of Lyanna. He wasn't worried about Wenda since he'd already planned things for her. He wasn't worried about Genna since she was wealthy already. Lyanna… she wasn't planned. And she was betrothed to Robert Baratheon.

Fuck it! Let's map out the damn castle and make some tunnels. 

His priorities were sorted. He was a Knight now, and soon the realm would know. The King could drown in his piss and die for all he cared.

It didn't take him long to fall asleep after that. 

####

Knock! Knock! Knock!

"Ha?!" 

Wylis jolted awake from his sleep, rubbing his eyes. The room looked pitch black. 

"Fuck, it's dark outside? How long did I sleep?"

Groaning, he sat up and landed his feet on the stone floor. Right away, he felt his surroundings, not clearly, but he knew where not to bump his toe. 

Thump! Thump!

"Ah, so that's what woke me up? Dammit, I thought it was Caliburn kicking the shit out of me." He pulled himself up and reached for the door, unlocked it, and opened it. "What is i—"

"Mmm, I knew it... fast asleep like a sweet summer babe. I thought you might be hungry, so I brought you supper."

Somewhat speechless, Wylis stepped aside and let the woman walk into his tiny room with a teasing sway of hips. She was holding a lit candle in one hand and a large covered plate in the other. She was still dressed in the regal gown she was wearing in the court. 

"Lady Ashara… you didn't have to do this," Wylis awkwardly said and closed the door. 

She lit the other candles in the room and set the plate on the table. Then she turned to face Wylis and smiled charmingly. And gods, she was charming. She walked close to him, being a tall, slender woman, her head reached his upper chest, and she carefully touched the wrapped bandage on his chest. She didn't seem deterred by the fact that he was bare-chested, with just his trousers underneath. 

Wylis stared into her alluring, shimmering violet eyes. He knew why she was there, and he really couldn't give it to her. 

Let's just be honest. Better to disappoint her now than to lie. 

He eyed her form, dressed in that off-shoulder, royal blue gown, revealing her creamy pale skin, her bust covered modestly, though. The gown fell tightly around her curvy waist, and widened like a blooming flower around her waist, before draping her long legs that he'd spread before. 

"I brought you cheese, meat, and eggs," Ashara chirped and gestured for him to eat. "No milk, I'm afraid—my hands were full, and I'm not that magical. Now eat, before it gets cold."

Wylis nodded and sat down on his bed instead, not really in the mood to eat anything. He seriously looked at Ashara's face. "We can’t wed, Lady Ashara."

Smile vanished from Ashara's face. Her glowing skin seemingly turned paler. She froze where she stood for a while, her beautiful, violet eyes darting left and right. 

"I have commitments somewhere else." He gave his reason. “If this is about the tourney… then I beg pardon. I hadn’t thought you’d take me for a suitor when I was but a stableboy.”

Ashara staggered and bumped her back against the cupboard. She rubbed her face with her hands, feeling sweat gather on her forehead. 

Dammit—Fuck you, Aerys. 

"W-Who is she? Do I know her?" 

Wylis chose not to reveal the name. It was best for the realm not to know, for the time being. 

"And what of Aerys? He’s spoken before all the realm. How do you defy that... and live?" she asked, a hint of tears welling in her eyes. 

"You’ll bear no guilt in this, my Lady. I’ll take my leave of the Red Keep quietly, leaving only a note to mark my choice—freedom over chains. The King will be angry, perhaps enough to send riders, but I’ll manage well enough." He reassured her. 

Ashara’s lips quivered, but she said nothing.

"Forgive me, I must have hurt you, my lady."

Ashara looked down then, away from Wylis. She shut her eyes, clearly trying to manage the storm within her thoughts. 

Had she already gone along with what Aerys decided? Wylis wondered. Was she really so willing to marry him? 

"What happened at the tourney… it wasn't just you. I chose it too. I won’t put that weight on you, Wylis." Ashara said and moved towards the door. "It's only… you said we'd meet again, remember? I didn’t expect it to mean anything. But then you came, and—well, you did mean something. Good luck, Wylis."

Wylis' jaw tightened as he watched her reach for the door handle. "Thank you for understanding me, my Lady."

But Ashara didn't open the door. She just stood there, her shoulders shaking, her hand holding the handle. Some time passed, and without looking back, she spoke. 

"One… One last time… before you leave… Wylis, I want to…"

What does she mean?

Click!

Oh? 

Ashara locked the door and turned around towards Wylis, her eyes red around the violet pupil. Her thin lips pursed tight, her face insanely innocent and beautiful. 

"... Feel you… one last time."

Her fingers went to her shoulders, slipping the wide neckline of her gown free. The fabric fell without resistance, sliding down her delicate frame like a silken waterfall. It pooled at her feet with a whisper, revealing skin so pale it glowed in the candlelight. 

Ashara stepped out of the puddled silk—bare, quiet, and regal even in her nakedness.

She was flawless. The kind of beauty spoken of in songs. A noblewoman’s poise with a courtesan’s figure. Her breasts were modest but high, perfectly shaped, tipped with dusky pink. Her stomach was flat with the faintest feminine softness, leading down to sleek hips and thighs that curved just right. Her skin was moon-pale and velvet-smooth, unmarred, untouched by any life of hardship. 

The flickering candlelight danced lovingly over her figure, casting soft shadows beneath her breasts, down the line of her ribs, across the swell of her hips. She looked like a painting come to life, one meant for sin, not art.

She walked toward him. Her bare feet padded silently over the stone until she stood between his massive legs. 

Wylis, seated at the edge of the bed, looked like something carved from black iron and battle scars. The size difference was obscene. Her bosom barely reached his neck, and still she hadn’t straddled him.

Instead, she leaned in. Her delicate hands cradled his face, tilting his gaze up toward her, and then she kissed him. 

Soft. Lingering. Her lips, like wine-soaked velvet, pressed gently against his. No haste. No demand. Just heat. 

Her tongue slipped into his mouth with a slow rhythm, like she wanted to savor his taste one last time, memorize it. The kiss was liquid fire, both tender and erotic, her breath warming his cheek as she let out a quiet, aching hum.

“Mmm…”

The sound lit him up. His hands moved without thought, landing on her bare waist. Her skin was warm, impossibly soft, and every breath she took made her ribcage rise beneath his palms. She felt delicate in his grasp, but not fragile. 

No, her body was lean, womanly, perfect. She was made to be held, worshiped, fucked.

"Ashara… do you really want this?"

She nodded. Her lips hovered a breath above his, her eyes glowing like storm clouds.

"Let me hold onto this memory forever."

Wylis swallowed hard. Then he nodded.

He leaned back slightly and shoved his breeches down, pushing them past his thighs until they hit the floor. He kicked them off, revealing every inch of himself. Except for a few bandages crisscrossing a scarred thigh and part of his shoulder, he was fully, gloriously nude. And already fully hard.

His cock jutted out like something born for battle; girthy, veined, flushed dark with blood. It pulsed with hunger. The foreskin tugged back just enough to expose the swollen tip, already glistening. He was massive. A weapon of pleasure and destruction.

Ashara didn’t flinch.

Wylis reached for her, pulled her gently into his arms, and turned her around so her back pressed to his chest. “Just like before, then…”

That was how they had first done it. Not quite entering her, but just sliding between her thighs while she lay prone. Although the time they actually did it, he did spill inside her. Yet, somehow, his seed never took root. Fate, perhaps.

His one massive hand slid across the silk-soft skin of her belly, while the other moved up, cupping one perfect breast in his palm. 

“Ah..” She let out a soft gasp as he squeezed, thumb brushing her nipple.

His cock nestled in the burning valley between her thighs, sliding against her slit like iron through butter. Her skin felt molten. The dampness of her pussy soaked his shaft almost instantly as he slid in slowly between her legs, not quite inside, but pressing against her lips, teasing her clit, dragging along the velvet seam of her sex.

Ashara quivered, and a whispered moan escaped her lips. “Ummmmmh…”

His cockhead brushed her folds again, sticky and wet. She stayed there, leaning back into him, her body trembling slightly as her hips started to move. Back and forth. Slow, fluid strokes. His cock slid through her thigh gap, gliding between her silky legs while the tip teased her slit and swollen little nub of love with every pass.

He was so big even when seated. She felt wrapped with his arms around her, and his girthy shaft soaked her slit more and more with each scrub.

She turned her head and captured his lips in a sideways kiss, soft, desperate. Her lips clung to his, moving in tandem with her hips. Her thighs clenched tighter, giving his cock a delicious squeeze each time she rocked back. It was a tease so erotic, so painfully slow, that it felt more intimate.

Wylis kissed her back, his mouth trailing downward; her cheek, her jaw, her neck. He worshiped every inch of her. His tongue traced her shoulder, then lower, kissing her back like a man starved. She was hot, her noble body unblemished, that he’d dishonored, claimed. Her flesh was satin, her scent delicate but maddening. 

Her hips moved around his cock, and the feeling of those pillowy thighs stroking him while her soaked pussy lips rubbed his tip raw, was pure agony.

"Mmm…" Ashara stopped abruptly and stood up straight. "I want to remember this… I want to feel you... one last time... Wylis... will you?"

Her marshmallowy thighs slipped away from his cock, leaving it glistening with her slick. She turned without waiting for an answer, though she already knew he would give it, and climbed onto the bed.

The noble lady moved with grace, but the hunger in her limbs betrayed her. She leaned back against the pillows, her violet eyes never leaving him as she slid her slender frame down, reclining fully, her back arching ever so slightly to settle into the mattress. Then, shyly, achingly slowly, Ashara spread her legs.

An invitation no man could refuse.

Wylis crawled toward her like some colossal beast stalking its fragile prey. Huge, muscle-hewn, his cock heavy and swaying between his thighs. He moved with a controlled hunger as he loomed over her. He reached for her feet first and bent to kiss her toes reverently. His mouth moved up her calves, her knees, her thighs, each kiss a brand of heat pressed into that pristine skin.

Then, with a low growl of pleasure, he dipped between her legs and dragged his large tongue up her cunt.

One long, broad stroke that made her shiver uncontrollably.

Ashara gasped, thighs twitching as he tasted her. Her folds were slick and flushed, glistening with her own arousal. She trembled helplessly under him, fingers bunching the sheets, her entire body reacting with thirst.

He kissed her belly next, then her ribs, her breasts. Pressing his lips around one soft swell, suckling her nipple until it tightened against his tongue. Going up, he loomed over her like a canopy, doing a push-up to keep his crushing weight off her. But the heat of him, the strength of him, surrounded her. 

His mouth claimed hers again, this kiss messier, wetter, their tongues curling with aching want.

Then, he wrapped one thick arm around her slim waist and rolled.

“Ohhh!”

Ashara gasped as she was pulled with him, their bodies shifting. Now she straddled him on top, hair falling in dark waves around her flushed face, her knees planted wide on the mattress.

"Do it at your own pace, Ashara. I'd rather not hurt you and make this memory a painful one."

Although it might already be. 

Until now, every woman he’d slept with, he wanted to breed, claim them eventually. But Ashara, he didn’t want her to suffer through his selfishness. Yet, he wanted to taste her, her beauty; she was simply too alluring for him to refuse. 

He looked up at her, drinking in the sight. Her skin was pale, gods, so pale—like milk in moonlight. The contrast of her raven-dark hair only made her features sharper, more ethereal. Her waist was narrow, her hips elegant and womanly, her long legs wrapped around his thick torso as if she were trying to tame something far beyond her.

And she tried.

Ashara reached down and nestled his cock between her folds, pressing her pussy against the thick shaft, not yet taking him, only rubbing along his length. 

Then, she lifted her hips.

High. Higher than seemed possible. Her small hands braced against his chest as she aimed the head of his fat cock toward her soaked entrance. She paused, breath held, then came down.

“Ahh…!” It was too much. The crown alone stretched her petals open until her pussy ached, the massive girth prying her apart with a slow, merciless drag. 

Ashara’s mouth dropped open in a silent, choked scream. Her eyes watered. Her body clenched.

He had been her first; he could see the way her body remembered him, parted for him, like a stubborn gate that only opened to one key.

It wasn’t just that he was large, he was inhuman. He didn’t enter her; he invaded her. Her slick cunt was stretched wide, splayed around the iron girth of him. It felt like her body was being unstitched. Skewered. Ruined.

But she didn’t stop.

Her hips pushed down again, lips quivering, her breath hitched in gasps. Inch by agonizing inch, she took him. Her pussy felt like it was burning, like the nerves inside her were being rewritten to know only him. The walls of her womb clenched, already kissed by the blunt pressure of his cockhead nudging her deepest point. It felt like he was shifting her insides, not just stretching them, rearranging them.

She looked down in disbelief and saw the faint bulge in her lower belly. Her hand slid over it, trembling. 

“G-gods…” she whispered. It wasn’t just a cock, it was a memory carved into her flesh; a pressure that would live inside her long after he was gone.

And then, without warning—she came.

Her entire body knotted up in ecstasy, legs trembling as her climax ripped through her. Her pussy spasmed around him, milking him even as he hadn’t fully entered. Her thighs gave out, her knees buckled, and she fell, taking half of his cock inside her in one sudden, wet plunge.

“Aaaaaah!”

Ashara cried out as she collapsed onto his chest, her cunt wrapped tight around him, spasming uncontrollably. Her juices gushed out, dripping over his cock, down his balls, soaking the bedding beneath them.

Wylis just watched, jaw clenched in restraint, hands wrapped around her like a cradle. One hand gripped her waist firmly, grounding her as she trembled in orgasm. The other kneaded her breast slowly, lazily, like he was savoring her ruin.

Ashara steadied her breathing, her hands resting on his broad chest, her thighs trembling slightly. Her cunt still throbbed around him, her last orgasm had left her hollowed out and full at the same time, but she wasn’t done. Not yet. She wasn’t leaving any part of him untouched. No inch of her left unstretched.

She sat up, her spine arching elegantly, tits rising with every breath. Then, biting her lip, she started to move.

Her ass lifted slowly, her pussy sucking upward on his girth, then sank down again with a wet, obscene squelch.

Sluuuurp!

She did it again. Her hips rocked with slow control, and inch by inch, her tight little cunt swallowed more of him. It was like she was being refilled from the inside out, splayed open. Her wet insides ballooned, her walls dragged thin, and her womb ached from the pressure. But she wanted it. Needed it.

Wylis was just too much man, too much cock. And she was determined to take all of him. She felt minuscule on top of him, but looking down at this giant man, more than fear, she felt awe, he had it all—Face, body, a fat cock.

By the time she bottomed out, Ashara was frozen in place, impaled to the hilt, her body visibly struggling to accommodate the beast inside her. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. She was plugged up to her very soul.

Her belly bulged slightly. Her pussy clung to him in a trembling grip. She looked down at herself, in shock at it all, how that fat, lengthy thing could settle all inside her.

“Seven… fffuck…!” she gasped “Ohh! I can’t… even breathe…”

But she kept going.

She leaned forward, dark hair falling around her flushed face like a veil, and kissed him. Sloppy. Desperate. Her tongue licked into his mouth with no finesse, no restraint—just raw, feral hunger. Her hips moved again. Slowly at first. Then faster.

Squelch–Plap—Squelch!

She bounced in a rising rhythm, smacking her soft, round ass against his rock-solid thighs. Each impact sent tremors through her spine. Her pussy clung tight, stretched beyond limit, deep as much as wide, like velvet wrapped around iron. She was drenched. His balls were soaked, slick with the nectar that poured out of her with every wet slam down his shaft.

Plap! Clap!

“MmmMMnnn—ahhh! AHH—ah! Wylissss!” Her moans became louder and louder. Her tongue lolled. Her voice broke in gasps, cries of helpless euphoria.

She fucked herself silly on his solidly standing totem. Each motion brought another small climax, another flash of unbearable pleasure shooting up her core. She couldn’t count them anymore. She didn’t even try. Her body had turned against her, just a vessel to ride this monster of a man, to milk him for every drop until nothing was left.

Wylis groaned under her, hands gripping her ass, squeezing, guiding her rhythm. He felt her, every inch, every ripple of her cunt. His cock was buried so deep it throbbed with the beat of his own heart, and the way her pussy gripped him… Gods! 

It was like being swallowed by hot, scorching slime. Silky smooth, but tight as a clenched fist. Each time she moved, her inner walls dragged along him with slow, maddening friction, like her cunt was sculpting itself around his cock. The pressure was relentless. Perfect. Her heat wrapped snug and pulsing. He could feel everything, every twitch, every flutter. Like her body knew he was too big, and still packed him in, tight.

He kissed her back every time she came close, their mouths locked in a fevered, wet clash of tongues and panting breath.

Then it hit her.

Another orgasm, but this one exploded inside her like wildfire.

“GAAaaAAHH!”

Her entire body seized. Her back arched hard. Her pussy clamped down around him to the base, spasming wildly, milking his cock in rolling waves of raw, wet convulsions. Her thighs shook. Her eyes fluttered back. Her cunt gushed, splattering against his groin in a hot, messy squirt.

She collapsed forward again, gasping, trembling, her body gone liquid.

And Wylis… was right behind her.

His body tensed, every vein standing out across his arms and chest. His jaw clenched. His abs flexed. His cock bucked inside her. He was about to explode.

Ashara felt it. That swelling pulse, that twitch. That primal tension. She remembered what happened last time. How much he’d spilled out when it was done, and if he did that inside… The thought struck her, sharp and clear as lightning.

“No!”

She snapped out of her haze, eyes widening. And in one smooth, desperate motion—squelch!

She lifted herself off of him, away from the sticky, hot mess.

His cock sprang free with a wet, filthy slosh, glistening and twitching, coated in her juices. Just in time.

Wylis erupted.

Thick ropes of cum burst upward, splattering her inner thighs, his groin, her belly. Hot, heavy spurts splashed against both of them, painting their loins white. The sheer volume was shocking. Jet after jet of thick, creamy release shooting out from that beast of a cock as it slapped against his abs.

Ashara gasped—then laughed. Breathless. Sticky. Glorious.

But she wasn’t done.

She sank back down. Not to take him in, but pressing her soaked, ruined pussy lips down onto his cock again, grinding along the length now smeared in his own creamy seed. She leaned completely over his chest, and his shaft was flattened between their bellies, still twitching, still drooling out the last of his climax.

Her gaping hole kissed his length as she rolled her hips forward and back, spreading his release even more.

Slurp… slurp…

It was filthy. Absolutely obscene. It reeked.

And yet she leaned in again and kissed him. This one was slow, gentle, and her slender arms hugged his face. A farewell sealed in sweat and cream.

Wylis' arms wrapped around her, massive and warm. He held her against him, their bodies slick with their mingled fluids. She nuzzled into him, whispering against his lips, still riding that sensitive cock.

"Mmm… bye… goodbye… Wylis…"

Wylis held her tight still, hugging her soft body on top of himself. But unexpectedly, Ashara fell asleep right then, her lips still locked with his. She had clearly pushed herself beyond her limits.

Sighing, Wylis gently laid her beside himself and got up to clean himself from that sticky mess. 

Pang! Pang!

"Hmm?"

It was dark, but not too much. He heard a strange, echoing noise. Noise of something metallic being hit. 

Pang! Pang!

"The pipe?"

He walked closer to the wall where the window was, and also that pipe connected with the Queen's bedchamber above him. 

Wooosh!

Something fell out of the pipe's hole then. A tiny piece of paper. 

"What's this?" Wylis, postponing the cleaning, quickly unrolled the paper, fearing the Queen was in danger. "Isn't she guarded tonight?"

[Ser Wylis?]

That was the only thing written on the small piece of paper.

Pang! Pang!

Once again, the noise rang. 

Wooosh!

Another small piece of paper fell. He unrolled it quickly and… froze. The content was short but…

[Too loud.]

"..."

Fuck! She heard us?