The Northern Tyrant [Game of Thrones] Chapter 10 - Playing Doctor & The King’s Reward

Turns out, life gets a lot easier when you have a Lannister in your pocket. Sure, it wasn't one of the men, nor someone too influential, but

Turns out, life gets a lot easier when you have a Lannister in your pocket. Sure, it wasn't one of the men, nor someone too influential, but it was enough to get all the information about bandits from the City Watch of Lannisport. 

"Gluk! Gluk!"

Three days had passed since that night with Genna Lannister. She was pregnant with his bastard, he knew it, and she probably expected it already. Nor did she seem bothered as, for at least a dozen more times, he'd pumped his seed inside her welcoming cunt. She demanded it herself. 

Like dope to an addict, she became inseparable from his cock. She looked for every excuse to meet him, and every meeting was sexual. As it was now, in the middle of the day. He was getting ready to go out to hunt more bandits, but she requested to get a taste of him. 

So, like a halfpenny whore, Genna dragged him to a secluded alley in the city, got down on her knees even in that expensive silk gown, and just unleashed her hot, plump-lipped mouth on his cock.

Fuck! She's really good at sucking! 

Wylis was enjoying the view from his great height. Looking down, he held her golden hair on the back so they wouldn't come in the way. He just watched her mouth stretch into an 'O' shape around his fat girth and bob back and forth. 

She cradled his heavy balls with a hand at the same time, panting, gurgling, choking herself on his length. 

"God! You're going to rip it off with that mouth." Wylis groaned, his big legs shaking in that heavenly sensation. 

"Ummh…" The filthy sounds of her drenched, sticky mouth rubbing on his length only grew louder. Her soft fingers around the base stroked harder as if she knew he was close. 

She had no business doing that. A noblewoman. A wife. A Lannister. Yet there she was, on her knees in a filthy alley like a tavern whore. Silk dress bunched under her thighs, lips swollen from repeated plunges, throat raw and glistening with spit and cock. 

She wasn’t just sucking him; she was worshiping him. Devouring him like he was divine, like her soul depended on it. Each stroke of her lips, each slurp, each twitch of her jaw wasn’t about pleasure. It was an addiction. Desperation.

She licked the underside of his cock like her tongue was digging for marrow, tongue flattening and dragging up every vein, every bump and ridge with obscene precision. She swirled around the head, teased the slit, sucked on it with a pop, then went back down like a starving dog returning to the bone. Her moans vibrated along his shaft, and her cheeks hollowed so tight he could see her jaw working under her skin.

Wylis had been thinking for the last three days. Why would a rich woman like Genna willingly spread her legs to a man like him? He had no blue blood, and no wealth, all he had to boast about was his height, his looks, and his martial prowess. 

On the second night, while he folded that fleshy, thick woman underneath himself, he heard her moan, cursing the gods for bringing him into her life so late. It was then he realized why Genna did that. It wasn't just sexual negligence from her husband. But in general, a sense of ruined prospects. 

Wylis looked down and saw Genna braced herself, both arms circling his thighs like she needed to anchor herself for what came next. Her throat flexed, mouth wide, and with a savage, sinful push, she forced his cock down her gullet. 

“Ugggggk!”

Her nose mashed against his pubes. Gag reflex be damned, she wanted all of it.

The wet heat of her throat hugged him like a silken noose. Her face moved on his cock like she was jerking him off with her whole head, her golden hair bouncing, her tongue flattening then coiling like a snake wrapping its prey. The thick, warm suction of her lips was relentless.

Genna, lady of a noble house—face slick with spit, dress ruined, mascara running, and still moaning greedily around his cock. Like it was the best thing that had ever happened to her. Her green eyes locked on his, dripping with lust, with need.

Like a woman on the edge, possessed by the taste, the feel, the sheer power of pleasuring a man like Wylis.

Makes sense. This must feel like a trophy to her. 

He had heard her curse her husband. And perhaps she wasn't alone in Westeros. Since most lords and their sons are raised in abundance, they grow weak, whiny, and broken in character. So, many ladies end up marrying men they don't even like. 

Balding, weaklings in battles, filthy to look at, sometimes just fat, and at times too scrawny like Genna's husband. Other than the title of a Lady and some wealth, those men had nothing to give to their wives. 

And to such wives, Wylis reckoned he was like the biggest trophy to have. Sure, going as far as to have his bastard was probably too much. But knowing Genna, he reckoned she just wanted a kid that'd actually be maxed out in every way. It was all a game of genes, even though the people of Westeros had no clue what genes were. 

How many more unsatisfied noble wives are out there? If even half of them give me a bastard. Wylis felt excited by that mere prospect. But actually doing it was hard. He had no contacts, and he didn't have enough reach. 

"Gah… I'm close, Genna." Wylis warned her. 

To his surprise, Genna stopped. Abruptly. That sinful mouth unlatched from his cock with a wet gasp, her spit-slick lips glistening, her breath ragged. Before he could ask why, she stood up and spun around, bracing her hands on the edge of the large, empty wine barrel behind her. 

In one swift, hungry motion, she lifted her gown up and over her waist, baring that creamy, smooth thick backside with zero hesitation. No smallcloth. No shame. Just glistening arousal leaking from her needy slit.

“In me. Now.” Her voice cracked like a whip.

How the fuck was he supposed to say no to that? But he still looked left and right, hoping nobody would disturb them. Though he reckoned Tywin already knew it by now. Genna wasn’t really discreet.

That trembling, bare ass. Those pasty, plush thighs spread in readiness. And her pussy was already dripping, plump pink lips parting and twitching with every beat of her frantic heart. She had soaked herself wet just from blowing him. 

Wylis didn’t need a second invitation. He grabbed her wide hips, aimed his fat cock, and slammed inside with one brutal thrust. It was a cave well explored, and he didn’t hesitate. No teasing. No mercy. Just raw, instinctive hunger.

“Aaah! Yes!” Genna wailed, back arching as she took the full stretch of him. “Fill me up—breed me a noble heir as fine as… you-oooh!”

Her words snapped the last thread of control he had. He rammed into her, his hips pistoning with the brutal pace of a stallion mating. Her meaty ass cheeks smacked and thrashed against his thrusts, his thighs molding them into lovely shapes with each deep, grounding thrust.

Her walls clenched and fluttered around him, already coaxing him to finish. He was already close, too close. Three thrusts. Just three, and he was already fucking gone. That greedy, ripe pussy gripped him like it knew how to milk him. The slap of his hips echoed against her plump ass, her nectar already frothing around his girth, coating his shaft in messy warmth. Her cervix kissed his tip, and the overload was instant.

“Ghhh—fuck…” Wylis groaned, digging his fingers into her ass cheeks, clawing them, holding her steady as his balls tensed, then exploded. 

Thick, scalding seed erupted deep into her cunt, flooding her womb without restraint. He knew she was already carrying his babe. But that didn’t matter. She wanted it. She wanted more. And he gave it; pulse after pulse of creamy heat, pumping her full again.

He slumped forward over her for a moment, eclipsing her, his forehead damp, chest heaving. His cock twitched deep inside her with the aftershocks while Genna trembled under him, breathless and mewling softly. He could feel her leaking, his load already spilling out of her, sliding down the inside of her creamy thighs.

He pulled out slowly, cock glistening and still twitching with sensitivity, coated in his filth. Her pussy gushed in his absence, the sloppy, open folds refusing to close.

But Genna wasn’t done.

She spun around and dropped to her knees again, grabbing his softening cock with both hands. 

Before he could catch his breath, she shoved him right back into her mouth, sucking him down with obscene eagerness. Her lips sealed tight around his shaft as she suckled the last drops straight from the source. Her tongue rolled over his cockhead, swirling in lazy circles, cleaning him up like a devoted little slut who couldn’t waste a single drop.

Her green eyes locked onto his, glimmering with lust and waiting for his reaction.

Seeing her eyes so focused on his face, he awkwardly patted her head.

"Good girl."

He instantly cringed at saying that. But it seemed Genna liked it as she giggled with his softening shaft still in her mouth. She rolled it around her tongue and coated it with her spit, wiping it spotlessly clean. 

Finally, when he was fully soft, she pulled back with a soft, wet pop, leaving him clean and glistening. That view, no man in Westeros would have believed Genna was a noble lady if seen.

She licked her lips with a satisfied hum, then wrapped one hand around his cock, smirking now that her fingers could close around it. Her thumb brushed along the base, amused at the difference.

"Wylis. You are… a man like none else." Genna said, squeezing his cock in her grip. "You're spent and yet bigger than my spineless husband at his peak. Gods, I wish I could keep it locked up between my legs."

Wylis gave a rough chuckle and offered his hand. He'd learned the way of the words by now. Smooth-talking sex-starved women was easy. “Feels like I’ve taken more than I gave, my Lady—but I’m not complaining. The last few nights have been something else. I'll return soon. Maybe once I’ve got a proper title, I’ll walk Lannisport without drawing too many eyes.”

Genna stood, brushing off her skirts with exaggerated grace. She chuckled, inhaling a deep breath, her lips pursed like in absolute need of something thick and long between her legs. “Oh, spare me the modesty. You’ll turn heads wherever you clomp, Wylis—and not just heads. I’m not the only sad, lonely lady who dreams of being swept away by a gallant seven-foot giant on a stallion. Though I dare say I’m the only one honest enough to admit it.”

Wylis chuckled, really pondering on how to get more noble ladies to spread their legs for him. “Aye, I’ll drink to that. You do have a taste for a stallion."

"Taste? Darling, I devoured it. Once you’ve tasted something that good, it sticks to the blood like wildfire," she replied and traced a slow circle on his steely chest, her tone somewhere between teasing and regret. "Good luck, then. I don’t usually bother with fond thoughts—but gods help me, you’ll manage to linger."

Wylis was still coming to accept the effect his sexual prowess had on women. 

Initially, he believed women would be disgusted by his size, or scared. And sure, many were. But now, the more famous he got, he realized there were plenty of daring women with a taste for his size. 

"I'll write to you if I earn my spurs, my Lady. Let's stay in touch." Wylis offered a genuine thought. Sure, his bastard would never lack luxury, but he still didn't want to abandon the kid fully. And Genna? She was more than a warm bed—she was a door to the lion's den.

"Um-hmm…" Genna gave a pat to his groin and stepped away. "Careful now, sweet-talking will get you everywhere."

Wylis shrugged and started walking away. "Except for the King's Court, I'm afraid."

"Oh, in there you'll need madness."

####

"Mother’s tits… that bastard nearly split me in two," Wenda spat, shifting in her saddle with a grimace. "Still feel him rattlin’ around in my guts."

She'd reached Riverlands, and just as Wylis had said, she found a convoy of traders and men of House Stark, headed North. With the wedding of Brandon Stark and Catelyn Tully close, the trade between the two houses had already increased. 

"How do you know our Wylis?" asked a man from Winter Town, a small-time trader mostly hauling grain from the south to the North.

He begged me to birth him a bastard, that's how I met that sick fuck. 

Of course, she didn't say that. It was too shameful even for her. "Met him fighting some bandits. Pretty big guy, decent, I guess. Said he'd give me a job in Winter Town after he's done hunting bandits for the King."

“Aye, if Wylis said it, then it’s as good as done. That lad’s been a right gift to the town, he has.” The trader scratched his beard, then nodded toward another rider. “Oi, Andros, didn’t Wylis help fix up yer place last winter?”

"He did. Not just the roof, mind ye—the whole bloody support post, too. Man's strong as an ox, lifted the thing with naught but his arms and set it straight. Wouldn’t take coin either. Just asked for some eggs."

Ruts like an ox too. Wenda scoffed under her breath. 

"Always had a taste for eggs n’ meat, that one. Remember the tanner's daughter? Wylis hunted her up furs for the wedding dowry and helped with coins too—just for a good bite to eat." Said the trader, fondness in his voice spilling. "You’ll be fine in Winter Town, Linda. If you’re with Wylis, you’re with us." 

Linda was her new name since Wenda and that scar on her face made it all too easy. She listened to the two men talk about tales of Wylis the entire time. And surprisingly, she didn't feel bored. 

It was interesting to learn what a man as tall and strong as Wylis could achieve. She was surprised to learn that the first time Wylis even left the threshold of Winter Town was for the tourney. Heck, the tourney was the first time Wylis got to battle like that. Even jousting was the first time for him, yet he defeated Rhaegar and broke the prince's teeth. 

As they rode, she learned of the changes Wylis had brought to the people of Winter Town. They were small things, but they meant a lot. He became the unofficial protector of the town's whorehouse, saving girls from violent men, involuntary trafficking, or men who don't pay. He became an unofficial minor injuries healer, patching up broken arms and legs as long as not too serious. 

Wylis even taught little kids and some grown-ups to at least count and read basic words so they wouldn't get deceived in the market. 

In return, all Wylis took from the people was food. Eventually, it reached a point where if there was any celebration in Winter Town, Wylis was invited first. If some household was cooking meat, Wylis was invited to a small meal. Even when some farmer, blacksmith, carpenter, or someone asked him for help with their work, Wylis took food instead of money. 

Slowly, Wenda came to understand how Wylis maintained that big body of his. Why he was so well-built, and not just a lanky, thin tree. 

Did he plan it all along? 

Whilst planning to forget about that man, she ended up feeling more intrigued. 

####

Hunting was going well for Wylis. The more prosperous the region was, the more bandits there were. But to catch them he often had to leave the main road and enter forests, or deeper into villages. 

As the headcount began to reach nearly a hundred, Wylis changed his direction and went further south, beyond the Westerlands. Soon, he reached Old Oak, the seat of House Oakheart. He didn't have business with the Lord, but a man living in the town near the Lord's Castle. 

After asking around for so long, and meeting every Maester he could find, he finally had the location of one ex-Maester named Qyburn. The man had his chains taken away, and his position in the Citadel was lost. Nevertheless, Qyburn was still in the Reach. 

Instantly the center of attention, Wylis rolled into the small town and quickly set up his temporary base in an inn. He paid for the lodging, and a hearty midday meal, fed his horse, and launched his search for Qyburn. 

He was well prepared to meet the man and confident to recruit him. After all, Qyburn desired the secrets of the human body, and to learn the workings of the soul and death. While the Citadel may not understand that thought, Wylis did. He was rather interested as well since his own soul had travel worlds. 

Besides, he wanted to turn Qyburn into a top-tier healer and a surgeon. For that, Wylis had begrudgingly made some purchases using his lifespan. But it hurt him less as it was an investment. 

He had purchased basic medical mastery for six months, human anatomy mastery for six months, and obstetrician mastery for one year. 

[Remaining lifespan - 61 Years 5 Months]

Just like that, two years were gone. But at least he had Wenda and Genna ready. But what if they miscarry? That was the real fear. 

Sixty-one, ha? Not good, not bad. 

Eventually, Wylis ended up finding the exact location of Qyburn. And he had to rush to get to the man. The word was that Qyburn was getting ready to set sail for Essos soon. 

By the time sunset neared, Wylis knocked on a back-alley building's door. It looked as if nobody lived inside, all the windows were fully shut, and there was dirt all over around the door. 

Knock! Knock!

Wylis kept knocking, a minute passed, and then fifteen minutes passed. 

"Qyburn, be a good man and unlatch that door. I’ve got business to discuss, not a door to ruin."

Knock! Kno—

Right then the doors opened. A lone, tall man stood, his eyes brown, wrinkled around them. His hair had turned grey, although it didn't seem like he was that old. Lean in the frame, he looked like your average neighborhood man. His robes were ragged and poorly sewn, and there were no Maester's chains. 

Qyburn measured Wylis' fearsome height and size with some fright. A natural reaction for a Maester. "My, you do cast a long shadow. Tell me, what brings you here, good fellow?"

Wylis smiled, seeing the fear in the man's eyes. Pretty good at keeping calm. 

"I'm Wylis of Winterfell. Maybe that means something to you," Wylis said and looked left and right, aware that he was being spied on. Getting seen fucking Genna was alright—what he was up to now wasn’t for prying eyes. 

"Mind if we have a quiet word? Somewhere less... public?"

A little hesitant, but there was no way Qyburn could deny a literal giant. "Join me inside." 

It reeked of strange medicines and potions inside the house. It was a mess everywhere, jars littered across the floor and cupboards, some held human body parts. They weren't new to Wylis, having seen plenty in his past life. His company was a titan in the pharma industry, after all.

"Have a seat." Qyburn quickly cleaned a chair and pulled it from the table full of more jars.

Wylis eyed the surroundings with interest. "I've heard a lot about you."

"It's just…"

"I'm impressed." Wylis interrupted, knowing well the man expected some sort of a barrage of insults, gods invoked, and his actions cursed. "I don't understand why the Citadel let you go. Peering inside the human body and learning how it ticks—that’s the bare bones of healing. How else can you fix a man if you don’t know how the heart pushes blood or the lungs breathe oxygen and throw out carbon dioxide? It’s germs that bring sickness, not some old rot or curse.”

Astonished, brows high, Qyburn looked at Wylis' face like he was magic incarnate. Half the words were foreign to him. "Oxygen? Carbon di… germs? What are those?"

Got you!

Wylis crossed his arms as if it were common knowledge. “Isn’t it normal to ask questions? Why do we choke without air? Why can’t we breathe underwater? You’ve carved up enough corpses to know what lungs do—fill up, empty out. So what are they pulling in? Sure, you’d say air, and you’d be half right. But it’s not just the air. Like a stew’s got more than just meat, the air’s got parts to it. The bit we need, I call that oxygen. What we spit back out, that’s carbon dioxide. Two sides of the same breath.”

Right then, Qyburn dragged another chair and sat down facing Wylis, rubbing his chin in thought. "I have pondered that too. Though I confess, it had not occurred to me that the very air might be... composed of parts."

"I can prove it," Wylis said with a half-smile. "Just fetch me a candle, a jar, a bit of water, some limestone, wood ash, and a tube."

Sure enough, Qyburn had all of them, all but a tube. Wylis just made one out of a stick on the spot. Then, he showed a normal candle in a jar experiment. Telling him that the reason why the candle burns is due to oxygen in the air. And then, when the jar was put on, the fire burned through all the available oxygen and then got quenched. 

Quickly after, he did the limewater test for carbon dioxide. He put water and lime made of limestone and wood ash into a jar, mixed it, and then using the tube, breathed into the jar of lime water. Soon, the solution turned cloudy, revealing that something new got mixed into the solution, something that changed the composition. 

"We can test more if you like. Put a rat under a jar, it won’t last long. Put a flower there, and it keeps on living. That part of air—the one that feeds flame—feeds us too. We are not so different from fire, Qyburn. We burn, slowly. That’s why the breath quickens in fear, in fury. The fire inside wants more fuel.”

The dishonored Maester fell into deep thoughts. He was more interested in anatomy, but still, the basic science regarding the body was too exciting for him. 

"Then how can the fish breathe under the water?" asked Qyburn. 

“Why can a bear claw, or a snake slither? Because that’s what they’re built for. Nature gives each beast its own trick—just like a fish breathes underwater with its gills. No magic to it, just good design.”

Wylis went on to explain the germ theory to the man. Sure, it made no sense, but Qyburn wasn't religious. He was willing to take in new ideas, and when Wylis offered to prove it, there was no reason to refuse the germ theory. 

In the end, Wylis said what he had come to say. “Look, I’m offering you a deal. I’ll teach you everything I’ve learned—and gods know, that’s a damn sight. Hell, I’ll even let you try your tricks on live subjects. The King’s ordered me to bring back a hundred bandit heads. What happens to them before I take the heads? Nobody’s concern. It’s a safer bet than roaming Essos, don’t you think?”

Enticing, absolutely mouth-watering offer. Having the protection of a man like Wylis was better than roaming alone. Sure, Wylis was no knight or noble, but the fame spoke for itself. And more than that, he was interested in the germ theory, and how Wylis would prove it. 

"But?" Qyburn looked at Wylis with some doubts. “Charity is a noble mask, though rarely worn for its own sake. I would know the face beneath it, if you please.”

Wylis smiled as he stood up, liking the way Qyburn worded his question. “I share your vision. I want you to make it, to be the greatest surgeon in history. A man who can patch a leg torn clean, sew a heart that’s been ripped out, and slice open a woman’s belly to save her and the babe inside.”

Seeing Qyburn still looking at him, Wylis resumed. "I'll be a knight in a few months, and in two years, I'll be a lord if it all works out. But that’s not the prize I’m chasing. My dream? I want a brood. Dozens of sons and daughters, maybe hundreds if I’m lucky and stubborn. But childbirth kills more women than blades do, so I need someone who can keep mine alive. I want you to learn how to see them through it—cut them out if need be, stitch what needs stitching. Be my Maester, Qyburn. I’ll teach you things no Citadel ever would. Even magic. Secrets born of blood.”

With his pitch done, he dangled the final piece of candy.

Woosh!

All of a sudden, a pot made of clay sitting on the side of a shelf flew and landed in Wylis' hand. It defied logic and the basic principles of reality. You can't just catch things without them being thrown at you. It was a small taste of Earthbending or magic to the man. 

If there was one thing Wylis knew, Qyburn was a twisted man, amoral, clever, but also loyal. By keeping the man hungry for knowledge, Wylis could have him forever. And the more children Qyburn helped him bring into the world safely, the more years he'd have to buy medical knowledge.

Qyburn's eyes threatened to fall out. He gulped, staring at the clay pot in Wylis' big hand. "H-How do you… possess all this… all this knowledge?"

Now, Wylis couldn't just tell him about his transmigrated soul or the Tyrant's Squire. So, a healthy amount of bullshit was suitable. 

"I came into this world with empty hands, Qyburn. When you’ve got nothing, you’ll trade it all for a shot at something greater." Wylis boastfully declared, keeping a mysterious but powerful air around himself. "Now, are you with me?"

Qyburn looked around the room, at the countless samples and materials he had collected. And then he looked at Wylis, a brute-like man who had no reason to be so intelligent. A commoner who shouldn't even know how to read knew the secrets of the body and nature. 

Wylis looked like a door. A door to greater knowledge compared to which all he knew seemed nothing. 

Qyburn nodded strongly and with no fear, stood up and gave Wylis a head bow, like what most Maesters did to their Lords. "Teach me."

That I will. 

####

Winterfell,

"Robert will soon arrive in Winterfell to speak with you." Lord Rickard Stark sternly warned his only daughter. “You’ll treat him with courtesy. He may lack polish, and courtly words are not his gift—but he's the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands and your match. You’ll have fine halls, a southern sun, and a high place. That should be enough.”

Lyanna, sullen, pale-faced, eyes dark from sleepless nights, spoke nothing. All that talk of being the cherished daughter of Lord Stark was a farce to her now. Being sold like some broodmare to a whoring oaf was anything but love. It was a mere transaction. An exchange of goods. 

In silence, she eyed Brandon standing on the side, arms crossed, face frozen in anger. It seemed even Brandon didn't want her to be married to Robert. 

Doesn't matter what I say now. 

Already not feeling that well, Lyanna simply nodded. "I understand."

“Then see yourself properly dressed. No more riding horses and brooding in the stableboy's cabin. No more archery and strolls in the Godswood."

Might as well tie a noose around my neck. 

She wondered what Wylis would have done if she were to tell him how she felt. If she told him she didn't want to marry Robert. 

With another nod, Lyanna turned around and walked out of her father's solar. She heard loud arguments between her brother and father right away, but she ignored them, feeling light-headed for some reason. 

Wanting to lie down, she rushed through the empty corridor, headed towards her bedchamber. 

"Ugh…"

But suddenly, she felt a strange feeling coursing through her body, and her stomach churned. She gagged, and took support of the wall, taking deep breaths. 

In the end, she couldn't hold it in. 

"Uwaaaa-ugh…"

She vomited right on the spot, feeling the tight feeling inside. She panted, and without realizing it, her free hand cradled her belly. It was irrefutable at that time. It all made sense, all the dots connected. 

Aye, I'm pregnant… Fuck, you've done it now, Wylis. You've fucking done it. 

Concern marred her face as she looked behind her, the way she had come, the way to Lord Stark's solar. She shook her head, coming to a quick realization. 

I can't… I can't stay here any longer. I'll find him myself. 

####

Two lunatics went around hunting bandits. But they didn't kill the bandits. They tortured them, drank their blood, and sacrificed them to an evil demon. 

The legend had started to spread, but it wasn't far from the truth. 

Wylis and Qyburn did go a little overboard with their experiments. It wasn't easy to teach Qyburn about every organ in the body and its workings. A lot of not-so-poor bandits died for those classes. Still, Wylis had enough decency to only do human testing on the bandits who moonlighted as rapists and murderers. 

Already, Wylis had killed a hundred bandits he needed to. But to teach Qyburn, he kept going a little further. Heart, lungs, kidneys, liver, intestines, eyes, they cut them out and then patched them back, trying to see if the bandit would heal fully with that operation. 

By then, germ theory was a fact to Qyburn. They had already come across a village with a cholera outbreak, a disease that Wylis named since they had none. Sure enough, the source was the village well, as the nearby pond, likely connected to the well in some way, had a dead, rotting pig in it. 

Further, Wylis did human experiments. He cut one bandit with a dirty, feces-covered knife, and the other bandit with a clean, sterilized knife. Sure enough, the one cut by a dirty knife got severely infected. 

Afterward, they even helped a village woman through childbirth. They had already started their travel towards King's Landing when they came across the case. They were staying in the village inn for the night and learned that the babe was stuck and the midwives couldn't bring out the babe. 

That night became the first obstetric surgery in Westeros, and Wylis was the surgeon while Qyburn was his student. He almost caused a riot when he offered to cut open the woman's belly. 

But in the end, the husband agreed with tears in his eyes. Because doing nothing would kill both while doing something might save one of them. 

However, Wylis ended up saving both the woman and the child. Using chloroform that he and Qyburn had made with great effort, he relieved the woman's pain to a degree with a semi-conscious state.   

It was messy, and a first-time experience for Wylis. He succeeded, but he made notes to commission some special tools for obstetric surgery from King's Landing's finest blacksmiths. 

Late at night, the wails of a baby boy made the entire village cheer in joy. As for the woman, Wylis stitched her up using silk threads he and Qyburn had been using on bandit experiments. But since those stitches weren't soluble like in modern times, he stayed behind in the village and waited for the woman to heal so he could remove the stitches as well. 

He didn't hate it. The villages fed him so much meat, eggs, and milk that he felt like a fat king. 

Eventually, with four sacks filled with salted and preserved skulls of bandits, Wylis and Qyburn headed for King's Landing for good. It was lunacy, pure insanity what they were doing. Especially Wylis. 

Killing bandits was one thing. But roaming half the realm with severed skulls was too much. Sadly, that was what the current King enjoyed the most. Madness was entertainment, and Wylis was tasked with bringing that entertainment to the King. 

Traveling along the Rose Road, passing through Kingswood, they eventually neared King's Landing. The foul stench in the air was noticeable even from outside the city. 

“If the air itself can bear such a stench, then surely it carries more than one foul element,” Qyburn remarked thoughtfully.

“Aye, it’s more than just air, that’s for certain,” Wylis said, having talked about nothing but basic science and medical knowledge the entire way. “I’ll make my way into the Red Keep. You can find a room in Eel Alley for now.”

Wylis handed Qyburn some coins for use. 

"Be wary, Wylis. The King’s Court is far from what it once was. The maesters whisper of the King’s madness—fire flickers in the halls, and screams haunt the corridors."

"Worried about me?" Wylis chuckled.

“To let such learning die unspoken... that would be a greater sin than how it was earned.”

Chatting, they soon reached the King's Gate. The Goldcloaks guarding there waved at Wylis with big smiles, as if he were a household name there. He didn't have to stand in line this time and gained entry right away. 

Wasting no time, Wylis rode through the Street of Steel, then into the Hook, and then entered Eel Alley, where he helped Qyburn get a decent room. Although the Red Keep was close by, Wylis rode north into the city and reached the East Barracks. 

From there, he grabbed the old sacks of bandit heads he had left there. Thankfully he had bought a lot of salt to keep them from smelling foul, although rotting was impossible to stop. 

The Goldcloaks were angry at him and were about to throw away the heads if he had taken another week. 

But finally, Wylis rented a wooden cart from a small shop, loaded all the sacks with a total of one hundred and five skulls, tied it to Caliburn, and rode towards the Red Keep. Taking the main road of the Street of Sisters, and then taking a left turn, he went straight to the main entrance of the Red Keep, featuring massive bronze doors, a portcullis, and a side postern. 

Wylis halted in front of the closed doors as the Goldcloaks raised their hand towards him. 

"Greetings, men. Just on my way to the King’s side. He bade me, and I’ve done right by him—one hundred and five bandits dead, their heads in tow," Wylis declared with pride and overbearing confidence. 

The five or so Goldcloaks looked at each other's faces and then looked at the pile of sacks on the cart behind Wylis. Sure, they couldn't stop Wylis from going in since it was King's command. But it was their job to check the contents of the cart first. 

And that day, it wasn't easy. No matter how used to violence, seeing more than a hundred severed heads wasn't easy on the mind or heart. It was nightmare-inducing, a memory that would last forever. 

"Ugh…" A Goldcloak flinched as a severed head mistakenly rolled out of the sack and fell on the dirt. The eyes were still open, and rot was visible around the scalp. 

“Caught that one in the Westerlands,” Wylis said as he nonchalantly picked up the head and shoved it back into the sack. “No shame if it turns your stomach, boys. Gods know I can’t stomach looking at 'em all at once either.”

"No one should, aye," the Goldcloak muttered, stepping back from the cart. "But orders are orders. King says jump, we jump. You're free to go—Good luck."

That was the common theme around that time, it seemed. Anyone going to see the King received a lot of good luck greetings.

Wylis tied the sacks again, mounted Caliburn, and rode through the bronze doors with pride. It was the first time Wylis was entering the Red Keep, the absolute center of power in Westeros, and it felt rather exciting. 

So close to power, yet he felt a little fear. A little hesitation. If Robert was the King, he believed he could deal with the man. But Targaryens were different. They carried the pride and overconfidence of a dynasty that had ruled for over a century. A dynasty that once rode dragons thanks to magic in their blood. 

I do need the luck today. 

Riding up through the elevated path, he soon reached the outdoor courtyard, from where he could see many towering red buildings all around. There were many Goldcloaks there, some sparring. There were also civilians from the looks of it. 

Then, on the right, he saw the large building, the one that likely held the Throne Room within it. Right at the building's gates there were two Kingsguards he didn't know about. 

The court's in session? Great. 

He got off the horse and led Caliburn towards the building, dragging the cart behind. As expected, the two Kingsguards halted him but recognized him. 

"What business brings the northern beast so far south?"

Wylis scratched his chin, trying to recognize them. "Greetings. Brought the hundred bandit skulls the King himself called for."

Just like the Goldcloaks, the Kingsguards also looked astonished, first giving each other a look, and then they checked the contents of the sack. They fared much better, however, not even flinching at so many severed heads. 

Though, they did look at Wylis like he was some demonic beast. 

"Wait here."

Solemnly, one of the Kingsguards vanished into the building. 

Wylis eyed the other Kingsguard. "I'm Wylis of Winterfell."

"Ser Jonothor Darry." 

Never heard of him. 

"You caught them alone?"

Wylis nodded. "With my blood, sweat, and a whole lot of sword swinging."

Two types of swords, though. 

As he held back a chuckle, the other Kingsguards returned and gestured for Wylis to follow. 

"His Grace will receive you now. Bring the heads along."

Wylis agreed without hesitation. He detached the cart from Caliburn and then started dragging the cart himself. "Lead the way, Ser."

But Wylis soon realized that the throne room wasn’t on the ground floor of the building, but rather on a raised floor. So, he had to drag the cart over the climbing stairs. 

"Ser, if you mind keeping the sacks from toppling, I’ll handle the rest."

The Kingsguard stopped leading, went behind the cart, and helped Wylis. The man tried to push the cart forward, but he was surprised, realizing Wylis was easily pulling it himself. 

"I'm Wylis of Winterfell, by the way."

"Prince Lewyn Martell."

"Ah, from Dorne?" Wylis mused. He didn't know there was a Martell in the Kingsguard. Even more surprising was that Elia still got treated like shit. 

"Why? Interested in Dorne?" 

"Aye, I’m interested. Don’t touch wine often, but I’ve had Dornish red—strong stuff. Burns like it’s got a grudge. Though, reckon for a Northern lad like me, swapping the biting cold for blazing heat might not sit too kindly."

Prince Lewyn chuckled at that. "Right about that. Most don't fare well there."

Right about that time, they reached the top of the stairs. Massive doors waited there, closed. But Prince Lewyn went ahead again and pushed one of the doors wide open. It was large enough to give Wylis space to walk and drag in the cart. 

Knighthood, here I come. 

Clap! Clap! Clap!

Before Wylis even stepped inside the throne room, he heard a loud clapping, from a single man, it seemed. And once he had a proper look inside, he noticed the King's high throne straight ahead in the distance. The King was standing before his raised, sword-spiked throne, crown on his head, eyes full of glee, his hands clapping furiously. 

As he reached the threshold of those massive, oak and bronze doors, he saw the long carpet that stretched from the door to the throne, creating the grand entrance. He had already noticed the shadows of dragon skulls adorned near the throne on the sides. Also, a small council table was located beneath the Iron Throne, occupied by some figures. 

It's a fully loaded court. 

Clap! Clap! Clap!

Not making the King wait any longer, Wylis walked through the opened gate, onto the expensive carpet. 

Ting!

Right at that moment, a blue screen flashed before his eyes. The notification was so shocking that he almost froze on the spot, his jaw tightened, his heart pounded in his chest, and his eyes shook. 

[Trueborns & Bastards Triggered!]

[Name: Lyanna Stark
Age: 18
Occupation: Daughter of Lord Stark, Closest friend
Current Loyalty: 93%
Status: Impregnated]

What? What do you mean impregnated? It's been months… Why so late? What's going on? 

Clap! Clap! Clap!

Without thinking, Wylis just kept dragging the cart further into the throne room.

Lyanna is pregnant with my kid? Why didn't it trigger when we did it? She's… all alone there, probably worried sick. Fuck! I gotta go back, all else can go to shit! 

Doing his best to control his emotions, Wylis pulled himself back to reality. The hall was full of faces he didn't recognize. The atmosphere was suffocating, as if there was only fear there. Other than the King, nobody was clapping. 

Wait, where's Rhaegar? 

Wylis eyed the hall but couldn't find the prince. He did find Elia Martell and Ashara Dayne, standing on the side with guards around them. Rhaella Targaryen was missing, as expected. But the prince… there was no sign of him. 

"Marvelous! Oh, what a marvelous day this is! You’ve stirred joy in my bones, boy—joy! Come, come closer. Yes, roll that cart nearer—I must see it! I must!" The King erratically, emotionally roared, like a child glimpsing a long-lost toy—or a pyromancer his fire.

Wylis felt it right then. The King was much worse mentally than the last time he saw him. There was more madness in the eyes, in the voice, in every little motion. The filthy looks were the same, however. 

Finally, Wylis brought the cart all the way, as close as he could get to the throne, which was right beside the first steps of the throne's dais. From there, the King had the clearest view of both Wylis and the cart. 

"Your Grace," Wylis greeted and took to one knee, paying his respects. "By your royal command to cleanse the land of those foul bandits, I’ve cut down a hundred and five, and brought their heads to show the truth of it."

Clap! Clap! Clap!

King Aerys clapped harder, so hard that his entire thin body shook, his massive, filthy beard came in the way, and his weird, elongated nails collided with each other. 

"Glorious! I knew you were no dull breath, boy. Go on, throw them out—toss their heads to the court! Let me see the terror still clinging to their faces. Pycelle, aid the lad! Let him display my triumph!"

My triumph?

Wylis scoffed inside at the King's words. In King's mind, because Wylis accomplished the deed on his orders, the end credit belonged to the King, not to Wylis. That was the kind of man Aerys II was. 

Wasting no time, Wylis and Pycelle started unloading the sacks from the carriage. As soon as they tossed the contents of the first one, the entire hall let out a gasp, and a few feminine yelps also came. But only the King was laughing. 

"Hah! Look at their faces! Eyes still open, the fear of my wrath! This is what you get for stealing from me! From betraying your king! More... Show me all of them. Ser Gerold, go and aid them!"

It was an absolute show of the King's madness. While the people in the hall had darkened faces, disgust and fear clear, the King almost jumped for joy. 

Thud!

Thud!

One after another, all the sacks were emptied. A hill of severed, rotting heads piled up on the carpeted floor. All the faces were different, some showed expressions that made the King laugh, others made the King furious as Ser Gerold revealed that they belonged to the Kingswood Brotherhood's offshoots. 

“Pycelle! Fetch the wildfire, you hear? Let their blackened skulls burn for all to see! The realm must remember the King’s wrath—let the rats in hiding tremble!”

For the first time, Wylis saw the wildfire burn. Though he didn't care as his mind was busy thinking about Lyanna, and where Rhaegar was. 

In mere moments, over a hundred severed skulls were burned in green flames. From the start to the ashes, it was fast, the fire was dangerously potent. Even some of the lavish carpet got burned, but the King didn't care, just relishing the view. 

As the fire finished burning, the King seemingly moaned even in his twisted way. Clapping, rejoicing at the view. 

"Boy."

Thud!

Ignoring the charred floor, Wylis took to the knee. "Your Grace."

Ting!

[Mad King's Admiration Triggered]
[Mad King's Current [Censored] - 99.5%]

W-What? Wylis looked up at the King right away and his heart sank. The filthy man was licking his lips while eyeing him. What the fuck is that censored word? What does he want from me?

"How tall are you, my boy?"

Why? What's that got to do with anything?

"By my guess, I’ve hit seven feet, give or take, Your Grace."

"Ahhh, splendid! As I foresaw, yes. Tell me—how much more will you stretch before you burst like a ripe fruit, hmm?"

W-What? What the fuck? Burst? Fruit?

“I’d wager two, maybe three inches more, so long as I’m properly fed.”

"Mmmh… Yes, yes… you’ll eat well, won’t you? Stuffed like a goose for a feast!" King Aerys's eyes grew narrow, while his lips maintained that curved smile. "I recall now, yes, yes—I did promise a reward. You’ve pleased your king. And the king always repays loyalty… with beauty, with fire, with something…"

Finally, just give me the damn knighthood. 

Guilt ate at him. He wanted to go back and be with Lyanna as quickly as possible. Her pregnancy was unplanned, and he didn't want it to become her sad memory. Also, knowing she died during childbirth in another time, he was worried. 

"Ser Gerold, bring me your sword." King Aerys rose from his throne and started walking down from the dais. “Winterfell breeds such dull names—Wylis, Wylis… no music in it. But Ser Wylis! Oh, that sings.”

Wylis lowered his head, being a domineering man even when kneeling. He listened to the sound of the unsheathed sword, and the King taking it. He heard the King's footsteps come closer, and he waited to feel that blade on his shoulders and take the knight's oath. 

No more a damn stableboy. No more lowering my head and eyes. Finally…

Dream of two lives was finally getting fulfilled. Sure, he was a filthy rich billionaire back there, but it was simply not possible to be a real knight there. That concept didn't exist. But in Westeros, he finally had it. An actual, recognized knight. 

Wait for me, Lyanna. Just a little. 

Pat!

King Aerys reeked of filth. But Wylis kept his head bowed and just looked at those thin legs. He felt the tap of the sword on his right shoulder and waited for the King to initiate the oath. 

He waited.

He kept waiting. 

But when he didn't feel the sword move from his right shoulder, he looked up and realized the King wasn't even looking at him. No, the King was instead looking into the distance, towards the door. His violet eyes were shimmering in a maddened glaze. 

No, no, no, no… Don't you dare refuse now. 

Time passed, and King Aerys seemed to be lost in his thoughts. 

"Your Grace?" Ser Gerold Hightower, sensing the strangeness, came forward.

King Aerys finally turned his head, looking at the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, and then he looked back down at Wylis. A weird smile crept on the King's lips and he retracted that sword. 

"More… Too much… too quickly… for a stable rat in boy’s armor. I saw no true blade swung—just a mummer’s joust. The heads were lovely things… but how do we know who truly made them roll?" King Aerys said, and turned around abruptly, walking back to his throne. "Pycelle! Fetch the hourglass. Let us test him once more—once and for all."

What do you mean, you sick fuck? Your spies saw me fuck Genna, probably castrating Gregor too! 

Wylis was once again made to remember that he was nothing but entertainment to King Aerys. Even to the Lannisters, he was just entertainment. A circus creature meant to be looked at and marveled, not befriended.

Anxiety and a little bit of fear arose. He wasn't fireproof, and if the King decided to burn him with wildfire, he had no way to escape. 

Can I buy something? There should be something in Tyrant's Squire. 

Pycelle being an old man, took time. Wylis used that time to discreetly scroll through the shop of the Tyrant's Squire. Still kneeling, looking down, he looked calm to all. 

There it is! Fuck! 

[Fire Immunity - 60 Years]

The price was extremely steep. So steep that if he bought it, he'd only have one year and five months left to live. But it was something. If all failed, and even battling his way out of the Red Keep became impossible, and if the King made up his mind to burn, perhaps… 

I’ll kill this bastard myself! 

He looked at the crowds. There was mostly pity in everyone's eyes. Ashara Dayne was the only one with worry. Even Elia Martell showed some. Then there were a few with smiles on their faces. 

"Here, Your Grace." Pycelle returned at last and handed the hourglass to the King. 

"Hmm… Arise, Wylis." King Aerys ordered, and then eyed the Kingsguards. "Ser Gerold, Ser Arthur, and Ser Barristan."

Quickly, the three Kingsguards, the three strongest knights of Westeros walked before the throne and knelt. 

"This… I shall flip this cursed hourglass, and until a quarter of its grains fall, you three will battle Wylis—at once. You will not falter, you will not pretend. Your king requires truth—truth in blood. Slay the giant if you must."

Wylis' fists clenched hard. His breath grew disorderly as he eyed the King on the throne, and then the three knights. He had no clue if he could do it. 

A toy! I'm a fucking toy to him! 

"And you, boy..." King Aerys smiled toward Wylis. "Cling to life by tooth or nail, survive! The prize… oh, the prize will be worth the blood.”

To hell with your goddamn prize!