The Northern Tyrant [Game of Thrones] Chapter 8 - The Mighty Spoon & Impaling A Bandit

[A/N: For anyone who doesn't know who this Wenda is, I've posted a 3rd party fan art of her in the community chat.] _________________ "A bas

[A/N: For anyone who doesn't know who this Wenda is, I've posted a 3rd party fan art of her in the community chat.]

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"A bastard—Bear me a bastard!"

"..."

"W-What?"

Wenda stammered, gawking at the towering man before her, covered in blood from head to toe, blood of her own band of bandits.

"Aye, bear me a bastard." The man repeated the same outrageous request. “I’m Wylis of Winterfell, victor of the tourney at Harrenhal, breaker of royal teeth. Every man’s got a dream, they say. Mine’s just a bit... different. I’m strong enough to earn my glory. But what I truly want—well, it’s a whole brood of sons and daughters to call my own.”

Wenda's brows creased. She almost forgot that the massive sword still hung at her neck. "Fuck, you filthy goat! Go find a wife if you’re so desperate!"

"In essence you’re right, but how many sons and daughters can a single woman give birth for me? So, the perfect answer is to find myself a lot of willing ladies. Of course, I won't be forceful, or demanding. It must be a mutually agreed agreement. After all, I'm asking for nine months of your life and your womb—It's a lot, I know. So I will be paying you and taking care of you for those nine months—"

"Seven hells, shut your bloody trap! I never said I'd do a damn thing! D’you even listen to your own prattle?"

Wylis awkwardly nodded and looked at the woman for good. Common sense said that he should just kill her, take her head, and be done with it. But on another look, ignoring that scar on her left cheek, she had a pretty face, young, strong, not one of those pampered beauties. She looked fit, similar to Lyanna's height, and had pretty nice, wide hips; Perfect, he felt. Besides, no other woman would agree to his request, not unless he became an actual knight. 

But Wenda was… even below him in status. A bandit. Sure, he didn't want to force it, so he just hoped she'd accept his offer willingly. He was desperate to get some lifespan back, and she was desperate to turn her life around, he hoped. 

“So, what will it be then?” Wylis asked, with a half-smile. 

“We don’t have to rush. Might be wise to take our time—to get to know one another proper. You could come along while I hunt down bandits. Hell, you might even point me toward a few names.”

"Let me guess, you'll kill me if I don't agree?" Wenda asked with a scoff. "Go on then, may as well have your way with me too while you’re at it and be done with it."

“Ugh, I’m drenched in sweat.” Grunting, Wylis took off the boxy helmet he was wearing and threw it away, revealing his face for the first time. 

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Look, I’m meant to kill you—bring a hundred bandit heads to the King. And you’re the chief of the lot. I’m losing more by letting you live than by ending you. But here’s a thought: I’ll spare you for now. You’ll come with me—no promises you have to help. I’ll deal with the bandits myself. If, while we’re on the road, you feel like playing along, we can talk about it.”

That entire time, Wenda kept staring at the man in pure confusion. She had met outrageous men before. She had met rapists before. She had met the worst of the worst men. Yet, she couldn't understand which category Wylis belonged to. 

"So I'm going to die either way?" 

“If all else fails, I’d sooner end you than force myself where I’m not wanted. It’s a clear-cut thing, no messing about. I want a child, and if you don’t, there’s no point. But tell me, don’t you ever want one? Look me in the eye and tell me you’d rather it be another man’s seed, not mine,” Wylis said plainly, with a crooked, honest smile.

In silence, Wenda looked at Wylis' face, taking a good, measured look this time. 

Other than his towering height, he did look very well-built and then there was his face. He was no Prince Rhaegar that she had seen once. But he wasn't that far off either. Besides, that face and that body combined made him a perfect partner if the goal was just to sire strong children who wouldn’t just be strong but also good-looking. 

Still, she was no noble lady nor a broodmare. She was Wenda the White Fawn, a legendary member of the Kingswood Brotherhood. But the six-foot-long, heavy sword hovering near her neck was too big of a reality to ignore.

"And what's to say I won't escape, or kill you when you're asleep?" Wenda asked him with a sneering expression. 

Wylis smirked, easing his blade back. "Because sticking with me's the smartest gamble you’ll ever make. I’m not just asking you to carry a babe—I’m offering a way out. No more running from the King’s dogs. A clean start. Stick with me, and you won’t just survive—you’ll thrive. You’ll have a place in what I’m building."

"And what are you building?"

Wylis shrugged at that and extended his hand to her. "See it for yourself."

From the moment he had received that Tyrant's Squire magic, he knew what his future was going to be like. It was impossible to be intimate and romantic with all the women like he was with Lyanna. It was foolish to expect that. The best he could do was treat them with respect, and make them happy with whatever they desired, as long as it was within his capabilities. 

Similarly, he already knew he would never fall for a woman like Wenda, nor ever love her. But what he could give her was his friendship, and himself as a support system for her to start a new, clean life. 

As sick as it sounded, the price was to bear him a child. 

"Right then—I'll give it a week." Wenda hauled herself up, wincing from every bruise that she had sustained from falling time and time again. “If I don’t speak by week’s end, don’t wait on me. Don’t ask either. Just do it, end me—quick, quiet. I’d rather not know the sword's coming.”

She was no saintly woman. She was a bandit and a murderer. But Wylis nodded because that was the least he could do. 

"Fine by me, Wenda."

She eyed him as she finally stood normally. Back then, she was running so she didn't get to size him up properly. Now, even after standing to her full height, she felt minuscule, her head merely reaching till his chest, and she was in boots. 

But his face… It was rather easy on the eye.

It was intimidating to her. But she was no weakling. 

"Don't expect me to give you any names."

"That's alright. Let's go to King's Landing. I'll check some other names with the Gold Cloaks."

Instantly, Wenda's face soured, and she stepped away from him. She was known around those parts, and even more so in King's Landing. Her scar, although not deep, made her face memorable and easy to recognize. 

"Five—I know five more bandit camps in Crownlands."

Wylis chuckled and sheathed his sword on his back, the only place he could hold that massive blade. Then, he gestured back towards the way they had come from. 

"Let's grab our horses then."

The entire time, Wenda eyed the man with fury. It wasn't easy to swallow such a heavy loss. But even without the sword, she feared the big man. His hands alone were enough to engulf her head and mash it like a fruit. 

In the end, she hoped to buy time. As for what, she was yet to plan. 

####

"Mmm… Damn you, Wylis!" 

Lyanna Stark rolled and twisted in the bed, and before long, she realized it was already morning. She looked out the window and cursed the man who had made her so miserable. It wasn’t about sex. Well, a little, but the major issue was that she felt extremely bored. There was nothing to do, nobody to tease, jest with, or just… be herself with. 

Wylis had never been away from Winterfell before. If anything, it was she who used to join her family on some occasions when visiting nearby houses. Now, with Wylis gone for good, she felt firsthand withdrawal symptoms. She was addicted to Wylis' presence, his nonchalant behavior, his bulky existence, and above all, his beliefs. The man never mistreated her, and never made her feel like a weak lady. He called her out on her mistakes, never went easy during their training spars, and even beat her up on occasions. 

She missed that friendly banter and that cock—She didn't want to accept that last part. But sleeping while hugging that massive pillow Wylis had made her did make her miss him more. It had been a month since he'd been gone and she'd returned home, and she felt lethargic, uninterested in everything, and constantly annoyed at everyone.

As days went by and Brandon's wedding with Catelyn Tully came closer, she felt scared for herself as her wedding with Robert would be next. 

"At least you could have written me a missive." 

She groaned while pulling herself out of the bed. But she knew it was impossible. Letters were a privilege that only nobles could enjoy. Ravens were not accessible for Wylis, and hiring a messenger was risky as the letter may contain sensitive bits. 

Lyanna pulled herself to a bucket of water and wiped her face clean. She looked at her face in the mirror, eyes looking puffy as if she'd just cried. She hadn’t, but they looked that way. Sighing, she grabbed the wet cloth and wiped her arms and legs as well before donning a casual grey and white gown. She spent most of her day time either practicing archery or reading the books inside Wylis' abode he'd made at the stables. 

But just when she opened the door of her chamber, a female servant was waiting for her. 

"My Lady, Lord Stark wishes to see you when you wake up."

Lyanna's already sour mood soured further. Giving a simple nod, she walked past the servant and arrived outside her father's solar. The door to Lord Stark's private chamber was left slightly open, just a thin crack, enough to hear the loud voices from inside. 

Brandon?

Hearing her elder brother's loud, roaring voice, she waited to open the door and just listened to what was going on inside. 

"...It’s you who’s lost your wits, Father! You told me to wed that redheaded girl, and I bowed my damn head and agreed. I’ve followed every command you barked, and tried to make you proud, and the one time I ask something of you, you turn your back? Wylis was meant to ride out as a Knight of House Stark, not some nameless muckboy in a stable! And now we’ve lost him. Gone, most likely for good. You think he’ll come crawling back to this frozen dung heap after that insult? He’ll be knighted in the South, honored by the king while we’re left with your clever little plan and nothing to show for it but silence.”

"Are you done?"

“No. I won’t hold my tongue while you tear this house apart. What good are your southern ambitions, when they tie us to filth? You handed Lyanna to Robert Baratheon, that rutting brute—That drunkard swine bragged to my face about a bastard he sired in the Vale—then took three whores to bed and left each with his seed! That’s your choice for her? A man with no honor, no care, only a name he didn’t earn—And if that filth’s good enough for her, then why not Wylis? He’s ten times the man Robert is! I’d sooner trust him with her than that drunk oaf."

Outside, Lyanna's eyes widened at that declaration. She questioned if Brandon already knew about her and Wylis' affair. Whatever it was, she felt touched and excited. 

Lord Stark's footsteps echoed, and then the creaking of a chair rang. Likely seated, the man responded to Brandon. "You reckon my southern ambitions are foolish? You’ve never had the weight of the title on your shoulders. Too busy roaming, chasing women, hunting, living like a boy with no care. I see the faces of the smallfolk when they come to me—empty, hungry. They cry—We have no food, my family is dying—Son, daughter, wife, father... someone's always dying. The North is a land of suffering, and we need grain. Grain that only grows in the south. And as for Wylis...”

Creak!

The sound of something opening came, a drawer perhaps. Then a faint thud. 

"Read these—They were found when Wylis was building his abode inside the stables."

"And what of it? So the boy sketches a bit—does that strip him of honor? I see nothing here that makes him unworthy. You should’ve knighted him long ago, and you bloody well know it—"

"I can't." Lord Stark's serious voice came. "I showed the Maester these drawings—this one here, with the long lines—it’s a new way to bring water to every room in a manor or castle, the Maester said. Wylis sketched it himself. He planned a way to fill the rooftop tanks using horses and gears like those in the watermills down south. The lad’s never been south before, yet he dreamed it up on his own. His curiosity would have led him there, even if he were a knight. I see his worth, Brandon, and if he comes back, I’ll give him more than just knighthood."

"And what if he never returns?"

“Aye, I share your fear. I never imagined he’d take the tourney by storm. But that matters little. Should he return, I’ll have seen where his true loyalty lies—with the North. He’s a good lad, aye, but meant to shine like a star—too bright. Had I given him his due too early, pride would have swelled in him, and you’d never have been able to make him yield, Brandon.” Lord Stark turned the pages, the sound was loud. 

"He made more drawings, then stopped. He never forged what he drew once he knew someone had seen it. He holds these things to himself, greedy for them. Wylis will never be a servant, I’ve seen enough to know that. Still, he must be shaped to be a proper vassal."

Now much calmer, Brandon spoke back. "And what of Lyanna? Robert can never give her the happiness she deserves."

"We need this, Brandon. You need this. If we don’t build stronger bonds with the South, our people will never prosper—they’ll starve. Eddard and Benjen will marry, too. Maybe someone from the Reach, or the Westerlands. That’s how I’ll make sure the North thrives.”

Outside, Lyanna had heard enough of it. Her fists clenched, and her opinions were different regarding Wylis. She had seen firsthand that Wylis was intelligent, more than she or anyone else knew. She had heard him talk about strange ideas. She loved listening to them. Yet, Wylis worked honestly as a stableboy every day. There was no need to test his loyalty in her eyes.

"Father?" She finally stepped into the solar, eyeing the two men. "You called for me?"

“Decided to join us at last, have you? Had your fill of listening from the door?” Rickard’s eyes softened as he looked at his daughter’s still face. 

“No matter now. Better you heard it true from me. You asked me more than once to make Wylis a knight. You deserve to know why I refused. Knighthood’s no gift to be handed out lightly, and once it is given, the man must live by it and repay it. I chose not to knight him to give him a chance to make his own way—down south, if he will. If he serves another lord, well, that’s his choice. It stings my pride, but a man must follow his own path.”

Lyanna couldn't find the words to respond. There was too much going on in her head. She truly feared that Wylis would choose to remain in the South. But again, she feared for her own future as well. 

"I summoned you for more than pleasantries. These whispers—they’ve gone unchecked for too long. The folk of Winter Town see you and Wylis as something fated. A perfect pair, they say. They may think so, you may think so, but that can never be true, for ours is a house of old blood and heavier burdens. You are a Stark. Wylis is not for you—not now, not ever. You are promised to Robert, and until that vow is sealed, you will not see Wylis again."

Lyanna's expression went from hopeful to hopeless in an instant, and then furious. Her heart thumped in her chest as if mocking her for even dreaming of running from her fate. She felt the air suffocating her, the walls around her collapsing. Her worth was nothing, just a useful mare to be sold to some whoring man. 

Her breath hitched, eyes blazing. “I hope you never find peace—neither in this world nor the next. Burn in hell, for all I care! All of you!"  

Bam!

Lyanna cursed her own father and stormed out of the solar. She never had a restrained tongue and at that point, nobody was surprised. 

Left behind, Brandon also stared at his father, but not with as much fury. 

"You'll regret this, Father." 

"I know what I'm doing."

####

Seven days had gone by. Neither Wylis beheaded Wenda, nor did Wenda run away from him. She did try initially, but each time he caught her, hogtied her, and brought her back to his camp. He never touched her, and just made small talk now and then. 

Eventually, she just stopped running, and the chatter between them grew more. She cursed the King and his family a lot, and Wylis merrily joined in. Their combined hatred for the Prince was something extraordinary. 

They didn't plan to. But a friendship silently formed between them. And Wylis cleaned up the entire Kingswood of bandit presence, collecting a total of twenty skulls out of there alone. It being hard to travel with them, he handed the twenty skulls to the Gold Cloak of King's Landing after getting them verified.

After that, he made his way westward, towards the Westerlands. 

Wenda said that she knew a few bandit groups from that region, and he was very much delighted to kill them. It wasn't easy. Sure, he received injuries here and there, but he tended to them carefully. 

Days later, following the Gold Road, they arrived somewhere near Deep Den, the seat of House Lydden. The land there was hilly and mountainous, full of trees and valleys with small streams in some. It was the perfect place for bandits to hide and make camps. 

Their destination was Lannisport, but they made plenty of stops on the way, gathering information. With the sun setting, they walked off the Gold Road, entered the forest, and set up a camp near a small water stream. 

Being done for the day, with their heavier belongings left behind, they returned to the road and rode to the nearby inn to eat some light supper. Wylis left behind his massive sword, being too eye-catching. Instead, he carried a simple, short sword. 

Even Wenda, usually wearing chainmail over her forearms and some leg armor, had ditched them for lighter clothes. A simple white, loose tunic, dark grey trousers, and high boots she usually wore. She kept her belt, though, holding a large dagger on it. 

"So, what will the lady have today?" Wylis asked in a joking manner as he sat opposite her. It was a habit to tease her now as she hated being treated like a noble lady. 

Wenda crossed her arms, eyeing her captor. The inn was small with an attached tavern where food was served to travelers. It was less than mediocre at best, but it was enough for the two of them. 

"Stop with that nonsense or I'll chop your cock off in your sleep." Wenda threatened and looked at the serving girl. In a rare move, Wenda spoke softly. "Bring me a jar of ale and whatever's in the pot, girl."

When the girl looked at Wylis, he winked at her, which got her smiling. "Bring me fifteen boiled eggs, a whole chicken, roasted is fine, whatever vegetables you have boiled, and if you have fresh milk, I'll have a jar of it, boiled."

"..."

The serving girl dumbly blinked towards Wylis. 

"Ah? Want me to repeat it, girl?" Wylis asked. 

"No, no, I remember it. I'll…"

Wylis took out a few copper stars and placed them on the table. "You get the rest after I get my food."

At that, the girl merrily took the coins and walked away to bring him the food. It was understandable as the quantity and type of food he wanted was expensive. And dining and dashing must not be that rare.

"Hmph!" Wenda scoffed at Wylis as she received her cup and jar of cheap ale. "You're the first bloody man I've seen who doesn't drink wine."

“Oh, I drink now and then—maybe a dozen times a year, if that. Not that I don’t enjoy it, but I avoid it since excessive wine makes sperm count less."

Wenda frowned. "Spa-what?"

Wylis chuckled and intently looked into the woman's brown eyes. "It makes cock juice less potent—Excessive wine, I mean."

Pfff!

"Agh…" Wenda coughed out the wine she was drinking, not expecting that response. "Is… Is that all you ever think of?"

"Can’t fault a man for chasing his dream—mine just happens to involve siring a lot of children. And I’m not wrong, either. Have you ever wondered why so many lords and ladies struggle to have heirs? Too much wine, too much greasy food. Soft living makes for weak seed."

Just then, the serving girl brought Wylis his food. Well, some of it since his order was pretty large. He received the milk and whole chicken right away, and the eggs were still being boiled. 

All that time, Wenda was silent, as if thinking of something. She was recollecting all the nobles she knew who had trouble conceiving kids and the more she thought, the more sense it made.

She then eyed Wylis and wondered how potent he was, if he took such care of himself. She'd never seen him drink wine. Each time they stopped at a tavern, he ate eggs, drank milk, and ate a lot of meat and vegetables. The man clearly knew what he was doing. 

BAM!

"Hahah!"

"That little shit…"

"Bahaha!"

All of a sudden, the entire atmosphere inside the tavern changed. All the other guests shrank their necks and looked down. The serving girls revealed faces filled with fear. Six men had just entered through the tavern door, all looked big and rough, some with scars, not the knightly sort. 

"Tsk!"

As they walked past his table, they eyed his food, sneered, and continued walking… almost. 

"Well well, look what the wind blew in." The man with a big, dark mustache stopped and stared at Wenda. "That scar, that pretty face, ain't that the White Fawn herself? Thought I’d have you squealin’ last time you showed your arse 'round here. Don’t tell me you came back to peddle that sweet little slit now that Simon’s cold? Lookin' for coin or cock, eh?"

Wylis, who had just started eating the veggies with a wooden spoon, suddenly started to bite the wooden spoon itself while smiling, a big, sinister grin. "Wenda, are these your comrades?"

Wenda nodded, frowning, gritting her teeth. "They're the ones I was talking about."

"JACKPOT!" 

Bam!

It happened so suddenly. Wylis roared at the top of his lungs and stood up to his full height. The six men were shocked by his height, and by the time they could stop gawking at him, he had already broken his wooden spoon into a sharp, pointy stick. The closest man to him, the one mocking Wenda, received that wooden spike straight into his eye socket, sinking deep until his brain was stabbed. 

"Aaaargh! M-My aaaaah!"

The man bled through his face and fell down while screaming, dying with intense seizures as the brain was truly fucked up from the inside. 

Still in shock, Wylis jumped onto the other five men, all the while smiling. The place was so narrow that he didn't bother taking out his sword. And the five men also fumbled. 

Woosh!

He jammed the same pointy spoon into one bandit's temple, a clean hole that severely damaged the brain. 

Thud!

As the second one fell, the last four men had taken out their short swords. Wylis smiled and grabbed his jar of milk and…

SPLASH!

"Aaaargh!"

Two of the four men recoiled in absolute pain as their faces were burned by the hot milk. Wylis focused on the other two, however, and knelt, stabbing the wooden spoon straight into the man's groin. 

"Gaaaaa-agh!"

As the man grabbed his crotch and leaned forward, Wylis stabbed the eye again and killed the man with another deadly brain injury. 

He was fast, so fast, and used whatever was around him. As fear took over the remaining three men, he targeted the two who had their faces burned, grabbed their throats, and pushed them backward. 

It was a hearth, lit on fire with a pot of hot water boiling on it. 

Bam!

"Aaaaargh!

"N-Naaaaaah!"

The two men writhed in pain, burning, getting drenched in hot, boiling water. But Wylis didn't allow their faces to get ruined too much and pulled them out of the fire. After that, he stabbed the sharp spoon into their throats, killing them. 

Finally, one man was left. 

"S-Stay away from me!" 

The man tried to run away. But Wylis just threw that spoon toward the man's nape. It wasn't enough to kill, but it did sting and the man fell just as he reached the door. 

Wylis walked over, put a heavy foot on the man's back, grabbed his spoon, and for good, killed him with a stab in the neck. 

So abruptly, chaos had broken out. So abruptly, silence prevailed. There were at least a dozen travelers eating there, and all dumbly stared at Wylis, some in fear and others in absolute awe. The tavern girl, the cook, and a few other servers watched him in fear. 

"What's with the faces? I'm Wylis of Winterfell, the one who won the Tourney at Harrenhal and cracked Prince Rhaegar's teeth. These lot were bandits, plain and simple. King’s orders say I hunt them, so here I am." Wylis declared and saw faces ease up. But that wasn't enough, reputation wasn't easy to build. He took out a silver stag and tossed it to the serving girl. 

"That's for the mess, and bring me another jar of milk, would you? And don’t fret over the corpses—I’ll drag them out once I’ve eaten.”

The wooden creaks of benches and the fire crackling were the only things heard. Wylis went back to his seat and started eating the chicken. He felt Wenda's eyes and looked up at her. She sat frozen there. 

"What? Not the first time you saw me kill men."

"With a fucking spoon? No! Never! There were six of them, Wylis, how in the…" Wenda lost words and downed an entire cup of ale before pouring herself more. "Gods, you're a beast."

Wylis just chuckled and ignored her rambling about how much they could have done if he'd been a member of her group. She was aware not to mention being a bandit, though. 

Later, after finishing eating, he and Wenda dragged out the dead bodies. They dragged them into the forest, where he then beheaded them, and stored the heads in a sack. He was initially very sensitive to that action, but after twenty beheadings, it didn't move him. And knowing they were bandits and rapists, he didn't feel that bad. 

Soon enough, the two returned to their camp where they lit up a fire. They traveled with two tents, hers was small, and his was slightly larger. They were simple ones, hitched with just two sticks at two sides, with only one side kept open towards the fire. 

With it still being winter across the Seven Kingdoms, the nights were chilly. So, Wylis made the fire slightly bigger before sliding into his tent to get some sleep. Like always, he kept a dagger ready beside his small pillow. 

Having no close company at night, it was common for his thoughts to steer towards home. Winterfell was indeed home to him. Birthplace of his second life. 

Wonder what that crazy bitch's doing right now. 

He often thought of Lyanna. Her confession that night. He didn't want to, but it somewhat made him happy to believe that she was being honest. 

Knighthood first. 

Reaffirming his goal, he shut his eyes for good and turned sideways to fall asleep, pulling over the animal hide he used as a quilt. His feet extended towards the opening of his tent, keeping his feet warm. 

Crunch!

But then footsteps echoed. His eyes jumped open and he looked out. Two toned, white legs came into view, pale, spotless, hairless, feminine. 

"Wenda?"

She ducked under the tent flap and slipped inside with a silent grace that reminded him of a hunting cat. A single loose tunic hung from her shoulders, long enough to brush her upper thighs, but it swayed with her every movement, hinting she wore nothing underneath. Her hair was loose for once, not braided for battle, falling in soft, light brown waves. Her bare legs shone in the low firelight, thighs strong and sculpted, toes curling nervously against the fur-lined ground

The cold bit at her skin, so Wylis instinctively shifted, letting her into the warmth of his makeshift bedding. But to his surprise, Wenda didn't stop there. 

She sneaked under the quilt without asking, her hips swaying as she nestled up against him, lithe and quiet, her breath a soft cloud against the cold air. She curled up under the hide like she belonged there, her head resting on the crook of his thick arm, their faces just inches apart, facing each other.

For a time, neither spoke. Just the heat of their breath mingling. 

Her brown eyes drank in his icy blue ones. There was a look in her gaze; part wonder, part heat, nerves bundled with want. She seemed to shimmer with silent questions, caught somewhere between fear and hunger.

"Had a nightmare or something?" Wylis asked in a teasing way while sliding his arm over her waist. She felt soft to touch, the first time he was feeling her that way. She was as tall as Lyanna but less slender. 

"You can say that." Instead of getting angry, Wenda smiled in a self-deprecating way. She, too, put her hand against his chest as if feeling it. "Thought of my future. After seeing how you gut those bastards like hogs at harvest, I feel… there is no future in banditry left for me… With you running around, absolutely not."

He said nothing, just let his hand slide behind slowly up her back. Her warmth seeped into him. He could feel how delicate she was compared to his massive frame, like something precious, wild, and barely tamed.

Then she shifted closer, her breath quickening. Her breasts, soft and small, pressed against the broad wall of his chest. Her lips were now just inches from his, parted slightly, her breath hot.

"But… I have a few questions before I say it." She added. 

Wylis gave a comforting smile and nodded. "Ask away."

"What happens to me afterward? After I've given you what you want?"

"I can see, whether it's a son or daughter, they'll come out strong and beautiful." Wylis honestly declared and noticed a rare, faint blush on her face. 

Well, I am talking about impregnating her. Probably too intimate of a subject even for her. 

But he understood her worry. He was asking her to give him her womb, and she wondered if that was all there was to it. If that was all she was worth to him. And the answer was a clear no. He was clear in his ambitions and rules. 

“Here’s how it goes. Once it’s certain you’re carrying my child, I’ll have you sent up North to Winter Town. Quiet place. I’ve got a house there, under a different name, well-kept. You’ll have coin, food, whatever you need. I’ll see to it. After the birth, if you still want to be part of the babe’s life, I won’t say no. You’ll be the mother, and the child will know you as such. Maybe, if things go smoothly, there’s room for one more down the line. But that’s your choice. I leave the final decision up to you as long as you promise not to neglect the child. If you want to stay, I’ll accept. If you want to leave, I won’t chain you down."

"Hmh…" Wenda's lips grew a charming smile, her brown eyes glimmering. "You're as soft inside as brutish you look outside."

"Insult? Compliment? I'll take both." 

Wenda let out a soft giggle, then leaned forward and gently brushed her lips against Wylis’. There was hesitation in her touch, not reluctance, but doubt. As if unsure whether she was truly allowed to kiss a man like him… or if he even wanted her to.

Wylis answered that question without words. He wrapped his thick arm around her back and pulled her close, solid and warm. 

That was all the permission she needed, Wenda kissed him with sudden hunger, passion spilling out in raw waves.

Her lips slammed against his, needy and messy, unpolished. Like she didn’t quite know how to kiss, but refused to hold back. 

Her body pressed forward until Wylis had no choice but to turn and lie flat. Soon, she was on top, straddled, the weight of her slim frame atop his chest, almost weightless but burning hot.

His large hands slid down, gripping her ass through the hiked-up tunic—and it was bare, completely bare. Plump and plush, perfectly shaped for his rough hands. The soft give of her cheeks beneath his palms was enough to make his cock twitch below her.

Their mouths stayed locked, wet, and deep. When one of his fingers brushed over her tight back hole by accident, he felt her twitch, not in resistance, but in sharp arousal. 

A small tremble shot through her thighs, and she moaned into his mouth like a secret had been touched.

The kiss grew wetter, hotter. Wenda sucked at his lips, even drinking from his mouth. 

Their breath fogged between them, and Wylis couldn’t take it. He flung the quilt aside just to see her more clearly. Her face was flushed, pupils blown wide, her thighs trembling under his slow, exploring hand.

In response, Wenda sat upright, planting her hips on the hard ridge of his cock beneath his trousers. She paused when she felt it, the size, the pressure, the thick heat of him nestled between her thighs.

"So, Wylis?" Wenda smirked, looking seductively at him, and gripped the hem of her tunic. In one swift motion, she yanked it off her head, sitting there nude from top to bottom, nothing left covering her hot, desirable body. "Do it then! Breed your bandit slut… impregnate my willing womb… Is that what you want to hear?"

Her body was art. Soft skin stretched over taut muscles, curved and wild in all the right places. Her face, even with that faint scar, looked like something carved to be kissed; lovely, dangerous, tempting. Her lips were plump, flushed, and parted just enough to invite sin. Her small, pert tits spread outward, full of perk and capped with tight, pale-pink nipples that stood out like firm buttons begging to be sucked.

Her chest bore a rare sprinkle of freckles, like cinnamon dusted over warm milk. Her skin was a velvety canvas of wild softness and quiet heat. She looked like a creature of the night, dangerous and delicious.

Wylis’s hands caressed her thighs where they splayed over his loins, slowly gliding upward. He took his time feeling every inch of her, the silkiness of her skin, the little trembles, the gentle gasps she gave. Her waist wasn’t sharply curved, more streamlined, and athletic, but gods, it was its own kind of perfection. Lean, wild, and built for riding like a beast in the heat.

"Aye, but you're too beautiful for a whore. Bandit? Aye?" Wylis replied and reached for her face, finally caressing her left cheek where that scar was. He knew she was somewhat conscious about that scar, always walking or riding on his left side to hide that from him. 

"Heh—Don't know about beauty but…" She ground her naked hips on his cock. "I sure am tight."

"Hah! Oh, I know that. With my size, every woman is tight."

With flickering firelight dancing over their bodies, Wenda shifted down over his thick thighs, eyes gleaming with bold mischief as one of her brows rose up. She hooked her fingers under his tunic and shoved it upward. 

Wylis didn’t need a prompt, he lifted his hips and let her push the tunic off his torso to see his body with ease.

“Seven Hells!” she gasped.

Her mouth opened wide as her eyes raked over his carved, beastly torso. Thick slabs of muscle rolling beneath the skin. Her fingers moved without command, tracing the hard ridges of his abs, sliding across his sculpted chest, then down his flanks. He was a wall of muscle, hot and hard under her trembling hands.

"Did the gods carve you?" 

"Come on, Wenda, you can do better than that for compliments," Wylis replied cheekily. He smirked as he reached down to untie his own trousers, fingers working the knot loose. 

She gulped, steadying herself. Her hands dipped down, gripping the waistband, and with a tug, she peeled his trousers off completely, baring him whole naked as well.

His cock sprang free like a weapon unsheathed; massive, flushed, and furiously hard. It throbbed with each beat of his heart, a thick veiny pillar crowned with a glistening head trying to burst through the foreskin, angry purple and soaked with need.

Wenda froze again, staring like she'd been struck by a spell. Her hand crept out slowly, hesitating only when she saw how laughably small it looked next to that thick shaft, veins like ropes, the entire thing pulsing with carnal power.

"Y-You… I agree… Even a whore ran through by the entire King's Landing would be tight on this monster… Gods!" 

Wylis chuckled low in his chest, pleased by her awe. He’d feared awkwardness, fumbling, or hesitation. Instead, Wenda was like a curious minx, fearless and hungry. He was glad he’d taken things slow. She was more than ready to devour him.

Her fingers trembled as she lowered her head, her lips parting. She dragged the flat of her tongue along the base of his cock, slow and reverent, like tasting a sacred object. The length was so absurd that her tongue nearly dried out before she reached the swollen tip.

She licked and slathered his veiny cock like it was the gods’ final temptation. Her tongue swirled, her lips slid, spit gleamed over the girth as she coated him with genuine hunger; twisting, worshiping him with every filthy slurp.

Wylis leaned back, arms folded behind his head, watching her under the fire’s flicker. She looked like a vision of lustful sin. All bare skin, bobbing head, spit-glossed lips, and flushed cheeks. The glow danced over her curves, her freckled chest, the subtle quiver in her thighs.

“Ah… I’ll run out of spit to soak it, Wylis!” she whimpered around the shaft, tongue drooling down his length. “How are you even a living creature?”

Her insults came out as praise; raw, lust-laced awe. “I need it… in me!”

"Aren't you a daring one?"

Just as Wenda straddled his lap once more, Wylis sat up as well, hands gripping her waist. They were face to face again, heated, breathing each other’s lust. And she started to lower herself onto him.

“Gaaaaah! B-Big… too big!” Wenda cried out, thighs tensing.

His cock pressed between her soaked folds, her petals spreading open around the girth, each bump and ridge dragging across her drenched slit. Her pussy swallowed him ever so slowly, hugging him like engulfing fire.

“Ummh…” She moaned, voice shaky, drawn out, and high. Her breath broke with each inch she took. She wasn’t even halfway down when she froze, already feeling the pressure at her deepest wall. Her womb trembled, pussy clenching in response. The stretch, the heat, the impossible fullness had her body tingling and tensing like she was teetering on the edge of climax without even moving.

“Y-You’re… It feels like… I’m being cleaved! Fuck!” she whimpered, clutching his shoulders.

"Take it slow… at the start," Wylis murmured, voice rough and patient, one hand sliding up her spine while the other stayed at her hips. 

Wylis held her tight, his fingers sinking into her soft flesh like gripping dough. His strength guided her hips in slow, grinding circles, forcing her to stay seated atop his huge cock without taking the whole thing yet. 

Her legs were stretched and trembling as his big arms wrapped around her ass, controlling her rhythm with greed.

His lips captured hers again, hot and wet, and then wandered down to kiss her chin. Even as his hands clenched around her asscheeks, pulling and grinding her sex into his cock with steady pressure. Her soaked slit was molded against his length, and he was making her body feel the full weight of his prowess.

“Ooooh!”

She gasped softly when her nipples grazed his stone-hard chest. His massive torso pressed against her breasts, and it felt like she was being swallowed by a wall of flesh and heat. She couldn’t see anything behind him, his body was that wide, that encompassing, but she could see his face in the firelight. That scorching focus in his eyes, his dark hair clinging to his brow, all of him zeroed in on her.

Slowly, inch by inch, she took more of him. At first, they fucked slow, barely half his cock inside, but each motion made her pussy stretch wider, drip wetter, and her body surrender more. Her hips started moving by instinct, her spine arching, her thighs clenching, and soon Wenda was riding him like a warrior woman breaking in her favorite stallion.

Wylis’ hands glided freely over her now, no longer holding her steady but enjoying her self-fucking rhythm. Her pussy clenched down greedily with every bounce, squelching so much it felt unholy. He felt her silky wet walls churn around him like they were trying to milk the beast. He let out a groan at how she took him so deep. So tight. So fucking perfect.

Shlick—squish—plop!

The sounds between her thighs were downright filthy. Her pussy sucked on him with each bounce, making wet, popping noises that echoed in the forest outside. Her juices glazed his cock and balls, and his thick girth made her walls squelch and protest each time she took him down fully. It sounded like she was being bred by something inhuman, and she was loving it.

His arms wrapped snugly around her again, palms warm on her hips and waist. The heat of him, the way he cradled her while buried deep, made her forget how cold the winter was outside. Even nude, she felt shielded. Heated. Worshiped.

“Oooh yes! Yes! Fill me, you beast! Take me! Oh gods… you’re so fucking good!” she cried out, throwing her head back, voice hoarse from sheer pleasure.

Her nails raked down his shoulders, across his chest, and clawed back like she was holding on for dear life.

He’d felt nails before, Lyanna, and Ashara, both left their marks. But Wenda? Wenda clawed like a feral animal. Her scratches stung deliciously, marking him deep, even as he started to thrust up into her. Powerful, punishing jerks that made her whole body jump with each impact.

He took control of the pace again, his strong hands lifting and gliding her lower half over his cock like she was a sheath for his cock. Faster. Wetter. Wilder. She bounced with uncontrolled fervor, and the forest echoed with every slap of her ass against his thighs, every squelch of her soaking cunt gripping him hard.

Plap! Plap! Plap!

“Ummmhhhpp!” Her mouth smothered his, and her orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave. She screamed into the kiss, full of need and quivering bliss. Her pussy clenched so tight it felt like she was going numb. Her walls spasmed uncontrollably, coating his cock in thick, sticky nectar that gushed out around his girth.

As she rode out her climax, she buried her face beside his ear, panting hot against his skin. She felt the twitch of his cock, that intense, telltale flex, and she knew he was about to fill her.

“Yes… Yes! Give me that… Put those bastard seeds into my… my womb… aaaaah! Let’s make… babes… you insane… fucking… thick man!”

The filthy way she talked only added fuel to his fire. He grabbed her waist, slammed her down hard, burying his cock to the hilt like her cunt was the perfect sheath to his cock. He jerked inside her, deeper than any man had ever reached.

“Ugh!”

He came like a beast finally uncaged.

His cock swelled and unleashed rope after rope of molten cream, spurting directly into her aching, spasming cunt. Throb, jerk, throb, it kept coming, so much that her belly felt full from the inside. The sheer volume of it matched his monstrous size, thick, gooey, hot. It spilled around his cock and oozed from her slit, glop after glop, trickling down onto his balls, soaking both of them in seed.

Wylis groaned into her shoulder, breathless, delirious from how good it felt. Her pussy squeezing him while his cock pumped her full. Her soft skin against his rough hands. The raw satisfaction of breeding her intentionally. It hit something primal, something deep.

She felt every drop enter her, her pussy fluttering around the last spurts of his cum. She bit his earlobe, moaning with hot breath pouring into his ear. Her whole body tingled, her thighs still twitching from the intensity. As if her carnal organ knew what had been done to it with full, willing intention.

"Gods… that was… I'm sore… Fuck!" Wenda pulled her face back and looked at the man who had just bred her cunt. "It's done—Ooooh!"

Suddenly, Wylis moved with a grunt. His big hands seized her waist and rolled her over, his cock slipping out just for a second before he shoved it right back in with a messy splotch.

By the time her dazed body caught up, Wenda was on her hands and knees. Her body arched low, her ass up, legs parted, while he loomed behind her, still buried deep in her soaked cunt. Her slit swallowed him back in with ease, the leftover batter coating everything like warm oil.

He didn’t thrust right away. Instead, he just stayed there, his half-hard cock pulsing inside her, plugging up the cream he'd already flooded into her. His palm splayed across her ass, possessive, holding her perfectly still, right there, right where he wanted her.

"Not that easy sowing the seed, Wenda…" he growled low, voice rasping with animalistic hunger. "We’re going to do this… night after night, day after day, until your belly’s full with my… babe."

"Yessss! I’m… not… complaining!" Wenda moaned shamelessly, face flushed, pussy clenching around him in desperate waves.

Her cunt squeezed him for it, tight, wet, needy; and that eager squeeze made his cock stiffen right back up inside her. Her plump, wide, birthing hips swayed in front of him, jiggling softly. 

He groaned as he started to move, his thick shaft dragging through her sticky, slick, used-up walls with an obscene slosh. The view was everything, watching his insane, thick rod vanish inside her hot cave.

Clap! Clap! Slap—!

The sound of flesh on flesh echoed into the woods, not even dulled by the tent. Wet, nasty, rhythmic. 

Wylis pounded her from behind like he was making war on her cunt, gripping handfuls of her marshmallowy ass, fingers sinking deep.

He thrust in savage, punishing motions, using his thumbs to spread her wide. One hand kneading her bouncing asscheeks, the other grazing her tight little back hole. His calloused finger teased it with intent, just enough pressure to make her flinch and clench harder around his cock.

She arched up again and again, her body snapping with each powerful hit to her cervix. Every time her back tried to rise from the impact, he shoved her down by the back, grinding her into place, wanting her to feel how deep he speared her. Like a pike driving into the core of her womb.

“Ahhhhh!” Eventually, her orgasm slammed into her like a thunderbolt. She let out a strangled wail, shaking and spasming, her pussy milking his cock like it was clinging to life. The gush of her juices sprayed around him.

And just moments later, he joined her. His hips jerking wildly as he emptied his fucking balls inside her once again.

Thick ropes flooded into her again, so forceful, so plentiful, that it overwhelmed her overstretched cunt. His cum leaked back out in milky tides, dripping down her thighs, frothing in the mess between her legs. A sticky white pool formed beneath her, froth, nectar, and seeds gushing out like her cunt was overflowing.

"Gaaaah… I'm…"

But before she could even finish, her strength gave out, and she plopped flat into the furry bedding. Legs limp, face down, tits flattened into the fur, her body twitching with aftershocks.

Wylis collapsed behind her, his body big and heavy like a mountain falling. But he had the mind to stay up on his knees, thighs spread wide around her hips, trying not to crush her. Still, his weight pressed down like a warm, living quilt, pinning her beneath him in the best kind of cage.

He reached around, threw a thick arm beneath her neck and shoulder, and pulled her head sideways to him. Her mouth parted, panting, and he kissed her slow and full. Their shared breaths were hot and shallow. His cock, now drained and softening, rested slick between her asscheeks, smearing leftover cream across her crack.

"Hunting other bandits can wait… I got my own sweet bandit to… impale. We're not moving from here for the next… three days."

"Heh… addicted to a bandit’s cunt, now?"

"No… addicted to…" He squeezed his cock hard between her perfectly strangling asscheeks. "Emptying myself inside you."

She let out a satisfied moan, smiling with closed eyes. And just like that, she fell asleep, thoroughly used, utterly fucked, and deeply full.

Wylis shifted beside her, curling around her body and pulling her close. One arm cradled her shoulders, the other drew the blanket over their filthy, tangled limbs. The tent was still soaked in sex, and the bedding sticky beneath them, but he didn’t care. They had a stream nearby for the morning.

For now, he held her against his broad chest, feeling her breath settle, her body still trembling occasionally. He was happy, spent, and content. Because in the silence, as the wind howled outside, he heard it…

Ting!

[Trueborns & Bastards Triggered!]

[Name: Wenda, Wenda the White Fawn
Age: 21
Occupation: Ex-bandit
Current Loyalty: 40%
Status: Impregnated]

But Wylis had no desire to stop filling her up for days to come. He wanted her to feel him, his desire, and get used to him. Perhaps long for him in that way.

If love wasn't possible, he wanted lust to prevail.

But it’s dangerous… I need to find Qyburn.