The Northern Tyrant [Game of Thrones] Chapter 7 - Conspiracies, Confessions & Offers

[Death Imminent In 8, 7, 6…] Ten years was a long, long lifespan. He had only been in Westeros for a little more than four years. In those f

[Death Imminent In 8, 7, 6…]

Ten years was a long, long lifespan. He had only been in Westeros for a little more than four years. In those four years, he'd grown into a strong, chiseled, muscular warrior of nearly seven feet in height, and still growing. 

Having already spent so many years of his lifespan, he felt scared for the first time of the very curse he used to believe was a boon. What was initially seventy-six years, was now only seventy-three. With ten more years spent, he would be at sixty-three, a significant reduction that would mess up all his plans. He would no longer have emergency years to spend. While gaining back the lost years was possible, he was still too poor and low in status to work on it. 

Fuck! Fucking fuck! Buy it! 

In the end, he didn't need to ponder too much. Living for sixty-three years was better than dying instantly. 

[Purchase Complete - All Poison Immunity]

[All Poison Immunity - Now fear the knives, not the concoctions.]

Ting!

[Poison Neutralized]

"Aaaaargh!" Wylis gasped a loud, vocal breath and jolted awake, sitting straight again. The purpleish color of his face returned to his slightly tanned white complexion. His hazy eyes focused again. 

"Wylis!" 

Feeling the throbbing headache leave his body, he focused on that concerned voice. He looked and saw Lyanna standing right beside him, holding his hand in hers. Robert Baratheon was on his other side, rubbing his back as if he were choking, and Eddard had dragged a Maester there.

"P-Poison!" Wylis declared, still breathing deeply. That momentary run-in with death wasn't that fast to vanish. "Poison in food!"

Hearing Wylis, the Maester was quick to grab the cup of milk that Wylis had drunk from. The old Maester was no ordinary man, but the King's own Grand Maester who had for some reason, stayed behind. For Wylis, it was understandable. Grand Maester Pycelle's loyalties were questionable. 

"A coward's weapon... aye, and craven besides," Pycelle muttered, his beard quivering with each syllable. He brought the cup to his nose and grimaced. "No strong scent, but I can smell it. That makes it all the more vile. This poison has slain kings, lad. Tell me, how is it you still draw breath?"

Breathing heavily, Wylis met the old man's gaze. "Poison’s always had me on edge. So I started taking small bits. Thought it wise to build a tolerance, just in case."

That was the best way to make it make sense. But he felt Lyanna's eyes on him. It was impossible that she would buy his bullshit. She had been by his side most of the time for the past four years. 

"Ahhh... splendid, lad, splendid! To best the Strangler—gods, such a cruel toxin—is no mean task. I’m most eager to learn how you managed it. If you’d be so kind… I would like to set it to parchment. The realm's heirs may one day owe you their lives—"

"Seven hells, shut it, you wrinkled goat!" Robert rumbled just then, furious. "Who slipped him the poison? Strangler’s not some flea market trinket—you need coin and clout to get your hands on it. And the Citadel—those robed bastards—they know how to make it, don’t they? There’s only one man I see with reason to do it. One who lost more than a joust—lost his teeth too—and now he wants revenge."

“Enough, Robert,” Ned spoke sharply before more reckless words were set loose. “Wylis is alive, thank the gods. But this poison—the Strangler—that’s no small matter. His Grace is gone—we’d best send word to King’s Landing, and let them hear what’s passed here.”

"You're right, Ned. I'll send one of my men." Robert decided and vanished in fury. Eddard, worried that Robert would go looking for Rhaegar, went after his friend. 

Meanwhile, Brandon, still a little too drunk, sat beside Wylis and patted his shoulder. "You took poison? Willingly? Are you cracked in the head, Wylis? Why would you do such a thing—and leave me out of it? I’m like your brother, not some stranger."

Sweat ran down his face, and Wylis gave a crooked smile. "And risk losing my head if you drop dead? No thanks. Nobody cares if a dumb stableboy dies, but you're Winterfell's heir."

"Heh, can’t argue with that. What now? Still chasing adventure? You’re not safe here—and less so in King’s Landing. That place belongs to him."

Wylis understood who him was in Brandon's mind. The most logical reasoning suggested that it was Rhaegar behind the poison. The man had the money and the influence to get it and administer it. 

"I'll go," Wylis said, rolling his shoulders. "Poisons don’t stick to me, and I’ve yet to meet the man who can best me with steel. After a bit of rest, though. Just give me an hour to gather myself."

Lyanna pulled his heavy arm just then, trying to get him up. "As you should. Gods, you were poisoned with Strangler. It's a miracle you're breathing."

She sounds seriously concerned. Wylis felt a little warm. She genuinely cared for him. 

Ignoring the commotion around him and the Grand Maester, Wylis got up, towering over every single man in the hall. He let Lyanna give him her shoulder, despite how tiny she seemed beside him, like a mare trying to carry a mountain on its back. 

"Ugh… You're heavy."

He chuckled, knowingly putting some weight on her strong shoulders. The effects of the poisons had all vanished by now. 

Soon, Lyanna led him to her own room in the castle. It was mostly empty now, all her items already packed and taken to the Stark camp where the carriages were being prepared for the return journey. 

"Here, rest a bit." Lyanna helped him settle down on the empty bed, no quilt or sheets anymore, just soft bedding. Then, she went ahead and took his boots off, helping him, her brows constantly furrowed in worry. "Do you need water?"

"Not water but…" Wylis cheekily smirked and just as Lyanna tried to step back, he caught her wrist and pulled her in firmly. 

"Aaaah!" Lyanna yelped and fell right on Wylis. Amidst her fall, she felt Wylis' hand sneak around her slender waist and guide her fall, bringing her down flat against his chest, her face a mere inch away from his, both their breaths traceable on each other's skin. 

"You… Are you alright?" Lyanna asked in worry but was unable to hide a faint blush on her face. Something seemed different. Strange to her. Sure, she had felt her heart beat faster before during their sexual exchange, but now, it felt different, warm and full in her chest. His muscular, colossal body, his warmth, his strong, big arm around her waist, his wide palm stretched on her ass. She felt his heart through her breasts smashed against him. 

Wylis smiled and just savored the closeness. It was an understatement to say that he missed Lyanna during the past nine days. He'd gotten so used to her company, their constant banter, teasing, and then lewd touches, that not being able to do all that made him annoyed. 

No doubt, Lyanna was beautiful. He stared at her face from so close and admired her pale as snow-like face, her slim body, her small pouty lips, and those grey eyes. He couldn't help but get hard under her weight.

"I'm well in body, but not in mind," Wylis replied and mischievously pushed a hand underneath the fur cloak on her shoulders that draped her back. She was fully dressed to journey back to Winterfell. But nothing stopped him, and he soon squeezed his rough, big hand through the tight belt that held her trousers. 

Her skin felt so soft and hot, and he pushed his palm all the way in until he held her asscheek bare in his grip. He cherished the fact that he could do this to Lyanna and she didn’t refuse him. 

"Ummmh… Wylis…" Lyanna almost moaned from his adventurous touch. His rough hand on her back felt like he was claiming what was his right. She wanted to scoff and scold him, but she melted against his masculine body. And her face, on its own, leaned further down. 

Lyanna breathed hard through her nose before crashing her lips onto his in a deep, ravenous kiss. She cupped his face with both hands, fingers splayed like she couldn’t get enough of him. Her body molded over his like a second skin despite their clothes, warm and yielding, claiming every inch of him she had missed during those nine aching days apart. Lying flat atop Wylis, the world outside disappeared.

There was no shame, no hesitation. Only heat. 

Wylis growled softly into the kiss as both his hands slipped beneath her trousers from behind, then under her smallcloth, finding the ripe swell of her ass. He grabbed both cheeks with greedy palms, kneading, smothering, and spreading them apart to expose that fevered wetness building between her thighs. The steam radiating from her slit was unmistakable. She was soaking for him, already.

Her lips moved hungrily against his, but it was Wylis' tongue that took control, sweeping through her hot, silken mouth like he was desperate to memorize it. He had missed her, terribly. Ashara had been wild and pretty, sure, but Lyanna was different. She gave him something no one else did; peace. Lyanna wanted nothing, asked for nothing, and in that simplicity, she gave him everything. With her, it was real. All of it.

“Ummmmh…” Lyanna trembled as one of his long fingers slid down the deep crease of her ass, teasing toward her entrance. She arched against him instinctively, eyes fluttering.

Then she broke the kiss, their spit stringing between them, glistening on her lips. Her breath was ragged. Her single thick braid had thankfully kept her hair in place, saving it from the sticky mess now painted across her mouth and chin.

“I—Oooh… gods, I missed this so much,” she gasped, with aching want. In a rush, she pushed herself off Wylis and hopped to her feet. “The door’s not locked.”

Wylis licked his lips and followed after her like a shadow. Towering behind her lithe, noble frame, he loomed like a storm cloud. The moment she clicked the lock shut, his arms wrapped around her. One across her shoulders, palm over her breast, the other wrapped tight around her slim waist, hand splayed over her belly. He pressed her against the door, chest flush to her back, and let her feel the hard, swollen bulge of his craving grinding against her spine.

He dipped his face beside her ear and gave it a slow lick, followed by a teasing bite that made her gasp. His breath came hot, hungry. “I missed this too.”

“Mmmmh…” Lyanna moaned, licking her own lips to keep them from going dry. 

His hand on her breast squeezed, kneaded, teasing the perk of her nipple through the fabric. The other hand snaked downward, under the waistband of her trousers, pushing past her smallcloth. 

He found her pussy moist and waiting, and she jolted as his fingers rubbed directly into her folds.

“Yes…! Damn you… for making me this… sex-starved!” she cursed through clenched teeth.

“Really?” Wylis chuckled, licking the shell of her ear with the flat of his tongue, coating it entirely in his spit until she winced and shivered. “Wasn’t it your suggestion?”

“Oh… it was…” she gasped as his finger slid lower, dragging her slick juices over her swollen bundle of nerves in lazy, slow circles. “But you didn’t have to be… this good.”

Wylis couldn’t help himself. He needed her. Craving her taste, he spun her around, never once pulling his hand from inside her trousers. His palm remained glued to her cunt, fingers still teasing as he turned her to face him. 

Her face was flushed with need, her lips wet and parted, and those grey eyes were wide, shimmering, full of heat. She looked up at him like she’d drown in his touch.

“Thanks for the compliment,” he said and leaned in to kiss her again. At the same time, he slid his thick middle finger inside her. The moment he felt her walls close around it, slick and clenching, he groaned. She was still so tight… too tight. A perfect, welcoming grip that made his cock throb in envy.

As they kissed, his other hand worked quickly, untying the knot at her waist. Her trousers dropped in a whisper of fabric. He hooked his fingers into her smallcloth next, pushing them down in one motion. And as they slid to her ankles, he dropped to his knees.

“W-Wait, what are you—We don’t have time fo—ooooh~!”

Lyanna gasped, covering her mouth with both hands as her knees nearly buckled. His tongue lashed into her slit with savage precision, licking her folds with raw hunger. She felt his mouth drink her in, his tongue so hot, so relentless, it melted her thoughts away. When she dared to look down, what she saw nearly made her moan louder.

Wylis had pushed her to step one leg out of her trousers for easier access. Both his hands gripped her ass like handles, pulling her hips closer. And his face, his glorious, desperate, handsome face, was buried between her thighs; his tongue thrusting, licking, devouring her as if he needed it to live.

He looked starved.

“Mmmmmmm~” Lyanna whimpered, breath catching in her throat as she felt his tongue make contact again. 

That tongue, hot, slick, and insatiable, dragged along her swollen folds like a serpent tracing the lines of paradise. It slithered inside her, parting her tight entrance, then flicked upward with devilish precision, teasing her throbbing clit with quick, wet lashes that made her legs go weak.

Wylis didn’t care anymore. He didn’t understand why he wanted to kiss her until his lips went numb, to fuck her until her voice gave out, and now, to eat her cunt like it was his only purpose for living. He gave up trying to make sense of it. He just obeyed that carnal urge. His mouth feasted between her legs, licking, sucking, lapping the glistening folds of her pussy that only he had ever tasted. It was flushed pink and puffy, practically weeping for him, that sweet little slit throbbing helplessly on his tongue.

Lyanna’s head fell back as her spine arched. She was flying, floating, fucking gone. Her breath hitched in her throat as she lifted one leg and rested it over his shoulder, instinctively spreading herself wider, exposing more of that needy little flower to him. And when his hot, strong tongue plunged deep into her, deep enough she felt him tasting the inside of her—her entire body locked up. One hand clamped over her mouth to stifle a scream, the other buried in his thick, messy hair.

Her pussy started to spasm.

Her whole body convulsed. Her spine arched like a bow, her thighs clenched against his face, and her cunt pulsed hard around nothing but air and tongue. A silent scream exploded behind her palm. Her hot nectar gushed against his mouth, soaking his lips, chin, and nose. Her fingers clenched in his hair with such force. 

This crazy fucking woman!

His scalp burned, but he didn’t stop. He kept going, dragging her through every last ripple of that orgasm. He locked his mouth to her pussy, refusing to let her go, licking like he wanted to leave her trembling mess on the floor. His strong hands held her ass firmly, keeping her right where she was, grinding that quivering cunt into his face like he needed her to ride it.

Her cries died down. Her body started to slacken. Her trembling softened into faint, shuddering breaths.

Only then did Wylis pull back, gasping for breath, face drenched in her slick juices, lips raw and glistening. His chin glimmered. His eyes burned.

He rose to his full height, towering over her like a sex god, and reached for her. His hand circled her throat, not to choke, but to cradle. His fingers slipped around to her nape, where he found the root of her thick braid. He grabbed it in a sudden tug and pulled her head back, forcing her chin up, her eyes wide.

“This is for pulling my hair,” he growled and then crushed his mouth to hers.

She didn’t hesitate. She dove into the kiss like a starving wolf, tongue plunging into his mouth, tasting herself on his lips and loving it. She licked her own scent from him like it was honey, moaning into him, rubbing her lips along his, greedy for every drop of her own essence.

As they devoured each other, Wylis reached down and untied his breeches. He shoved them down without ceremony, finally freeing the thick, glorious cock he was so proud of, a heavy, veiny beast that stood upright, already twitching with need. It had been inside Ashara Dayne, yes—but Lyanna’s cunt… it had claimed him first. And his twitching flesh ached for her now.

Lyanna reached between them, breath still shaky, and wrapped one hand around his shaft. Her fingers were slim and elegant, but she could barely circle them around his girth. She stroked him slowly, reverently, her hand sliding up and down his length, smearing the slick bead of precum already leaking from the tip. Her eyes sparkled with mischief and lust as she bent her knees.

But before she could go down on him, Wylis stopped her with a single, low murmur.

“Shhhh~” he said, brushing a hand over her shoulder. “We don’t have much time.”

Repeating her own words back to her, Wylis ducked slightly, slipped his hands behind her thighs, and lifted her up like she weighed nothing.

She gasped, her eyes going wide, but her body moved naturally. She wrapped her legs around his waist, hooked her knees over his arms, and let her full weight drop into his grip.

He held her like a prize, palms gripping her round asscheeks, locking her into place. Her pussy hovered right above his twitching cock, wet and waiting.

“Ah…” Lyanna yelped, already flushed with the memory of that position. Whenever time was short, this was always their go-to. With practiced ease, she spread her thighs wide, balanced on his forearms, her trousers still dangling off one foot. Her arms slid around his neck, pulling him close as she leaned in to kiss him again.

“Wylis… I… do you really have to go?” she whispered against his lips, her voice trembling. Her grey eyes were misted, fragile in that moment of vulnerability, even as her body clung to his. 

His thick cock was pressed right against her slick entrance, the fat head nudging the tight, resisting ring of her folds. She was open to him, completely at his mercy, but never once did she feel unsafe. With Wylis, she never did.

He moved, carrying her effortlessly into the center of the nearly empty room. He didn’t need the door to support them, his strength alone was enough. Her legs dangled beside his arms, her braid cascading down behind her. Their bodies clung together, fused in heat and sweat and longing. Her tight slit kissed the swollen tip of his cock.

Wylis stared into her eyes, his brows furrowed. 

“I was born a nobody, Lyanna,” he said quietly. “I don’t want to die a nobody.”

“Oh~” she gasped, the breath rushing out of her lungs as he lowered her onto him. His thick, bulbous cockhead speared her open with obscene slowness. Her slippery lower lips stretched around it, her aching entrance parting for him once again, though it still felt like he was claiming her for the very first time. She was slick, but the stretch made her eyes roll back, her body reflexively tightening, as if reluctant to give him room.

“Please… be safe…” she whimpered, clinging to him, her body clenching with every inch he claimed. “Y-you’re my… only friend…”

Wylis chuckled darkly, his cockhead lodged in her vice-like entrance, her trembling walls hugging him greedily. 

“If someone saw us like this,” he murmured, dragging his cock just a fraction deeper, “they’d call us anything but friends, Lyanna.”

“I don’t care…” she moaned, her voice cracking with need. “And… promise me that…” 

Her words faltered as his cock pressed deeper, her core strained open to accommodate him. She felt split in half, her pelvis throbbing with the sweet ache. He was shifting her organs, rearranging her guts with nothing but slow, cruel inches of cock. Her cunt fluttered and pulsed with need, that air-tight seal was sinful. “Even when I’m married to that… that fat oaf… you won’t… forget me… promise me…”

I won’t let that happen in the first place; Wylis swore in his mind. Whatever fate lay ahead, he knew this—he wasn’t giving her up. Not to Robert. Not to anyone.

He kissed her again, hard and fast, swallowing her whimpers, and then, without warning, slammed her hips down. His cock vanished into her. Balls-deep in one stroke.

A deep, wet squelch filled the air as her cunt accepted him entirely, walls stretched taut around the invader, obscenely, pulsating, sore, and red. 

Her belly bulged slightly from the force of it, he could feel himself inside her, feel the way her insides gripped him with animal hunger. Felt as if Lyanna’s body was molded just right for him, impossibly snug like a glove. A tight, clenching, throbbing velvet prison that sucked him in.

She kissed him harder, desperate, frantic, her lips trembling, hanging weightless in his mighty arms. Her doe-like eyes squeezed shut as tears welled up from the sheer intensity. Her hands roamed everywhere, his jaw, his cheekbones, his thick neck like she was trying to memorize him by touch. Her fingers tangled in his hair. Her tongue slid into his mouth, lolling helplessly against his, as if she was offering herself up in every possible way.

Wylis was light-headed. Drunk on her scent, on her taste, on the way her cunt milked him from the inside. Every inch of his cock was caressed by her silken heat. She wasn’t just tight, she was alive inside, her walls rippling around him, sucking him in and trying to keep him there. The ridges of her inner walls gripped his cock with hungry, fluttering squeezes. 

She was molten lava wrapped in silk. And she was his.

"I promise, Lyanna…” he whispered hoarsely, “I may forget my name—but I’m not forgetting you. You’re my only real friend, too. Only…”

“Aaaaah~” Lyanna cried out, her moans dissolving into a whimper that she tried to smother with another kiss. She clung to him, trembling like a leaf in the wind. The heavy furs she wore made it worse, adding to the steam, the heat, the sweat, the weight pulling her body down onto his rod of flesh. They were still half-dressed, but they felt more naked than ever before. His cock inside her felt raw, real.

Wylis finally shut his eyes and let himself have her. He began fucking her like a man with no tomorrow, hoisting her up with strong arms, then driving her down on his length again and again, just as she allowed him to. His hips met hers in perfect rhythm. He pistoned into her while bouncing her weight on his cock, her tight hole swallowing him with wet, delicious resistance each time.

Plap! Plap! Plap! Plap!

The sounds were obscene. Wet slaps of flesh echoed around the room, mixed with the slick, sucking squelch of her drenched cunt devouring him. 

Her juices ran down his shaft and thighs, wetting them both. Her under thighs smacked against his pelvis every time he bottomed out, burying himself to the hilt in her snug, spasming sheath.

Most women couldn’t handle it. But Lyann, she had made herself take it. From the first time, she’d molded herself to fit him. She was stretched, sore, trembling, but so damn greedy for more. 

Wylis felt her squeezing his swollen staff tighter with every thrust as if her pussy knew this might be the last time and refused to let go.

“Gah… Close~” Wylis hissed into her mouth, the warning nearly lost in their shared breath.

“Nooo-oh!” Lyanna moaned back, panic and ecstasy crashing together. Her body convulsed in his grip. Her ass trembled in his big hands, quaking with pleasure, and her raised thighs fluttered against his sides. Her breath choked, then broke, and suddenly… She shattered.

Her pussy clamped down hard, spasming like mad, milking his cock in desperate, frenzied pulses. Her walls gushed, coating him in a hot, creamy release. Her entire body seized, back arching violently, eyes wide open and blank. Her mouth fell open but made no sound at first, just a trembling gasp that broke into a strangled, melodious moan.

"Gaaaaah! Ooooh… I-I love you…. Aaah~"

"..."

Right then, in a moment of shock, Wylis slammed himself all the way in again, burying every inch of his cock to the base, right as her clenching cunt opened wide, cervix blooming just enough to welcome him. And he came. 

His cock pulsed violently, swelling at the root, then shot hot, thick ropes of seed straight against her deepest walls. Her womb drank him up, soaked in it while he groaned against her mouth, their kiss muffling the pure animalistic sound that tore from his throat. “Gah–!”

His balls spasmed again and again, pumping her full of virile, molten lava. It was heavy, sticky, and rich, coating her stretched-out cunt in thick spurts. Hot, messy globs of his seed leaked around his still-buried shaft, pouring out between her glistening folds in fat trails. 

The air smelled of sex, sweat, and raw lust. She kissed him through all of it, tongue dancing with his, eyes fluttering. 

He felt her heat, her trembling, the slick mess they created together. It was all real. It was filthy, wrong, addictive.

S-she does? Really? Then Rhaegar… He stands no chance, right? Wait, does that mean he’ll kidnap her? His mind itched and spiraled, unable to ignore the future.

But his cock never went soft.

Not even after that powerful release. In fact, it stayed hard, swollen, and still buried in that flooded cunt like it belonged there. So he grabbed her cloud-like ass tighter and resumed thrusting. No words. Just deeper, messier, greedier fucking. The kind that sloshed cum around inside her. The kind that squelched when he moved.

But how? What can I do? I can save her but… I have nowhere to keep her. I'm still a nobody. 

He didn't fear Rhaegar. Saving her from him was easy. But hiding her from Robert was the real challenge. He didn't have a house, a keep, or any land in his name. He was just a fucking stableboy.

Plap! Plap! Plap! Plap!

“Oooooooh~” she moaned, no strength in her voice anymore, just breathless need in surrender.

Her tongue rolled out, drool trailing down her cheek. Her glossy, dazed eyes locked on him like he was the only thing left in the world. 

He pulled her tongue into his mouth and sucked it, kissing her deep and sloppy, fucking her while their lips and tongues tangled in desperate heat.

His cock thrust up into her soaked mess, that frothy mixture of cream and cum coating every inch of him. He hoisted her up, bouncing her like a toy on his cock, her legs dangling limply at his sides, and she seemed to love all of it.

Her pussy had gotten hotter, somehow wetter. Her insides were a sweltering pool of overstimulation, slick and feverish. His cock glided easily with her flood, fucking her in and out until her soaked walls gripped his thrusting cock once again.

"Oooommmmhhhh~"

She came again.

This time, she squirted—loud, messy, wild. A spray of liquid burst from her cunt, soaking his stomach and thighs, shooting out with a wet splatter. Her pussy sprayed like a fountain, the force of it splashing between their bodies, dripping from his balls. Her thighs twitched uncontrollably. Her body seized up from the inside out.

She clawed at his chest and tried to climb higher up his body, her muscles failing, just trying to escape the overstimulation. But all she managed was lifting herself off his cock for a second, enough for her fluids to spill freely down, dripping from her puffy pussy lips in gushing streams.

Then she fell back down—and his cock rammed right back in.

He lodged himself so deep her breath caught. The blunt tip of his dick kissed her cervix again, harder this time, knocking at her womb’s gate like it was about to crash through it. 

“Ah–!” She cried out, her eyes rolling all the way back, mouth wide in silent shock.

“Gah… Lyanna…” Wylis groaned, feeling her collapse around him.

He erupted.

Another thick wave of warm cream surged through him, every drop forced up through his length like it was being wrung from him. He felt the pressure, the squeeze, the glide of his own seed racing through his cock, each spurt sending a jolt up his spine as it dumped into her already-flooded cunt. It was no surprise this time but his deep intent, and she welcomed it all.

Her walls had no room left. It oozed around his cock in steady drips, her pussy making a sloppy suction sound with every slow pump.

His hips slowed, his cock now moving like an overworked piston, still hard but losing speed. Each thrust splotched into the ruin of her cunt. Their mess leaked out around the base, dripping down his balls in sticky threads, running in rivulets down his thighs, and puddling onto the floor below them. 

His grip on her softened. 

Her legs twitched as the spasms died down.

“…Haaaah… that was… insane,” Wylis muttered, dazed, his chest rising and falling in ragged gasps. His cock stayed nestled deep inside her, twitching occasionally, still cradled by her pulsing, used love hole. 

Her face was red, dewy with sweat, lips parted. She looked like she had seen gods. But her eyes… her eyes were scared.

She’d said, ‘I love you.’ A confession in the middle of breaking apart. She looked terrified he might reject her, that he’d recoil, push her away now that her heart was bared.

He did nothing of the sort. If anything, her words steadied him. Strengthened him. 

Lyanna didn’t love Rhaegar. It was all clear now with no doubts needed. 

Lyanna didn't love that silver-haired bastard. The fucker kidnapped her... I'll deal with it all… Knighthood, Lordship, I'll earn it all.

For the first time, in two lives, a woman had made him feel that way. The desire to protect, to keep her close, to never let her go. Lyanna Stark was chaos and heat, wrapped in a perfect, maddening woman. And she was his. Now, always, he hoped.

“I’ll be back soon, Lyanna,” he murmured, voice low and husky as he leaned in to kiss her one last time.

He didn’t have an answer to her confession, not yet. But he tasted her mouth again, her tongue warm and soft, and she melted into him like she didn’t want to let go.

Her arms clung tightly around his neck, holding him like she feared this was the last time. Maybe it was. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve that kind of attachment from her, but fuck, he wanted it. Wanted her.

I’ll take responsibility; he promised himself, just as his now-soft cock finally slipped free of her ravaged cunt.

A messy, obscene spill of thick, pearly cum followed, oozing out of her stretched pussy lips in long, gloppy dribbles. It smeared down her thighs, clinging to her folds in heavy strands, still hot from how deeply he'd emptied himself inside. She was a dripping, fucked-out mess in his arms, and yet still beautiful beyond words.

They stayed like that, lips never separating, as if trying to imprint the feeling into memory. Her mouth moved languidly against his, her tongue slow and tender. Sweat slicked their bodies, their heat clinging together.

Eventually, she pulled back, panting softly. Her face was flushed crimson, wisps of hair stuck to her temples, lips swollen from too many kisses. Her smile glowed until her brows pinched and she narrowed her eyes.

"You bastard, is that how you treat a lady? It felt like you'd make a hole through my stomach." She cursed at him in annoyance, only to get a dumb-looking grin from him. "Look at you, shameless—At least put me down now. My legs hurt, my hips hurt, my arse hurts, and my…"

"Cunt hurts?" He teased with a wicked smirk.

Pa!

She smacked his cheek with all the strength of a kitten.

He grinned wider and kissed the palm of her hand.

"You rogue! You even spilled in me—What if…" she started, voice trailing off.

Her tone said one thing. Her eyes said another. She didn’t regret a second of it.

Wylis gently let her down, guiding her to the bed like she was glass. As he expected, her knees buckled, and she stumbled, thighs quivering from the strain of being wrecked so thoroughly. She winced, walking gingerly to the edge of the mattress before collapsing onto it. But she regretted none of it.

He pulled on his breeches first, then turned back to her—still flushed, still dripping. Without a word, he knelt before her, took her smallcloth and trousers, and dressed her himself. One leg at a time. Tender. Slow. Her pale skin twitched under his touch, still sensitive.

She raised her hips, letting him finish pulling them up. She smiled at him the entire time, soft, radiant, glowing from the inside out. Perhaps that was what she liked about him the most. He treated her tenderly when needed, and roughly when she wanted it, without ever having to tell it to him.

Just as he leaned forward to adjust the waistband, he paused, smirking, and stole one last kiss. A light peck on her unsuspecting, sweet lips.

"I'll be back, Lyanna, I promise. Stronger, richer, and… craving."

She sat there, speechless, watching him dress the rest of the way. Her chest rose with heavy breaths. Her knuckles clenched tight on the bed, and her glistening, sweat-covered face suddenly looked… sullen.

“Wylis—”

He paused with his hand on the door.

“I…” she began, faltering. A rare stutter from the proud she-wolf. “Forget what I said.”

Like I can now. He didn’t answer. Just smiled over his shoulder and walked out the door.

Thud!

The sound of the closing door echoed in the room like thunder.

Lyanna dropped back onto the bed with a heavy sigh, her covered legs falling open as her worn, used body finally collapsed. A fresh trickle of cum oozed into her smallclothes underneath the trousers. She barely noticed.

She flung an arm over her eyes. Her chest heaved. Her lips trembled.

“…What was I thinking?” she whispered to the empty room. “We can never… Father will kill him.”

####

From a distance, Wylis looked back at the broken castle of Harrenhal. It didn't look as spectacular now since most of the tents around its lands were removed. It now looked like a real ruin. 

But when he looked beyond the castle, he eyed a distant flag of the Starks, heading in the opposite direction as him. He didn't know if Lyanna was looking back, but he raised his hand and waved towards her. 

What the hell happened to me? Am I in love or something? 

The truth was. He was so rich in his previous life that he never really got to experience love. Sure, he had girlfriends from time to time, but love was impossible. He lost his virginity to a beautiful nanny, and after that, it was just random models or actresses. 

Now, however. He asked himself why someone like Lyanna would feel anything towards him. Sure, he had a pretty big cock, but that couldn't be it. So, in the end, he realized that he had nothing significant that Lyanna could take from him. It was the opposite, actually. By getting close to him, she was setting herself to lose everything. 

Let's just… gather some fame and name, and gold and… a bastard or two. 

He really did need bastards. A lot of them at that point. Ten years of his life lost already. It was scary. 

Ting!

“What?” The blue screen appeared in front of his eyes on its own.

[Side Quest Completed - Tyrant Of The Tourney
Description - Win all that you take part in.
Reward: Clue to find wealth. The answer lies where the lion mines.]

[Tyrant’s Title Acquired - Defiler Of House Dayne!
Description - Bedding Ashara Dayne is a one-way street. Not much to gain, but a lot to lose. Tread lightly, for there might come a morning when the sword falls heavy.
Effect: Making love to Ashara Dayne will make you stronger by 0.01% each time.]

Ting!

[Tyrant’s Title Updated - Traitor of the House Stark -> Enemy of the House Stark!
Description - Bedding Lyanna was one thing, but breeding her is another. A bastard born of her may bring you gifts, but with that will arrive the curse of responsibility. Beware, the Stag lurks.
Effect - Making love to Lyanna Stark will make you stronger by 0.02% each time. Her loyalty increases by 0.10% each time towards you.
Current Loyalty - 89%]

Ting!

[Hidden Side Quest Completed - Courting The Bitch
Description - Impress and seduce Cersei Lannister.
Reward: Each time you interact with Cersei now, her lust for Host’s body will increase in proportion to Host’s charm and actions.
Current Lust - 21%]

Ting!

[Danger! Danger! Unwanted Quest Completed - Mad King’s Admiration
Description: Insanity has consumed the King. But with madness comes vile cravings. Beware, he may desire something the Host must not give.
Reward: None! Survive the King’s Admiration.
Current [Censored] - 99%]

“W-What? What the fuck? What do you mean by censored? What the fuck does he want from me?!” 

Wylis almost jumped from his horse in pure fear. The censored word and that ninety-nine percent scared him. Sure, he was absolutely excited and delighted over Lyanna’s eighty-nine percent loyalty towards him. Even Cersei’s lust was understandable. But what in God's name did Aerys want from him? 

I-It can’t be… that? Right?

Grrr~

As his stomach churned, in the end, he could do nothing but take a deep breath and swallow the information. No matter what, he had to move and play the game. As for the King’s whatever, he could only guess.

"I'm feeling quite hungry."

Not being that far from King's Landing, Wylis made a run for it on his handsome, giant stallion, Caliburn. The big boy was fresh, well-fed, and majestic. And Wylis simply wore light armor, mostly leather with metal pauldrons on his shoulders, a shield on his chest, and a fur cloak on his shoulders that made his already wide frame look wider, monstrously imposing. 

His eye-catching six-foot sword hung from his back diagonally to not annoy the horse. His almost shoulder-length brown hair was nicely combed, his face was fresh and clean, his jaw chiseled, and his charm at its peak. 

As he rode south, arriving at the Ivy Inn, he received a lot of scared and shocked gazes at first. Then, the women were awed by his face, and finally, they realized who he was. The winner of the tourney. The giant of the North who defeated Rhaegar Targaryen and knocked his teeth out. 

Rhaegar was pretty liked by the smallfolk. But when the man who knocked a royal Prince on his ass and knocked his teeth out was also a lowborn smallfolk, people cheered for the lowborn.  

From flirty words to lustful eyes, Wylis received many things. He even received free food from the inn. And now, he didn't give a damn if the food was poisoned. He had immunity from them all. He'd spent ten years of his life on it, so he was going to abuse the hell out of it. 

"Do you know any bandits around these parts, miss?" He asked the woman working at the inn. 

As expected, they didn't give away any names. They were scared of being targeted by the said bandits if it was found out that they gave away the name. But still, the woman was kind enough to suggest that he go to King's Landing and ask the City Watch there. They note the names of the bandits with their descriptions.

So, after having his fill, Wylis got on his horse and trotted further south. Nobody stopped him on his way, no bandit targeted him, to his disappointment. He was truly committed to the task given by the King. A hundred heads for his knighthood sounded reasonable. 

Barbaric, of course. But that was expected from him at that point. 

"Ugh, it smells of shit and… something more."

The stench was noticeable and he hadn't even entered the damn city yet. He was still outside of its high walls, passing through the unregulated, unplanned town that just sprouted there because King's Landing didn't have enough space. It wasn't organized, but it still held a lot of industries. 

On second thought, it's a blessing. 

He liked that nobody tried to approach him to sell something or scam him. He expected there to be a lot of annoying smallfolk there. Aching to steal from him or beg from him. But what happened was the opposite. Smallfolk made way for him, even the decent-looking merchants moved their carriages to the side to give him space. 

However, all his pride died when he also stood at the back of the line of people trying to enter the city. The City Watch was being very meticulous with their searches and recording names. 

Probably Aerys' request. The bastard's too paranoid for his own good. 

He stood in that line, holding Caliburn's reins the entire time. An hour passed, then another. Heck, there were people selling dried fish or cups of water to the people standing in the line. Clearly, capitalism wasn't foreign to the smallfolk. Milking every situation for profits was the essence of it. 

He kept his ears open, though. While everyone was too scared to even talk to him, he listened to people talk. And already, he had a lead. A merchant got robbed while passing through Kingswood. But the weird part was that the bandits only took half of the goods and let the merchant keep the other half. 

Interesting. Let's look into it later. 

Clank!

Then, as soon as he reached the front of the line, right at the entrance, he received an unsightly welcome. The four Gold Cloaks drew their swords out at the sight of him. They looked scared when Wylis hadn't even moved an inch or said a word. 

"I am Wylis of Winterfell, here by the decree of His Grace, the King. I've been given the task—hunt down a hundred bandits, take their heads, and lay them at the feet of the court. That’s the long and short of it," Wylis said, straight and clear. "I’m looking for signs of bandits in and around King’s Landing."

“Seven hells, you’re the one who cracked Rhaegar’s teeth in, ain’t you?” the gold cloak said, eyes wide with something like admiration. “Half the city’s still talking about it. You’re near a bloody legend, you are.”

"..."

Isn't he being too friendly?

As expected, the excited guard received a jab to his shoulder from the other men. 

The other, more stern guard took over. "Wylis of Winterfell, your name’s been noted. Mind yourself while you're in the city. The list of wanted men’s at the barracks—take care to stick to it. You start killing folk not named on that scroll, no decree from the King will save you."

Once again, Wylis felt a little annoyed. If he'd been a knight, they would have treated him much differently. 

"I understand," he replied and entered the city with his horse. He didn't travel too deep before finding a decent stable and paid the stable owner to keep his horse there, watered and fed. 

The stench! It's giving me a headache. 

He didn't understand how the capital of the Seven Kingdoms could be so bad. If the city sewage wasn't designed to hold that many asses, the previous kings had decades to invest in expanding the sewage. 

I guess their own sisters' cunts kept them too occupied. 

Having entered from the north through the Old Gate, he asked around and traveled eastward, aiming to reach the Eastern Barracks of the City Watch and get the list of bandits from them. He planned on traveling to Oldtown, and Lannisport the same way and seek out bandits later. For now, King's Landing was his target. 

"Sorry, Ser."

"Apologies, Ser."

People randomly apologized to him as he walked. Anytime someone almost bumped into him, they almost fell to their knees in fright. And from the ragged clothes, he could tell that the poorest part of the city was nearby, Flea Bottom. 

Sure, he didn't have the map memorized. But he remembered a few bits. So, once he felt the road ahead was going upwards on a slope, he knew he was near what used to be Dragon Pit. And sure enough, he started smelling scents mixed with perfumes and spices. It was the Street of Silk with brothels dotted around, and women standing at the windows or doors in alluring clothes. 

And as he was walking by, he saw the name of a whorehouse. It looked small, not that extravagant, but it would soon be amongst the finest in the city if his memory was still correct. It was called Chataya's.

Wait, what if I just… Maybe later. 

Ignoring the hot, inviting scents, he passed Rhaenys' Hill and saw the distant, massive, gorgeous Red Keep, the center of power of Westeros. For him, at the moment, it was a place of dreams that he couldn't go to even if he wanted to. Well, maybe he could if he groveled to meet the King. Of course, he'd rather die than do that. 

"There it is!" 

At last, he arrived at the East Barracks of the City Watch. It was a wide, long building of multiple stories. There were guards standing at the gate, and other guards were coming in and out of the door. 

Woosh!

Once again, as soon as he approached the barracks, the guards unsheathed their swords. 

"..."

"Ah! Aren't you Wylis?" 

And just like that, the swords went back to their scabbards. The excited-looking Gold Cloaks chatted with him, asking him for random advice on swords or archery. Some of them boasted that they were better than him. 

He ignored them and eventually gained entry. 

Right away, he was surrounded by his admirers. In some ways, he felt like a famous bodybuilder in a gym from his previous life. Instead of women, it was mostly men who surrounded the bodybuilder. 

Eventually, he was given what he wanted. The men were delighted to hand over the entire list to him. It made their jobs easier, after all. So why not? 

And just like that, Wylis had the list of at least twenty bandits. But none of them were based inside King's Landing, so he had to go out. But he already had a decent target. It appeared that not long ago an outlaw group called the Kingswood Brotherhood was annihilated by King's decree, with Kingsguards leading the hunt themselves. The Brotherhood had dared to target nobles and even Elia Martell's carriage. 

Now, although the main members and the leader of the group were gone, it was said that a few remaining members were still hiding in Kingswood with the help of the smallfolk.

If the smallfolk are helping them then I need to gain their trust first. 

With that thought in mind, Wylis headed back toward the Old Gate. However, once again, he entered the Street of Silk and this time, he couldn't resist the temptation of at least trying his idea once. It was already near sunset, so he didn't see any issue in spending a night there. 

Oh, Jesus, Old Gods, or maybe the Seven—Help your boy here a little. 

With confidence, Wylis crouched a little to enter through the door of Chataya's brothel. It wasn't extravagant at all, but spacious enough to be expanded later on. Still very clean. Clear, polished tiles, beautiful curtains all around, nice hand-painted murals of naked women on the ceiling, and a scent so spicy and exotic. He could see why some Hand of the King dug a secret tunnel to reach it. The place was like a hidden gem.

"Y-Yes?"

Wylis stopped ogling at the naked murals and looked toward the voice. And he could swear he controlled his jaw from dropping. Chataya was tall, not really beautiful like Lyanna or Ashara, but still had a beautiful facial structure, and big eyes that were earthly colored, like sandalwood. And…

God damn! 

Her hips were wide, beautifully so, perfectly complimenting her height. Then there were those big tits in that silk dress of hers. And then there was the little baby in her arms, probably a year old. Both mother and daughter's dark skin was gleaming from the nearby candles. 

But as most, there was fear in Chataya's eyes. 

"Greetings, my Lady," Wylis spoke with the deepest, charming voice he could muster. After all, he was about to say something outrageous. He gave her every bit of respect he could, completely opposite of what was expected from a brute of his size. 

Chataya's thin, black brows rose in curiosity. "What can I do for you, Ser?"

"Not yet," he said with a smile. "But with any luck, I’ll be Ser Wylis before long. Wylis of Winterfell—you may’ve heard the name from the tourney. I’ve come with a strange request, though I’d not hold it against you if you turn me away."

Now, the woman was even more curious.

Chataya smiled, her voice as smooth as silk. “I’ve heard requests that would turn most men’s stomachs, Ser Wylis-to-be. Speak plainly. What is it you wish?”

Awkwardly, Wylis scratched his beard. He felt ashamed. "Well, I was wondering if you could give me one of your girls for a long… let's say, a year-long reservation? Exclusively?"

####

Slap!

"How dare you!"

Slap!

"Am I that cheap to you?"

Slap!

"You vile brute!"

Slap!

"Hmph! You're not even a knight!"

Chataya was sweet and very kind to him. Heck, she even offered him herself, saying honoring the body's desires and needs was an honor to her gods. But she had just given birth, and couldn't. So, she directed him to other whores, so he may ask them the fucked up question himself. 

Of course, it was a big mistake. 

"So… I was hoping if you would be willing to bear a bastard for me? I'll pay—"

He was never able to speak beyond those words. Every single response was a slap on his face from those beauties. Sure, the girls were scared of him so the slap was symbolic to show their rejection. 

Actually, the slaps didn't hurt him at all. But the slaps did hurt his pride. 

That day, he learned a lesson. A lesson about status and class difference. He was absolutely sure that if he were a lord or a high knight, all the whores would have spread their legs happily. Heck, they might have scooped his batter forcefully out of his balls to shove into their cunts. 

But he, a lowborn nobody, with nothing noteworthy but his height and his tourney victory, was nothing, even to a whore.

Still, before leaving, he gave Chataya a gold Dragon for her kind consideration. He wanted to build some reputation with the fine woman after he'd just destroyed it with his dumb request. 

So, to quench his sorrow, he decided to leave the city. He grabbed his horse and rode further south. He crossed Kingswood at night, hoping some bandits would attack him. But that didn't happen, and he soon reached the village of Bronzegate, the seat of House Buckler in the Stormlands. It sat at the southern edge of Kingswood, and one of the villages that was likely helping the bandits. 

That night, Wylis rested at an inn. 

The next morning, he went to the village's square, a small market area. There, he set up a fire, and a large pot, and then started cooking stew with a lot of meat. Once the food was done, he shouted…

"Free food for the needy! In the name of the Seven! Free food!"

Like a moth to a flame, the smallfolk, even those well-off, rushed to him. 

Easy peasy. 

Wylis continued his shenanigans. A day passed, and then three, and soon enough, he was the darling of the entire village. Just a giant man devoted to the worship of the Seven, feeding people from his tourney winnings. How honorable and kind of him. 

And it wasn't long before he started receiving gossip. And soon, he got the one he needed. 

"Pss… Do you know, the bandit hiding in the forest? They say it's the Wenda the White Fawn. She survived the King's hunting party and still steals… Oh, dear, my loud mouth."

That was enough for Wylis. His sword was sharp and ready.

####

Wenda the White Fawn once used to be famous. A proud member of the Kingswood Brotherhood. She took pride in her work, stealing from the nobles, and the smallfolk supported them. They admired her, for she stood tall, and despite the small cut mark on her left cheek, she knew she was considered a beauty. 

Her light brown hair, her strong body, her strong hips. It wasn't easy. Some of the Brotherhood members tried to bed her at times, but she defeated most, and those who could defeat her didn't bother to bed her. 

Young, merely twenty-one of age, she thought her life was at its peak. But then it all came crashing down when the Mad King sent his Kingsguards to hunt the Brotherhood. She fought with all she had but soon, right before her eyes, one after another, the core members of the Brotherhood fell. 

Soon, it was just her. She managed to escape the hunt. But she didn't know anything but banditry at that point. And she considered herself good at it. So, she learned from the mistakes of the past. No more targeting nobles, especially the royals. Attacking Elia Martell was a dumb move. 

By only stealing from merchants, and only half of their goods, she believed she bought herself some leeway. She wasn't killing anyone, after all. She reckoned they had bigger fish to catch than her. 

Wooosh!

How wrong she was. 

"WHO ARE YOU!"

Wenda ran as fast as she could through the dense Kingswood forest. She had bruises on her knuckles, and her sword hand swelled from clashing with that man. For a second time, she saw every member of her brotherhood get slaughtered. And this time it was worse. They were all beheaded—every single one of them. Even after being pierced through their heart, their heads were taken off. 

Wooosh!

She ducked, avoiding an arrow that rapidly flew towards her.

Bam!

For some reason, she noticed how often she was falling during her escape. Every fifth step she took, she tripped and fell to the ground. Her knees, her palms, her elbows, all were bruised. She cried for the first time in years. Her dagger was gone, and her short sword was lost too. She gave the man every chance to behead her as well, but the man didn't. 

"What do you want from me?" She asked in a desperate cry. 

Bam!

Once again, she fell hard on the root-covered ground of the forest. It was loud, the birds, the leaves. But all she heard was her racing heart. 

Crunch!

"No!" She looked to her right as she sat up and there he was. A man as tall as the heavens, shoulders as broad as the sky, his face covered with a strange, boxy helmet with only two holes for eyes and some small dots for air around the nose. It was all covered in the blood of her brotherhood members, whatever was left of it. 

"Why? Why? Why are you chasing me?"

She desperately looked up at the giant man, hoping to find some answers before that humongous sword fell on her. She was prepared for it, though scared.

"A bastard—Bear me a bastard!"

"..."

"W-What?"

_______________

[A/N: I know it sounds r@pey. But I assure you, it won’t be. I don’t wanna get yeeted off this platform.]

[A/N: Wenda the White Fawn is a real character. Although there isn't much official art about her. But there is a fan one. I posted it in the community chat since I don't own it. It's just to get an idea that she ain't that bad.]