GOT: Wolf Becomes Stag 29 - The Warrior's Champion III: The Mad Stag

Robert was surprised by his own might. He battled the Tyrell army single-handedly and raged through the field. One against twenty-five thousand. It was beyond any dream or fantasy. 

There was no doubt anymore. Robert was far from human. 

"Haaaa!"

Wherever his hammer smashed, blood exploded. He received many flesh wounds, and he bled profusely. 

Loras Tyrell fell rather early. The boy refused to listen to Robert's reasoning that Tywin was using him. In the end, all Robert could do was kill him. Then he aimed for the army. 

But he had a plan behind it all. His goal wasn't to kill them all but rather to have them kill him. Though not without reducing their numbers to two digits. 

From daylight till dusk, Robert fought them. His armor got dented, and the open wounds became too gruesome to look at. Blood was everywhere, the dirt had turned muddy from it. The roaring chants of Tyrell's army faded into desperate cries. 

Then came midnight.

Thud!

Robert fell to his knees from exhaustion and simple blood loss. His hammer was bloodied with pieces of smashed victims stuck to it. His armor was dented and red now. His antler helmet had gone missing long ago, leaving him wounded, scared, bleeding, and bloodied. 

But nobody dared to come near him even when he was on his knees. 

Woosh!

But there were always a few brave ones. A spear came from behind him and pierced right through his nape, killing him in an instant. 

Thud!

At last, his body fell forward, face first—dead. 

Of twenty-five thousand Tyrell men, only nine hundred remained. He couldn't bring them down to two digits. But nobody there was going to laugh at that. If anything, they cried because the loss was too much. 

Every man that lived there would go on to spread the word. The story of Robert Baratheon. And his legend would live for generations to come. 

"Bring a cart! Take his body to Lord Tywin."

####

"We have him," Tywin announced as he stood beside Jaime's bed. “Robert Baratheon is dead. You will wed Margaery Tyrell, and through her boy, we will seize the Iron Throne. The Tyrells are no more.”

Weakly, with a broken leg, Jaime nodded on his bed. Once upon a time, he resisted any attempt by Tywin to have him wed. But he didn't care anymore. Cersei was dead and he was full of vengeance. If he wanted to care for Tommen and Myrcella, he was willing to do this.

"I'll follow your plan, Father," Jaime replied and tried to get up. "Where is his body? I want to see it—H-He wasn't a human. It was as if gods possessed him."

Even Tywin's eyes shivered at that mention. He'd heard the reports. Only nine hundred of Tyrell men returned. He didn't want to believe the rumors and tried to forget them since Robert was dead now. Even if he were some sort of a blessed warrior, it was the end of that story. 

"He's in the sept. I see no reason why he should be honored with a proper burial, but appearances must be kept. The remaining lords are watching. We give Stannis no opportunity to exploit discontent."

Jaime agreed and got fully out of bed using a walking stick. He followed his father slowly out of the room and soon arrived at the small sept of the already smaller castle. The hall was empty except for a single, slender, and shapely woman with thick brown hair. She had a small babe in her arms while standing beside the stone platform on which Robert's bloodied body rested. 

"Don't be troubled, Your Grace." Tywin played along with the game by calling her 'grace'. "He's dead now. He has paid for the crime of murdering your family. Going forward, you will be the queen mother. You will wed my son, Jaime, and raise the next King of the Seven Kingdoms."

Margaery said nothing. She silently watched Robert's body. She was no fool. Olenna had raised and taught her well. She saw no dead body but a man who fought to save her and her son. She remembered the many discussions she had with Olenna. She willingly agreed to leave King's Landing when Robert went missing. Now, she wondered what if she hadn't done that. To never give Tywin a chance to do all this. 

"It's all the same in the end." Jaime looked at the body and sneered. More than his leg, he hated Robert for murdering Cersei. He didn't even think much about Joffrey. "Death—Everyone meets eventually."

"The Silent Sisters will prepare the body. Rest well, Your Grace. We shall attack King's Landing tomorrow." Tywin said, not as a suggestion but as an order. He didn't need to word it that she was now his hostage. Forever will be. 

Margaery didn't move and stayed behind while Tywin and Jaime left. She watched the dead body with tears welling up in her eyes. She initially loathed Robert for what he was. A fat whoremonger. But then she saw him and he was different, tall, proud, not that fat. The age didn't disgust her anymore. 

But still, she didn't love him. She only saw him as a tool to fulfill her dream. The very dream she'd been groomed for since childhood. She only wanted to be the queen. After that night with him, she considered it a win-win in every way. He was an amazing lover in bed, a little rough but it was flavorful. Getting to be the queen alongside that sounded like a brilliant plan. 

But then Robert vanished. She felt scared, but not bothered. Then she found out she was pregnant. She knew it was the end for her. No lord would wed her anymore, forget a prince. She was a spoiled woman now who birthed Robert's bastard. 

Yet, when life came out of her womb, she couldn't help but see the similarities with Robert's face. The eyes, the hair, it all matched Robert. She felt different from then on, hoping that Robert was still alive out there. 

Hoping that she'd get to see him again. And this time, she'd made up her mind to give him her everything. Not just her body, but her mind and life too. To truly be the queen he'd be proud to have. Loving, intelligent, and nurturing. 

I was too late… once again, the man destined for me is dead. 

Her tears finally slid down her cheeks. Holding the babe in one arm, she reached for the dead body with the other. The blood didn't disgust her. She just wanted to feel his skin one last time. 

"Forgive me… Your Grace." She murmured in tears. 

She choked up, a little frightened now for herself and her son. What would the Lannisters do? She could already imagine being forced to wed Jaime and sire his children. Once a son was born, she had no doubt that her son with Robert would meet some sort of an accident. 

She hugged the babe tighter in her arms. She hadn't even named him yet, waiting for Robert's return. Or at least until the culmination of the entire battle. 

"R-Robert… I'll name him Robert."

She made up her mind right there and then.

"Margaery—tears don't suit that pretty face of yours."

"..."

Margaery's eyes widened in shock. She looked towards Robert's bloodied face and noticed his open eyes. Then she felt his hand move and touch hers. 

"Shhh~" 

She stopped herself from recoiling and shouting in fear. Her head did a quick check behind to ensure nobody else was there. 

"Y–Your Grace…" She whispered. "You're alive."

Robert smiled, revealing his bloodied teeth. He knew he was dead, but now he wasn't. His internal wounds had all healed, leaving just the surface scars to slowly fade as well. 

"Ha! Nothing in this cursed world can kill me, Margaery. Now, let's have a look at the whelp." Robert squinted at the bundle in her arms. "Aye… my trueborn son."

Same eyes as him. Same hair as him. While the face looked rather handsome, expected as the mother was a beauty. He truly felt happy. After what Cersei did, this felt like heaven.

“Ha! The lad’s got the look of a warrior already, mark me." He fawned on the little boy, so silent whilst awake. “But first—we spill the traitors’ blood. Tywin carved up your kin, Margaery. The bastard’s been scheming since day one.”

"I know… We should leave. We should go to King's Landin—"

"No, fetch me a sword. Even a short one’ll do. I set this in motion, Margaery. I’m no fool—couldn’t cleave through a hundred thousand men. Would’ve taken all bloody week. But now? I’m inside the damn castle. Tywin and Jaime sit just a few stones off."

Margaery froze for a while. She didn't want to bring him a sword. She wanted to escape with him. But he was Robert Baratheon. The legends about him were still being written. 

"I will… bring a blade, Your Grace."

Robert nodded and squeezed her hand harder. He brought it to his lips and kissed it. She'd already given him a son. He'd wed her, it was decided. It was the right thing to do. "Don't be scared. We’ll batter their skulls, ride back to King’s Landing, and wed within the week.”

Feeling somewhat giddy in her heart, Margaery nodded firmly and left the sept. She brought back the sullen, plain expressions as she walked around. 

####

Tywin and a few Westerlands lords gathered in the great hall of the castle for a feast. They expected it to be the last one there and hoped to feast tomorrow inside King's Landing. At the throne room. 

"Your Grace, many congratulations on your upcoming marriage." 

Jaime received plenty of blessings. In that hall, only ten lords and fifteen knights were present, but not a single one of them had any doubts. They knew that Jaime would be the King with Tywin advising his son. With Westerlands and the Reach joined, there was no army in the Seven Kingdoms strong enough to stop them. 

“This is no time for revelry.” Tywin rose to his feet, coldly eying the lords there. Maintaining his prestige as the bigger guy was important to him. Showing them that he was ruthless was important. “We have not won—we have merely begun to take what is owed. When the Red Keep falls, Robert’s bastards are to be found and ended, each and every one. Stannis will run, as cornered dogs do, but we shall close every road before him. The Ironborn and Lannister fleets will seal the sea. You, my lords, will seal the land. I want every gate watched, every wall manned, and the hounds loosed. No rat escapes the city.”

The lords and knights agreed vocally, cheering for it. 

"Once the crown is secured, y—"

Knock! Knock!

"Once t—"

Knock! Knock!

Tywin ignored the knock once, but the second time tested his patience. He eyed a Lannister soldier nearby to go and check it. It wasn't as if the doors were locked, so there was no need to knock. 

The Lannister soldier went over and opened the double doors. 

Woosh!

For a quick flash, something appeared over the soldier's head. 

And then, with a very disgusting sound, and also bloody, the soldier's body was split apart, falling sideways, half of the body on each side. From head to toe, in a perfect slice. Brain matter spilled, the lungs, the intestines. 

"GUARDS!" Tywin shouted. 

Creak!

But then the doors opened wider and a bloodied, tall figure walked in. Easily, instantly recognized as every man in that hall had seen the dead body. 

"Calm your tits, Tywin," Robert grumbled and entered the great hall. But he didn't rush and turned around to close the door behind him. Then, he grabbed the dead Lannister soldier's sword, slid it between the large door handles of the two doors, and with ease, bent the sword to lock the exit. 

At last, Robert looked back inside the hall and smiled. He looked no less than a demon.

"I heard you're going to wed your sister-fucking son to my woman? Is that right? By the gods, now that I look at you, I can't help but wonder if Aerys took your wife to bed and gave you those vile, mad twins." Robert's voice boomed, his gaze sweeping over the room. "When I’m done with you all, I’ll carve up the Westerlands nicely."

"STOP HIM!" 

It was unknown who shouted it. Or who started it? It wasn't Jaime Lannister, that was for sure. But again, Westerlands was filled with proud fools. 

Woosh!

Thud!

Robert sliced whoever came close to him as if butchering dead game. His short sword severed entire heads, and at times, entire torsos. The whole time, Robert didn't even move an inch on foot. It was all the knights who jumped on him first and died. Then came the lords. 

In the end, only the old and cowardly ones survived. They tried to slam on other doors, but they all seemed locked. 

"Don't try. Did you really think the servants of the castle would cheer if you came out of nowhere, butchered the castle's lord, and then forced the servants to dance to your whims? The doors are locked—It ends tonight."

Robert finally walked towards the remaining lords. He purposefully left Tywin and Jaime for last. They hadn't moved an inch from their high table. If they'd heard about his fight with Tyrells, they probably knew it was useless. 

"P-Please… No… Forgive me, Your Grace… I was forced! Yes, Tywin forced—"

BAM!

Instead of using a sword, Robert kicked the fallen lord in his face, shattering it as if watermelon. He was now even stronger than last night. There was no joy in battle anymore. He felt like he was killing little toddlers while being an elephant. 

"Seven hells, how many damned times must I do this?" Robert wiped the last of them from his blade and turned to Tywin and Jaime. "I left you alive back then. Sent you to the Wall. I didn't blame you for your whore daughter, Tywin."

Tywin said nothing. 

"How are you alive?" Jaime asked. 

Robert didn't reply either. He walked over to the two and grabbed Jaime's tunic, lifting him up. 

"Now, I'm going do what I should've done long ago. I'll take my sweet time with Jaime, and you'll watch the whole bloody thing, Tywin. Don’t fret, I won’t put you down just yet. All your damn pride, your clever little schemes—I'm gonna tear 'em apart piece by piece."

Thud!

Robert threw Jaime to the floor and the famed knight could do nothing. He already had a permanently broken leg, bones shattered twice.

"Let's start with your hands." 

Robert squatted beside Jaime, grabbed his arm, and while looking at Tywin's face, swung down the short sword. 

"Aaaaaargh! Father!"

Jaime's hand was chopped off entirely from the wrist. 

"Shut up, you!" Robert coldly grabbed the severed hand and jammed it into Jaime's mouth. 

Then, he grabbed the other hand. 

Woosh!

"Unnnnnngh! Mmmmm!"

"Time for legs." Robert shifted a little and without needing to grab the legs, sliced his blade downwards. 

Clank!

The blade struck through to the ground. Jaime's right foot also got severed. 

"The other one." Robert aimed for the next foot. He looked at Tywin at the same time. "What say you, Tywin? Your crippled boy. Don't fret, he won't last. But I'll make sure Tyrion gets Casterly Rock next. That should ease your old, bitter soul."

Tywin stood frozen, weak, powerless there. 

"Mmmmmgh…!"

Jaime kept groaning in pain. But there wasn't much he could do. 

"Let's go for the entire arms and legs now." Robert shifted again and chopped Jaime's right arm from the shoulder joint. 

"Unnnngh!" Jaime's blood-red eyes scared nobody. 

"What a brave, sister-fucking knight you are, Jaime. Such a high pain tolerance. Gods, you’ve got guts. Should’ve passed out hours ago. Let’s see what’s left in you."

CHOP!

Robert severed the left arm then. Surprised that Jaime was still alive. 

"Let's go for the legs."

CHOP!

At last, the muffled screams of Jaime grew fainter. 

Clank!

Robert finally finished his masterpiece. All limbs, from the origin joints, severed. Jaime was left as nothing but a torso, a head, and a cock. Still alive, but clearly not enough to survive. The remaining body was writhing profusely, the heart giving in, blood loss too great. 

"What do you think, eh?" Robert got up and stood beside Tywin, watching Jaime's dying body. "Found a fine place in Volantis for preserving skulls. Got that Targaryen pretender's skull still, you know. I swear, Tywin, I’ll keep your boy and your damn skulls close—together even in death. Sister-fucker and Lord Tywin, the man Aerys cucked—sounds like a damn fine plaque to hang right under your skulls in the throne room. A proper tribute."

It was Robert's goal to humiliate the man. To make him feel utterly hopeless and broken. To let Tywin know that his decades worth of legacy will be undone. 

"Gluk~"

Eventually, Jaime's mouth started foaming blood. Death really came slowly to the famed knight. The famed sister fucker. 

"What a mess. Nobody deserves such a slow death." Robert pitted verbally, shaking his head. "But he does."

Eventually, when it became clear that Jaime was dead, Robert went closer to the corpse and swung for the last time. 

Squelch—CLANK!

He severed the head and lifted it up by the golden blonde hair. "Hmm, now that I think on it, maybe I won't hang your bloody heads in the throne room after all. Myrcella's a good girl, sweet as honey, even if she's born of that damned incest couple. Don't think I'd want her laying eyes on her father's severed skull. Aye, here's a thought—I'll send your heads to Chataya’s brothel, let 'em hang there. That’ll be a proper tribute to the Old Lion, eh?"

"Kill me too and be done with it, Robert."

Robert smiled dangerously, shaking his head. "I'm nowhere near done dismantling your name and fame, Tywin. You'll die, but slowly, naked, shamed, in the middle of King's Landing—I'll slowly dry you in the sun. I'll hang a plaque from your neck—A Lannister has paid his debt."

Bam!

A quick jab of the hilt of his sword on Tywin's nape, Robert sent the old man tumbling down to his knees, passing out. 

He slung Tywin on one shoulder, grabbed Jaime's head, and walked towards a smaller door. He knocked on it a few times and the servants quickly opened it. 

"Out! All of you! Leave the castle."

As per the agreed plan, Robert, alongside Margaery and his son, with the servants, escaped from Hayford castle through a secret passage. It was still dark, so they easily made their way south, toward King's Landing. 

Halfway through, Stannis appeared with a hundred or so men. Allegedly, the Red Priestess guided Stannis to make a move. 

"Let them be. No point in making more widows and orphans." Robert decided not to go back and kill the remaining men. They were all leftover soldiers. All the lords and high-ranking knights were dead. The Westerlands was already devastated. 

In the dark of night, Robert returned to the Red Keep. However, the bigger issue remained. The Ironborn fleet, Lannister fleet, and Redwyne fleet still blockaded Blackwater Bay.

####

The nine hundred Tyrell men that Robert spared returned home and spread the word. 

The leftover Lannister men Robert spared found the mutilated body of Jaime Lannister and the entire butchered hall. Robert's corpse was gone, and Margaery was also missing. 

Early morning, when the Great Sept of Baelor's bell rang, a massive crowd gathered at the execution grounds of King's Landing. Due to the blockade, the city didn't have eggs and rotten vegetables to throw. So, people were advised to bring animal dung, though it was questionable if it was all from animals. 

The City Watch had made the announcement that the King would appear and punish the traitors. So, the smallfolk were excited. Hopeful that the siege would end. 

"MOVE!" 

When the bells of the sept stopped ringing, Robert arrived on his large stallion, dressed in regal robes, a crown on his head. Flanked by Kingsguards, with a carriage not far behind. 

Robert got down from his horse and helped Margaery out of the carriage. Then, with her, he walked upstairs to the execution platform. The smallfolk recognized Margaery and cursed at her, almost prepared to throw shit. 

"HOLD YOUR BLOODY HANDS!" Robert bellowed, dragging Margaery close with a firm arm. 

"This is Margaery Tyrell, daughter of the Tyrells! She was held by the Lannisters, and the brat in her arms? My son! The Lannisters used him to twist the Tyrells. Now, she's all that's left of her damn family—show some respect! She's your queen, you hear me? The mother of my son, and, gods willing, many more to come!"

In swift words, Robert absolved House Tyrell. Not because he forgave it. But rather, he was going to own it anyway. His second son with Margaery would take over Highgarden. 

Blushing, Margaery smiled and stepped to the side. Right then, the Kingsguard brought over Tywin Lannister, alive and well, every limb perfect. 

Instead of an execution block, a large cross was placed. Tywin was then tied to it, arms spread wide, tied with metal chains. But he wasn't hung up in the air, his legs were left standing. 

"This is Tywin Lannister, the man who schemed against the Crown. Dared to hurt my woman and my son! He is the man who befriended the wretched Iron Islanders! This man blocked Blackwater Bay—every damn misfortune you've suffered? It's all down to him!"

"KILL HIM!"

"BEHEAD HIM!"

The smallfolk were riled up. 

"No!" Robert announced, looking at Tywin. The old man didn't look up. Constantly staring at his feet, his eyes hazy, as if already dead. 

"Bah! Killing him? That’s too fine a gift for the bastard! Too quick, too clean! No, no—I'll see him rot slowly. From this day on, a Kingsguard will carve a new gash in him each sunrise. No meat, no water, nothing! Let the sun cook him, let the blood drain bit by bit. And you lot—aye, have your sport! Toss what you like at him, so long as the wretch lives to suffer it!"

"YEAAAAAAH!"

The smallfolk cheered. 

"Kingsguard, break his damn legs so he may never escape! Then strip him bare, hang the plaque on his chest, and carve a wound on his right arm." Robert gave a flurry of orders. 

Trrrr~

The clothes were torn apart. 

The wooden plaque was hung on Tywin's neck. 

A cut was made on Tywin's right arm. 

"Ah, before you lot start your celebrations!" Robert waved at the crowd of smallfolk. "In three days, I’ll be wed to Margaery Tyrell. And mark my words, before then, I’ll see to it that this damned blockade is lifted!"

"King Robert!"

"Long live the King!"

"Long live the King!"

The smallfolk chanted. Robert walked down from the execution platform with Margaery as it would soon be covered in shit. 

Bam!

Thud!

Plop!

Soon after, Tywin Lannister stopped looking like a man entirely. The wound on his body would allow the disease from the feces to seep in.

Jaime's death was nothing compared to what lay ahead for Tywin. 

As for Robert, he returned to the Red Keep with his queen-to-be, this time sitting in her carriage. Tywin would be guarded day and night by the Kingsguards and City-Watch, ensuring the man suffered the most. 

"Margaery, I need you to send word to Lord Redwyne. Tell him to recall his fleet."

####

As soon as Tywin's capture was declared to the realm, all voices of revolt and treason died down. With his marriage to Margaery declared afterward, the Redwyne fleet returned to the Reach. The Lannister fleet also returned as it didn't all belong to Tywin. And nobody wanted to face the King's ire any more.

The Ironborn tried to play dirty, but before the Redwyne fleet left, it tried to threaten the Ironborn with retaliation if an attack on King's Landing was attempted. 

In the end, the siege was lifted after two days. On the third day, a small wedding took place in the Red Keep with a handful of lords and ladies and an abundance of food and wine. 

The marriage was slightly rushed and concluded fast. Margaery didn't have any direct family left, so Robert had kept it confined and small. The feast was still grand, but no bedding ceremony was allowed. 

In a joking manner, Robert declared that if anyone wanted to do it, they must first defeat him. Sure enough, nobody came forward, and the feast proceeded with gentle music, wine, and laughter. 

Robert II Baratheon, a confusing name for most, sat in Robert's lap, sleeping. The small babe was too small to even know what was going on. Beside his chair, Margaery sat in a beautiful, azure wedding gown. 

Still, rituals were to be honored. As the feast came to an end, Robert rose from his chair, gave his arm to Margeary, and slowly walked towards his royal bedchamber with her. Their young son was handed over to a trusted nanny for the time being.

"How does it feel to be the queen?" Robert asked her on the way, feeling her soft hand gripping his arm. While she still only reached up to his chest, birthing him a son had gifted her with a few more curves and flesh in all the right places. Her rear was plump and her breasts swelled to nurture. 

Now, as she was his wife, Robert felt no shame in eyeing her with sexual intent. If not her, then who else, after all? Even his initial apprehension regarding their age had vanished.

"I feel... proud, yes. But also a little ashamed." Margaery responded, hugging his arms tighter. "Without you, what am I? I was so naive to think I could control your mind, that my charms alone would win your heart. Grandmother always said a woman’s beauty was her greatest weapon, but now... I see it as a gift. And together, we’ve created something far more precious than any crown. Our son. No weapon could compare."

"But your beauty is certainly a weapon."

Robert opened the door to his bedchamber and let her walk in. 

Margaery giggled and watched him shut the door behind him. "A weapon that will only ever be wielded by one… great… man."

Gods! She still has a witty mouth. Robert chuckled at her response and looked at her intently. Her curly, thick brown hair was well-made, draping her head beautifully. Her gown, her jewelry, her face, and her beautiful eyes invited him. 

Well, it is a bedding ceremony. So what if we already had a son? 

Robert loosened his surcoat and walked towards his wife. While he felt no romance, he reckoned the lust would keep their relationship fresh for plenty of years to come. Perhaps love and romance will flourish too, eventually. He already cherished her for giving him a son. 

He threw away his surcoat and stood right in front of Margaery, gazing down at her delectable face. His large hands came up, one felt her waist, and the other cupped her cheeks. He watched her nestle her face in his palm.

"And when do you suppose I can wield this weapon?"

Margaery giggled and used her slim fingers to pinch his tunic and push it up. She shoved her hands underneath the fabric and felt his belly, and chest, the trace of his masculine hair. A low purr left her lips, not at all unwilling to his desire that evening. She saw it in his eyes, raw, full of passion. She felt the same. 

"I am your wife, Your Grace—Wield me whenever, however, anywhere you please."

Seven hells! She knows exactly what to say to get a man going.

Robert crashed down on her lips with the hunger of a starved beast, claiming her mouth like it was his right. No, his need. He kissed like he ruled, with weight, with heat, with purpose. And she responded with equal need, surrendering to the raw, smothering greed of her king.

Margaery melted into the kiss, gasping softly at his lips, her slender frame trembling against his broad chest.

His large, calloused hands moved with practiced ease, untying the soft belt around her waist. The knot came undone like it had waited for this moment. With a low growl of approval, he slid the gown off her creamy shoulders, letting the regal fabric slither down her form and pool around her ankles like a silken puddle.

For a breathless moment, Robert paused the kiss and stared. His eyes drank her in greedily. She was a goddess sculpted from flesh; an hourglass frame with ripened hips, a gentle softness where a babe had grown, and curves too dangerous for any man but him. Her beauty hadn’t diminished with motherhood; it had evolved.

She looked like nobility-made flesh. Ripe, nurturing, and sinfully fuckable.

He reached down and peeled away the last layer of modesty. Her smallclothes slipped down her thighs to reveal what he already hungered for. Her breasts were swollen with milk, subtle veins tracing their supple fullness. Her hips had bloomed, thighs thicker and plush. Between them, her pussy glistened bald and wet, lips parting like a flower in bloom. Slick, needy, and salivating for him.

“Then let me spar with this weapon,” Robert muttered, eyes glinting as he cupped her dripping cunt with one large hand. Feeling her warmth on his palm.

With a grunt of urgency, Robert also stripped himself bare, his tunic and breeches tossed aside with no ceremony. His cock sprang free, thick and proud, veins pulsing up the rigid shaft. It was a weapon of war. Long, broad, flushed deep red, already glistening at the tip with anticipation. Not monstrous, but heavy enough to bruise a lesser woman’s pride.

Without hesitation, he moved and hoisted her up into his arms, lifting her with the ease of a man built for battle. His arms slid beneath her knees and around her back, holding her high and tight against his chest, as he stood tall to his full height. Her calves rested over his upper arms, her weight nothing to him, like she belonged nowhere else but there, cradled in his strength.

Margaery giggled, aroused by the way he handled her. His assertiveness was addictive, his confidence intoxicating. She wrapped her arms around his neck, hips twitching in the air as she kissed him feverishly, whispering, “My love… so strong… Gods, yes…”

Her breasts pressed into his upper chest, warm and heavy, smearing him with the heat of her body. They jiggled softly with every breath, forming a lush valley of skin that glistened from the firelight.

Robert groaned as he adjusted his grip, tilting her pelvis downward and aligning her soaked cunt with his pulsing cock. With a single roll of his hips, he pressed into her, the crown of his cock parting her tight cunt, smearing her slick along the way.

“Aaaaaah… yesss…” Margaery cried, her head thrown back, curls bouncing as she felt him stretch her inch by slow, punishing inch. Her pussy clung to him like it remembered every past thrust and craved every future one.

“My love,” she whimpered, her fingers clutching his thick shoulders. “You feel… so good. Gods…”

“Gaaaah… You’re… lethal, Margaery,” Robert growled, feeling the tight squeeze of her velvet walls. Her body gripped him like her cunt had its own mind, pulling, massaging, trying to trap him inside.

“Only—eeh… only for you, my love!” she gasped, hips twitching in the air as his cock fully sheathed into her.

Inside her, Robert felt not just pleasure, but pride. That soaked, perfect pussy had birthed him a son. And it would birth him more, daughters, sons, maybe a dozen. Her womb, her softness, her surrender; it was his reward, his kingdom, his queen. And as her heat enveloped him, he vowed to protect her, fuck her, and cherish her.

Finally, Robert buried more than half of his thick shaft into her before he couldn’t hold back any longer.

With a growl, he started fucking her, truly fucking her, maneuvering her like a stringless puppet in his arms. Her light frame bounced in the air, his grip firm beneath her knees and back. He slammed her pussy down onto his cock with each upward thrust, grinding and sheathing himself into her tight, sopping sheath. Her slick heat swallowed him with a loud, squelching slap every time their bodies collided.

“Ahh… Ah…!”

Margaery was utterly stretched, her thighs quivering in the air, caught mid-air with her knees high and wide. She gasped and moaned, helpless in his grasp, her cunt stretched to the edge, filled so deep it throbbed with every brutal thrust. But she was the queen, his queen, and this felt just right. His cock, the way he held her, it felt… hers.

Her climax ripped out of her like a dam breaking, wet, messy, uncontrollable.

“Aaaaaah!!” she shrieked, her whole body convulsing as her pussy sprayed, clear fluid splashing out of her and painting Robert’s lower belly, thighs, and the velvet carpet beneath them. Her hot squirt defiled the cold, noble floor. Her cunt twitched violently around him, sucking him in as she writhed.

“Fuuuuc—” Robert groaned, teeth gritted, face buried in her neck.

Her tight cunt clamped down and milked him. With a growl, he shoved her down one last time, balls slapping against her ass, and spilled his seed deep into her fertile depths. His cock pulsed, thick globs of his baby batter flooding her womb as he kissed her sloppily, tongue pushing into her hot mouth like he claimed everything.

“Give me more… more sons… more daughters…” he growled into her mouth as he kissed her.

“As many-eeh… as you… wish… my love… oooooh!” she cried, clinging to him, still twitching from aftershocks. Her body trembled with satisfaction, legs shivering, her cunt still fluttering around his softening cock.

Still inside her, Robert stepped toward the bed, cock twitching in her flooded pussy with every step, and dropped her gently onto the mattress. Then he also joined beside her, resting.

She lay there, breathless, her body a sticky mess. Her legs spread wide and twitching from the soreness; her pussy leaking from fullness.

But Margaery wasn’t done.

Not yet. Like a dutiful wife in heat, she crawled across the sheets toward him as he lay back, beside his waist. She cupped his half-soft cock, kissed the head with reverence, and licked up the mixture of her own squirt and his thick cum still oozing down his shaft.

“Mmmm…” she moaned, sucking him into her mouth with worship. She popped his cock between her lips again and again, even when it was flaccid, rolling her tongue around the crown, licking his balls, stroking his shaft until it twitched back to life.

“Let’s… do it again… To ensure you can handle this weapon… shall we?” she purred.

Margaery mounted him with grace, trying to slide down on his rising cock. She looked divine; hair tousled, cheeks flushed, body glowing with lust and sweat. Her eyes locked onto his, and slowly, she lowered herself.

Her pussy spread around his girthy cock, folds parting wide to take him in. He watched every second of it, the obscene stretch of her delicate lower lips swallowing his thickness, making his cock jerk harder inside her.

Inch by inch, she took him in, until she sat flush against his base. Her pussy clamped down like a vice, squeezing, swallowing, quivering. She froze.

“I… I can’t… mo-ooohve…” she gasped, her whole body trembling, her hands clutching on his chest.

“Hah… then let me,” Robert chuckled, watching her hips twitch helplessly as her swells jiggled like pudding with every breath.

In one fluid motion, he rolled them over, cock still buried deep inside her. Now atop her, his weight pressed her into the mattress, her legs spread wide beneath him, slick and aching. He kissed her hard as he began to move again, slow and forceful, each thrust driving his cock deeper into her soaking, needy cunt.

As he leaned down to kiss, her breasts mashed against his chest, soft and heavy, and he felt something wet and warm between them. He sat back and stared, and the dark desire took him. Growling, he cupped both tits in his rough, big palms, thumbs teasing the tips together before he latched onto them alternately with his greedy mouth and suckled hungrily.

“Aaaaah! My king!” Margaery moaned, arching into his mouth. Her fingers curled into his hair, gently holding his head in place. His actions aroused her, telling her how much her body aroused him.

Her milk spilled into his mouth, thick and sweet, coating his tongue. She gasped and tried to wrap her legs around his waist, to lock him in tighter. But all she managed was to squeeze his hips with her soft, plush thighs, her pussy spasming around his cock as he drank from her tits.

With milk still on his tongue, Robert leaned back down flat on her and kissed her again, feeding her her own nectar. The kiss was messy, musky, sweet, and filthy. Their mouths slid wetly over each other’s, exchanging the taste of her nurturing body.

The bed groaned beneath their weight as he kept fucking her, deep and slow, his hips grinding her into the mattress. They both knew what they were doing. They both knew there would be no pulling out or moon tea. He wanted more children and she wanted to give them to him.

His body pressed over hers, sweat mixing, breaths heavy, his cock plunging into her over and over. Each thrust was brutal, making her gasp and stutter. Her cervix kissed his cockhead with every lunge, literally knocking on the gates of her womb. And she welcomed it with cries of love.

“Yes… yes… Give me another… fill me up again, my King,” she moaned, her voice high and desperate, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. She was so loved, so fucked, so full. This was her crown; his cock inside her, his seed planted deep. Their gift. Their legacy. The true meaning of being the queen. 

At last, her voice trembled in his ear, her body locked in full-body spasms.

“I… Aaaah… Your Grace… I love you!” she cried, her voice breaking as she climaxed around him again. Her cunt clenched hard, suckling him like a greedy mouth, flooding him with her nectar, smothering his cock in a hot, syrupy gush of ecstasy.

Robert no longer fought the meaning of her words. With a deep, carnal growl, he welcomed her love the only way he knew. With punishing thrusts, his hips slapped against hers, wet and animalistic.

Each squelching drive of his cock stirred the mess between them, coating him in her froth. He kissed her again, tongues colliding, their breath loud and desperate.

Her orgasm had just started to settle when his own erupted inside her.

“Gods…!” Robert groaned, buried to the hilt, his heavy balls clenched as he poured his thick, fertile seed into her womb.

“Ahhh—” She gasped sharply; eyes wide, legs quivering.

Margaery could feel it inside her. A hot rush, thick and unstoppable, pumping in hard bursts up into her deepest chamber. The heat spread like molten wax, sticking to her insides, sloshing and squelching as her pussy tried to contain it. It filled her so much that she felt her womb stir, accept it, and crave more.

The way it moved inside her, warm, sticky, virile, made her grip his shoulders even tighter. “Aah… Gods… it’s so hot… I feel you… I feel all of you inside me…”

Panting, Robert stayed on top of her, gathering his thoughts and breath. He didn’t regret this one bit. Truly, he cherished this moment, and it felt as if he felt it for the first time in a long, long time.

Their kisses stayed messy, deep, and endless, even as his cock slowly softened. Eventually, gravity and the frothy mess between them won. His cock slipped free with a wet plop, coated in their fluids, flaccid and twitching. A flood of white followed, spilling out of her gaping pussy in thick, glossy trickles, staining the sheets in a lewd, glistening puddle of sex and satisfaction.

Robert collapsed beside her, chest heaving.

Margaery, still radiant and flushed with satisfaction, wrapped her arms around his broad torso. She pressed her lips to his cheek, planting soft kisses along his short, sweat-damp beard, then began tracing lazy circles over his chest with her fingers.

“Sa-satisfied… Your Grace?” she whispered, her voice giddy with delight, still glowing.

Robert didn’t answer right away. He stared at the ceiling, the rise and fall of his breath finally calming. A new life. A new woman. A true wife. His thoughts swirled, and then he felt it. The gentle, warm wetness on his side again. Her tits were leaking once more, creamy droplets trailing down onto his skin.

His cock twitched.

He smirked to himself, quietly accepting what his body had already decided. He could already see this being their nightly ritual every night for a very long time.

"Aye, my Queen, but forgive me. Tonight’s going be a long one for you, I’m afraid."

Margaery giggled, giving him all of her as she'd promised. "With you… sleepless nights are blessings, not a bane, my love."

Such a beautiful mouth.

_____________

A/N: I won't drag this story for too long. Robert is already pretty much the strongest man in the entire world. If dragons were considered apex back in the day, then Robert is a dragonslayer.

So, before I finish up, you can comment the names of the women you want to see Robert banging. I can't promise that I'll do all of them. But as long as the story allows and I don't have to break character to do it, I will.