GOT: Wolf Becomes Stag 26 - The Braavosi Compromise & The Great Dive

"So be it, Your Grace. You're a dead man anyway."

Sighing, Robert stood in one place and watched the First Sword of Braavos charge at him with 50 of his men. The place was large enough to accommodate their battlefield. It was like a hall, the ceiling as tall as the throne room back in the Red Keep. 

Too bad the pristine marble was about to gain a crimson hue. 

"It was nice meeting you, King Robert." The First Sword of Braavos roared and aimed his sharp, thin sword at Robert's neck. "Remember this name, for it is the last you shall hear—Qarro Volentin!"

Robert didn't flinch or react to the incoming strike at his neck. He wasn't dressed in any armor, just a simple, fine tunic and breeches with a surcoat on top. He just stared back at Qarro Volentin.

"Haaaaa!"

Clank!

Robert caught Qarro's blade, a mere inch from his neck. He grabbed it with his bare hand, all the while his steely gaze looked at Qarro with an emotionless look. As if the man was nothing. That blade was nothing. The name, First Sword of Braavos, was nothing. 

"You prattle on and on… what a damn waste."

"You!" Qarro tried to pull back his sword, slicing Robert's fingers with it. But he couldn't. Robert's grip was insane. 

"I gave you the easy road, and you walked right past it. This? This is what you chose."

Wooosh!

Robert swung the spear held in his other hand. In a quick, smooth motion, the top blade sliced through Qarro's neck with a quick snap, severing the head. 

And just like that, the First Sword of Braavos was dead. His head rolled away while the body, still in Robert's grasp, sprayed blood like a fountain, coating Robert and the floor crimson. 

"Master Volentin!"

The other 50 or so men saw their commander dying and rushed at Robert in a similar fashion. But they dared to crowd around Robert, a grave mistake. 

Woosh!

"When… will… you… learn?!"

Like a dancing jester, Robert pivoted on his feet and swung the spear in a circular motion, slitting the throats of all men who came close. Normally, slicing metal was impossible. While fairy tales showcased knights slicing each other casually. In reality, when armored men fought, it was more of a brawl than a sword fight. Sure, it would start with swords initially. 

Robert, however, was never one of those. He'd always been blessed with strength, and the warhammer was his choice. That meant he could cave armor and crush his enemies. 

But now, with his inhuman strength, he ripped through Braavosi armor. His spear got chipped, its sharp edges dulled, more deadly and painful.

"Gaaaah!"

"Aaaargh!"

Men roared at the attack and then groaned in pain. Lucky ones died instantly; unlucky ones sprayed their blood and died slowly, agonizingly, forming a crimson puddle around Robert. 

Clank!

Thud!

One after another, Robert struck and killed. There were 50 men, and he reduced them to less than 10 within a few moments. Not a single man lasted beyond the first swing of their swords. Worse was that they didn't even connect. 

In that entire duration, Robert didn't take more than ten steps. Bodies just kept piling up around him.

"N-No, no, no…"

Thud!

Robert smashed the dulled spear into the second last man's chest, straight through the armor and piercing his fragile heart. To his luck, death came instantly. 

"I surrender!" The last man left threw away his sword and raised his arms sideways. "I… I surrender, Your Grace!"

"Aye, that’s smart of you." Robert didn't bother chasing him. He still needed someone to return and report, after all. 

"Run back to your Sealord; tell him what you saw. And tell him this—he’s got two days. I want all damn debt wiped clean and ten million dragons, or I’ll burn this place down."

The soldier froze. "B-But…"

"I know. But five million was before the treachery—before you had the gall to raise steel against me a second time. Remind him that every slight has its price."

The Braavosi soldier traced his steps back and ran away without arguing further. He was just a messenger, anyway. 

Taking that moment, Robert returned to the vault's door and sat down with his back against it, resting. He didn't care how long it would take, he wasn't leaving Braavos empty-handed. 

He just hoped Stannis would hold the fort until he returned.

####

Ferrego Antaryon was the current Sealord of Braavos. Being a man in his advanced age, he was sickly and failing. Barely able to stay awake and attend to important issues, he was woken up by his attendants in a rush.

Then, the attendants made him ready before taking him to his solar in the Palace. He didn't lack money and luxury. His House Antaryon was one of the wealthiest in Braavos. He had the most power, but it was still not above magisters and keyholders.

"What troubles you?" he asked, his voice thin as he eased into his seat. "I had thought you Westerosi lords cared for Braavos only when their purses ran light and the Iron Bank ran heavy."

“Hah! A fair notion, my Lord, for most perhaps—but not for House Tyrell.” The portly man chuckled, stroking his well-groomed mustache. “I am Mace Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden, Defender of the Marches, Warden of the South! And I come not for myself alone, but on behalf of many great houses—aye, even the Lannisters.”

Eyes barely open, the Sealord nodded. "And what can I do for such many great houses?"

"My Lord, we seek to hire swords, aye. Our first thought was the Golden Company, but alas, they are otherwise engaged, I suppose. Now, as you have oft employed them—and still do, I hear—I had hoped you might spare a company or two for our cause?"

The Sealord frowned. "The Reach and Westerlands need men? Since when? I'm sure you can muster a grand army alone."

"We may, aye, but wisdom counsels against it. Lord Tywin wagers it all, for his house stands to gain or fall in equal measure. But House Tyrell is no desperate gambler—we thrive, we endure. Our strength lies in growing, not in reckless risk, and so we seek to see our ranks flourish—"

Bam! Bam! Bam!

The door opened. Two attendants walked in with a Braavosi soldier between them. 

"We lost, My Lord!" The soldier shouted. "Master Volentin is dead. All the others died, too. He sent me back to give you the message. He now wants ten million dragons instead."

Tired, the Sealord placed his arms on the table. "Is he wounded?"

"No, not a single scratch. We didn't last a single move."

"So it seems the rumors were true. He did defeat the Golden Company single-handedly," the Sealord said and looked at his chief attendant. "Has the information from Meereen been confirmed?"

"Two of the three messengers have confirmed it, My Lord. Daenerys Targaryen and her three dragons were found dead." The chief attendant answered. 

For a long moment, the Sealord said nothing, his gaze distant, lost in thought. Then, with a slow scratch of his beard, he spoke. "To fight him... is lunacy. If he can bring down dragons, Braavos will be no more than a ruin beneath his feet. We could muster thousands, overpower him in time, but the cost... the damage to our city... it would be too great."

Weakly, the Sealord Antaryon tried to stand up. 

"Prepare my palanquin, Chief Attendant. A folly has been wrought by the Iron Bank. Whether or not I gave my consent is of no matter. It has been done, and that is the truth of it."

Seeing the Sealord leave, Mace Tyrell jumped to his feet. "W-What happened, My Lord?"

"Ah, you are the father of his woman, yes?" The Sealord looked back at Mace. "Robert Baratheon lives, Tyrell—and he is strong. The Golden Company, you will not find, for it is no more. The Targaryen pretender had abducted your King with the Golden Company and Iron Bank's treachery. But your King—King Robert—he slaughtered them all. The Golden Company was torn asunder, its leaders put to the sword. And then, he hunted down the three dragons and their damned mother. A truce, Tyrell. Seek one with him before it's too late."

"What?" Mace frowned. It was far too absurd to believe. "Now, now, I grant you, Robert is a formidable man, no denying that. But really, you make him sound like The Warrior himself! The Golden Company, alone? Preposterous! How could one man—"

"Stranger things have sailed the seas of Essos, Lord Tyrell. I deal in what is certain, and Robert is no longer a man. Yet, if dragons walked this world, then perhaps there is truth to his power as well. Best you return to your house and bid them to stay clear of the storm. There’s naught to be gained in opposing him."

By then, the Sealord's palanquin arrived. The old, frail man sat into it and let the eight, strong attendants carry him out of the Palace. 

Soon, the closer they got to the Iron Bank, the more chaotic the streets became. Men and women ran away from the Iron Bank while distant screams echoed nonstop. Once the Iron Bank was in sight, wounded soldiers appeared, running out of the bank's massive gates. Some were limping, some without an arm, and others without a leg. 

There was blood everywhere. 

The Sealord saw all that through the palanquin. "I only sent 50 men."

Even the chief attendant beside him was confused. Nonetheless, they continued and eventually arrived at the bank. Outside the gates, the Sealord got out, and with the help of his attendants, he walked into the bank.

The smell of blood was pungent. As soon as they entered the bank's threshold, there were dead bodies littered all over. But they all had a pattern. They all died facing the doors, as if trying to run away. 

The Sealord, now guarded by his attendants, walked deeper into the bloodied bank and eventually arrived at the vaults. 

Hell was an understatement if used to describe the spacious hall. There were no clanking swords or roaring men. There were just dead bodies littered on every inch of the marble floor. Blood puddles all around. 

Far in the distance, in front of a closed vault's door, King Robert's lone figure stood, arms crossed, leaning his back against the vault. His entire body was coated in blood from head to toe. Even his hair looked red, not black. 

The place where Robert stood was the only part with no dead bodies. 

"What happened here? I didn't order an attack." The Sealord erupted in aged anger, seeing the loss of life. "Fifty men, I sent—fifty! Yet here, I count hundreds."

"That is… one of the guard captains." The chief attendant recognized some faces. "They must have reacted to the chaos and attacked."

The Sealord sighed weakly. "Such pointless loss."

"So, you're the Sealord, are you?" Robert's voice rolled like distant thunder. "Come to parley or test your steel?"

"I seek no quarrel, King Robert," the Sealord said, leaning on his attendants as he stepped over the fallen men to draw closer. "I know my words hold little weight now. But I swear, I had no hand in the Iron Bank's treachery. It was only after your capture that I learned of their dealings with the pretender."

Robert let out a rough laugh, full of scorn. "Your words are piss in the wind, Sealord. The Iron Bank’s treachery won’t be swept under some damn rug. The reputation destroyed will take decades, if not centuries to recover."

"You speak the truth, King Robert. Forgive me, but that very reason led me to strike at you, sending my First Sword. A fool’s hope, perhaps, but in my mind, silencing you was the only way to protect the bank’s name. The wager the Iron Bank placed would’ve seen its reward had you met your end. And as it goes, history remembers only those who emerge victorious."

“Spare me your buts and ifs, Sealord. You lost. The Iron Bank lost. But there’s still plenty left for me to take. So, tell me—what now?” Robert asked. Not even the first of the two days had passed yet. 

"I stand here for that reason. I accept your terms, King Robert. All your debts to the Iron Bank will be erased, and ten million gold dragons will be transferred to you. And as a token, I’ll send a company of a thousand men to help you end the siege of King's Landing."

“Hah! Keep your men, Sealord. I’ll break the damn siege myself.” Robert let out a booming laugh, striding forward without a care. He ignored the rattled attendants and walked past them, headed towards the exit. "Send the gold once I end the damn siege."

"Ah!" 

But midway, Robert stopped and walked back. He went back to the Vault and opened it, finally letting out all the bank representatives he'd captured. But he didn't let Tycho Nestoris leave. 

"I'm taking this one." Robert dragged the man along. "And in case you're planning a way out, Sealord. Remember, Braavos isn't that far from Westeros."

####

As soon as Robert arrived at his hired ship, he was greeted by Ser Davos. The man had located his ship and transferred his men over to keep it safe. 

"Your Grace!" 

"Davos." Robert gave a grunt and a nod but didn’t slow his stride. He was drenched in blood, dripping from boots to beard, and not in the mood for talk. His steps left a trail of red behind him. "Get the ship moving. I'll clean up first."

In the ship, the bath wasn't similar to what he had in the Red Keep. There was no tub, there couldn't be. Nor was there warm water. All he could afford was a bucket of water and plenty of pieces of soft, clean cloth so he could wipe the blood off himself. 

So, Robert grabbed a bucket full of water and went to his personal chamber on the ship. A small but decent-sized cabin, fitting for a king. It had a bed and a table on the side. He could have cleaned up on the deck itself, but he didn't feel like doing that. 

He liked to believe he wasn't Eddard, nor Robert. He wanted to believe he wasn't even a human anymore. But all that blood, all that gore, and all those killings that came so easily weighed somewhat on his psyche. 

It wasn't hard to deal with them. They didn't sadden him or depress him. Just a little unsettled. It was soothing, as not having those emotions was scarier. The last thing he wanted to be was the Mad King.

Soon, he discarded all his clothes, getting naked. Then he pulled the chair away from the table and sat down on it. He grabbed a soft, clean cloth, soaked it in water, and started wiping his torso first. 

Almost there. 

He noticed his belly; not as fatty now, but it was still noticeable. It was truly a challenge to get rid of it fully. While he remembered Robert as being big-bodied from the start, this new body was far more muscular than Robert ever was. His arms were thick enough to be someone's thighs, pure muscle and might. His chest, broad with patchy hair, was firm and in shape. His legs were even more defined, the big muscles forming noticeable patterns. 

As he wiped his arms, he lost himself in a trance-like state. The past many months had seen great ups and downs. Golden Company, Meereen… Daenerys. He felt no guilt for what he did. But he did feel mournful. If only Daenerys was sane in the head, he would have spared her. 

Now, her tragic story ended at his hands. It made him wonder how his own story would end. Or was it even his story? He was no more than a dead man walking.

Knock! Knock!

"Your Grace?" 

Before he could respond, the door was pushed open. His back was turned towards it, so he had to look behind at the two figures standing in the door frame. 

"What happened?" He asked the two women. The only two women on the ship. One was Rhaea, and the other was Missandei. 

Rhaea was the first to enter, shaking her head. She walked over to Robert's right side and took the piece of cloth from his hand. "We came to help you clean."

Missandei closed the door behind her and joined Robert on his left side, grabbing a fresh cloth and using it to wipe the blood off of him. But she was more tight-lipped, her eyes constantly looking down at his resting shaft. 

"You're no serving girls, and you bloody well don’t need to act like it," Robert advised them. "You're coming with me to find good, noble husbands."

"But we're not in King's Landing yet, Your Grace," Rhaea replied, her silver, waist-length hair left to fall behind her back. Her loose, silky dress was already falling off the side of her shoulders. 

Robert looked up at her face. She resembled Daenerys a lot, yet she did not. Rhaea was taller and curvier, her face different, as were her eyes. But there was still some resemblance. It reminded him of his actions, followed by pity.

"And…" Missandei voiced on the left side, similarly dressed as Rhaea. Her golden, sparkling eyes innocently tried to focus on Robert's face, albeit failing. "W-when we're in the Red Keep, we should make ourselves useful."

Robert chuckled, feeling their soft hands wipe him all over. "I already have a wife and a son waiting for me."

"But you can't do her like you can do me," Rhaea sultrily replied, her hand tracing dangerously close to his lap.

Then she dared to step in front of Robert and slowly sank to her knees. With the damp cloth in hand, she started by wiping the sweat and grime from his belly, her touch firm yet teasing. But she didn’t stop there. 

Her strokes drifted lower, slowly, intentionally, until she was trailing the cloth over the thick root of his manhood, feigning innocence as she pressed just a little too firmly.

The reaction was instant. His cock twitched, stiffening under her touch, growing heavier, thicker; until it stood at full prowess, impossible to ignore.

"See… I'm sure you won't mind if we… earned our stay." 

Rhaea let the damp cloth slip from her fingers, discarding it entirely. There was no need for pretense anymore. Her delicate, pale hand wrapped around the thick base of his cock, her slim fingers struggling to fully enclose it. Now that she knew he was a King, it all made sense; such a size was worthy of a crown.

Her blue eyes flicked up to meet his as her grip tightened, feeling the warmth of his sensitive skin in her palm. She stroked his length in slow, deliberate motions. His cock twitched under her touch, thick veins pulsing beneath her fingers, swelling with heat and blood.

Then the silver-haired temptress kissed dangerously close to his groin, her lips barely grazing the base of his cock. She gulped deeply, savoring the scent of him, the raw, masculine musk of sweat and battle. Her tongue flicked out, tracing along the underside of his shaft in a slow, teasing glide.

Then, finally, she parted her lips and took his swollen crown into her mouth. A king’s cock, she thought.

Robert gulped and watched her beautiful face bob on his cock. It felt strange but also needy. It had been days since he last bedded someone. At least Rhaea, he felt, was comfortable with it. 

Still, as intoxicating as it was, something caught his attention.

Missandei stood frozen at his side, her golden eyes locked onto the scene in front of her. Her full lips parted slightly, her chest rising and falling with each uneven breath. Yet, hesitation lingered.

Robert reached out, wrapping a thick arm around her slim waist and pulling her flush against his side. The soft press of her body against his felt like flames licking his side. She smelled faintly of clean linen and something sweet; honeyed figs, perhaps. Her long, wavy hair framed her delicate face, making her look almost ethereal in the dim candlelight.

"Are you sure about this?" He asked her, and Rhaea indirectly. "I… I hoped to give you respectful lives. You don't need to sell your body to anyone."

Rhaea’s throat clenched around his cock, her lips stretched wide as she forced more of his girth down. The wet, sloppy noises of her efforts filled the cabin, each gag sending a shudder down Robert’s spine.

Then she pulled up with a gasp.

"N-No… Your Grace," she choked out, licking her lips. "Do you think we can live in the Red Keep without a cock? Just waiting for some man to fancy us while we grow cold and untouched?" 

She traced a teasing finger along his throbbing length, feeling the heat of it against her skin. "We need this… as much as… you… need us."

Before he could respond, she dove back down, her mouth sealing around his crown, her tongue swirling as she sucked him deeper, harder, desperate to prove her point.

Robert exhaled sharply, his free hand sinking into Rhaea’s silky hair, holding her in place as she suckled his cock. Then his gaze drifted to Missandei. 

Out of the two, she was the one he had a soft spot for. He had plucked her from Meereen, from Daenerys’ service. He wanted her to live a better life, to know freedom… yet here she was, standing beside him, watching Rhaea hungrily devour his cock.

"That’s right, Your Grace," Missandei murmured.

Robert barely had time to react before she reached for the straps of her dress and let the silky fabric slip down her body, pooling at her feet. His cock twitched in Rhaea’s mouth at the sight. He had seen and claimed Missandei plenty of times, but she was always delicious to look at.

Those handful tits, brown tips already stiffened from arousal. That tight, sweltering heat between her legs, glistening just for him.

His large hand curled around her ass, gripping the supple flesh, kneading it as if he could never get enough. His fingers dipped lower, between her thighs, brushing against her soaked folds from behind, feeling the heat of her moistness coat his fingertips.

Missandei bit her lip, then leaned forward. The cool, damp cloth in her hands pressing against his broad, sweat-slicked chest. She wiped him down in slow, deliberate strokes, tending to him, before suddenly tilting her face up and pressing a kiss to his lips.

Robert growled into her mouth, his grip tightening on the base of her thigh as she deepened the kiss, his fingertip gliding up and down her twitching pussy lips. Her tongue flicked against his, tasting her sweet submission, mixing with the musk of sweat and battle.

His fingers kept teasing her between her legs as she cleaned, pushing deeper each time until she whimpered against his mouth.

Then, finally, Rhaea pulled off his cock, her lips puffy, her breath ragged. With one last lingering glance, she stood and stripped off her dress in one fluid motion, revealing the soft, pale curves of her body. White as fresh snow, her skin looked untouched. She climbed onto his right thigh, straddling the thick muscle, her wet slit pressing against him.

Missandei followed, taking his left thigh, joining Rhaea. Both women started grinding against him as they pressed their bodies close.

Robert hummed as their lips found his neck at the same time, hot and hungry, their tongues tracing over his skin on each side. The sensation was overwhelming; the softness of their bodies pressed against his, the pussy coating his thighs, their hands wrapping around his cock, one stroking his shaft, the other fondling his balls.

He turned his head, capturing Rhaea’s lips in a rough, claiming kiss. She moaned into his mouth, her grinding turned needier. He then turned to Missandei, kissing her just as fiercely, swallowing her gasps as his fingers rolled over her stiffened nipple.

"M-Missande… Can I go first? I really… need this." Rhaea asked.

Missandei, already slick with her own arousal, glanced at Rhaea. Her silver hair was disheveled, her chest rising and falling with eagerness. She knew how badly the woman wanted this. With a soft nod, she lifted herself off Robert’s thigh, stepping back to watch.

Rhaea wasted no time, she shifted her legs to straddle his full lap and gripped Robert’s girthy, glistening cock and sank down onto him in one smooth motion, gasping as his size stretched her wide.

"Ummmhhh—As go-oo-hd as I remember!" She whimpered, her nails digging into his shoulders as she adjusted, as her body trembled from the sheer fullness.

Then her hips moved.

She rode him with reckless desperation, her tight pussy clenching around his cock as her curving ass bounced on his lap. Her breasts pressed against his broad chest, her hardened nipples rubbing against his sweaty skin as she wrapped her arms around his neck. 

She kissed him hungrily, her lips tasting of need, of surrender, of something she could no longer fight.

But Robert wasn’t content to just let her fuck herself. His massive hands grabbed her ass, his fingers digging into the supple flesh before he took full control. He lifted her up like she weighed nothing, then slammed her back down, stretching her slick, clutching pussy wider with each thrust.

“Oohhh! Yes—” Rhaea cried out as he used her like a plaything, manhandling her with ease. A life she had chosen now. She was weightless in his grip, bouncing wildly on his cock as he impaled her deeper, harder, dragging helpless moans from her throat.

Her silver hair whipped around her face, his cock spearing her depths. She clung to him, her small hands gripping his shoulders for dear life as his cock struck deep, so deep she swore she could feel him rearranging her insides.

The Naathi beauty stood beside them, watching intently, her thighs pressed together as she shamelessly touched herself. Her fingers worked between her slick folds, her breath shaky, her golden-brown skin glowing with arousal.

Robert certainly noticed.

He stilled his movements, letting Rhaea keep fucking herself on his saluting cock while his hand shot out; grabbing Missandei’s wrist and yanking her closer.

Missandei gasped, stumbling into him, her damp fingers now pressed against his chest.

"You like watching, don't you?" he asked, his tone thick with amusement and lust.

Robert wasted no more time. His free hand slipped between Missandei’s legs, and he plunged two thick fingers inside her wet pussy without warning.

Her knees nearly buckled.

"A-Ah—" Missandei mewled, thighs trembling as his fingers stretched her wide, curling, pressing against that perfect spot deep inside her.

For any other man, this would’ve been a challenge, but Robert’s fingers were thick, calloused, and powerful. Two of them were enough to fill her like a lesser man’s cock.

His palm pressed against her swollen clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles as he worked his fingers inside her. Churning, swirling, and twisting, plucking her like a bard’s harp.

Missandei’s chest fell forward, her glistening swells resting against his shoulder, her soft moans mixing with Rhaea’s desperate cries. The cabin was filled with the wet, obscene sounds of squelches in dripping heat, of Rhaea’s soaked pussy slamming down on his cock, of breathy gasps and mewls of pleasure.

Rhaea clung to him tighter, her movements growing erratic, her body seizing up.

"My King—!" She gasped, her voice breaking as her orgasm struck like a storm. Her whole body tensed, her pussy gripping down on him in throbbing waves, her slick arousal gushing down his cock as she came.

She shuddered against him, her face buried in the nook of his shoulder, breathlessly ruined.

Slowly, she pulled away from him, wobbling as she stood, her legs weak, her thighs glistening with her sticky climax. But her gaze dropped to his still-hard, unrelenting cock, throbbing and desperate for more.

She licked her lips, then turned to Missandei. "Your turn, my Naathi sister.”

Missandei hesitated only for a moment before stepping forward, but Robert had other plans. Before she could climb onto his lap, he exhaled and stood up.

"Let me straighten my back."

His cock bobbed thick and heavy, still glistening with Rhaea’s arousal as he moved to the bed, sprawling out on his back. His muscled thighs spread wide, his brawny chest rising and falling. He looked at Missandei expectantly, his cock standing at full mast, waiting for her.

She understood immediately. Slim and tight, her caramel skin glowing with thirst, she crawled onto the bed and straddled his hips. She gripped his cock, guiding it between her slick folds, teasing herself with his cockhead, shuddering at the heat of it.

Even after all the times Robert had taken her, his size was still overwhelming, a beastly thing that made her stomach tighten with both anticipation and struggle. She took him slowly, inch by inch, her slick folds stretching around his impossible girth, every thick ridge and pulsing vein dragging against her sensitive walls. 

“Ohhh—” A shuddering gasp escaped her lips as she sank lower, her thighs quivering, her body shuddering to accommodate the sheer fullness. The deeper he went, the more she felt her insides yield, a sinful mix of pleasure and sweet, unbearable pressure coiling in her belly.

His cock split her apart in the most sinful way.

The moment Missandei started moving, rocking her slick heat along his cock, Rhaea slid in behind Missandei, straddling one of Robert’s thick, muscular thighs. She wasted no time grinding against his leg, letting her juices smear hot and wet over the coarse hair of his leg. The contrast—soft, needy folds against rough, battle-worn skin—made her shiver with pleasure. 

Robert groaned, feeling Rhaea’s slick folds drag against his thigh while Missandei pulsed around his cock. Rocking up and down.

She leaned forward, taller than Missandei, peering over her shoulder to meet Robert’s gaze with a teasing smirk before reaching around. Her hands found Missandei’s jolting tits, cupping them as if offering them up for his approval.

Robert gripped the supple mounds as Rhaea held them in place, his calloused fingers pinching and twisting Missandei’s dark, pebbled nipples. 

“Ummm—Aaaaah… Y-Your… Gra—ah!”

Missandei gasped, her body arching in a lustful, long moment of quivering indulgence, collapsing back into Rhaea’s embrace. Her hips faltered for a moment before Rhaea took control. 

"That’s it, ride him properly," Rhaea murmured, steadying Missandei’s movements, guiding her up and down with her hands on Missandei’s bosom. A slow, torturous rhythm. 

Rhaea never stopped grinding either, rubbing her soaked slit and sensitive nub along Robert’s thigh, smearing her need over him, her breaths turning ragged as their pleasure built together.

Missandei could feel Rhaea’s body plastered on her back. The soft bounce of her magnificent breasts smushing against her hot, sweaty skin, her hands kneading and gripping the underside of her tits while Robert pinched and tugged her sensitive peaks. His cock thrusting in and out of her needy pussy, scraping every inch of her soaked walls It was all so overwhelming, too overwhelming. 

Rhaea took that moment to murmur something filthier, a naughty idea that tickled her lust. "Let me taste too."

She eased back, sliding down between Robert’s spread legs. 

Missandei gasped as Rhaea suddenly pushed her forward, forcing her breasts to flatten against Robert’s broad, scarred chest. The shift only deepened Robert’s cock inside her, making her whimper as her hips instinctively kept pivoting up and down. 

Meanwhile, Rhaea settled between Robert’s legs, eyes fixated on his cock thrusting upward, watching the way Robert’s thick shaft disappeared into Missandei’s tight, clenching pussy. His heavy balls sat just in front of her, jolting with each thrust.

Then she leaned in, pressing her face between his thighs, her tongue snaking out to lap at his balls. She took her time, rolling them in her mouth, feeling their heat, the subtle pulsing of his arousal. 

Each time Missandei rose up, just barely lifting off Robert’s cock, Rhaea flicked her tongue along the base, lapping at the slick mess of their sex. She teased lower, tracing the sensitive skin between his cock and the darker, filthier places beneath, dragging slow, wet licks that made Robert’s hips jolt upward with primal greed.

Rhaea had never gone this low for a man before. Not like this. Not with such filthy, desperate hunger. But Robert was no common lord, no brothel patron tossing gold for a quick fuck. He was a god in the flesh; a King, a warrior, a man who took what he wanted and gave in return tenfold. She wanted him to have it all, needed him to have it all.

Missandei's body trembled violently above him, her climax rippling through her like a violent storm. Her thighs quivered, her wet pussy spasming around his cock as she came, gasping for him in a shattered moan. 

“Aahh…. My—my King! Oh!”

The pleasure was too much, too overwhelming. Missandei collapsed forward, nails digging into Robert’s sweat-slick chest as the last waves of her orgasm rocked through her. And in that moment, she knew; knew no man could ever fuck her like this again. 

No future husband, no timid noble boy, no sweet-tongued lover would ever match the raw power of Robert Baratheon inside her.

Moments later, she finally slid off his cock, gasping, trembling; Still feeling the phantom touch of his cock as her pussy throbbed and twitched.

Robert moved back and sat up against the bed’s frame. He spread his legs, letting them both see his throbbing length, still slick, still raging hard, still needing to finish. Without a word, both women moved between his thighs, crawling in, crowding, hungry for the mess they’d made of him.

Their lips pressed wet, eager kisses along the pulsing length, trailing up and down his cock like worshipers at a holy altar. They licked, suckled, and stroked him nonstop. 

Missandei was swirling her tongue around the flushed crown, Rhaea lapping at the heavy sack beneath, rolling his balls in her warm mouth. 

Their slender hands wrapped around his shaft, gliding over him with sticky, messy strokes, smearing their own spit and his leftover precum along the thick, pulsing veins.

Robert growled, his muscles tensing, his breath coming in harsh, ragged grunts. He gritted his teeth, gripping their heads, his thighs flexing as the pressure finally snapped. The sight of those two beauties working hard to pleasure him was enough. 

"Gah—!"

His roar filled the cabin, guttural and primal, as his cock pulsed recklessly. Thick, white ropes of sticky cream erupted from him, splattering across their faces, their lips, their waiting tongues. 

The first thick spurt landed across Missandei’s cheek, dripping down to her lips. The second shot across Rhaea’s brow, streaking through her silver hair. He kept coming, a thick, potent string painting their skin, glossing their noses, their flushed chests, dripping down onto their swells in hot, messy strands. 

It was endless, days of built-up need, battle-worn frustration, a King’s virility unleashed.

Rhaea grinned, licking a trail off her lips before dipping down, taking his cockhead into her mouth, suckling the last thick drops of his whip straight from the source. She moaned around him, savoring the taste, then pulled off with a playful giggle, her tongue darting out to catch another stray drip from her chin.

"And that's how you clean a King." Rhaea teasingly proclaimed, hinting at the future. 

Robert sighed and relaxed into the bed. It was too hard to control his sexual desire once it awakened. Even more so when he doesn't spill somewhere for days. 

Somewhere, in his heart. He wondered if this was right. Margaery, the woman he had to marry, was certainly no whore. At some point, he'd prove himself too much for her. 

I can try entertaining this idea… maybe. 

He decided. A glance at their silky bodies was enough. One was a dusky dame, and the other a snow seductress.

Until they find someone worthy… at least.

#### 

The next morning, Robert woke up feeling hot and cramped. No matter how beautiful the two women were, holding their bare bodies on each of his sides wasn't the best way to sleep. Especially on that small bed. 

But it was still a rather pleasant rest. After their first round, many more followed. He wanted to forget about all the blood and gore, and they gave him an outlet. He paced himself on them until they fell asleep, and he followed suit. Surprisingly, Missandei had more stamina than Rhaea.

Nonetheless, he got up, grabbed a loose tunic and breeches, and left the cabin. Naked, he went to the deck with no shame and grabbed a bucket with a rope attached. Then, he scooped some sea water and just poured it all over himself. 

After that, he wiped himself with the tunic before wearing it and getting decently dressed. Salt water wasn't the preferred choice, but at least it was water. And the warm breeze of the sea was enough to evaporate all the soaked bits. 

"Your Grace."

"Just a moment, Davos." Robert continued to walk, letting Davos follow him around. He went to the pantry, grabbed himself an apple and a smoked chicken, and then returned to the top deck so he could eat with a view. 

"Your Grace, now’s not the time to return," Ser Davos said, his tone low with concern. "Better to strike from the North—sail for White Harbor first."

Robert tore into the chicken leg, grease running down his fingers. "Bah! Don’t trouble yourself, Davos. I’ve got my ways. I’ve had my fill of the Lannisters—first that gold-plated bitch ruined my life, now her father wants my throne? Hah! I’ll have old Tywin singing the bloody Rains of Castamere right before I put him in the dirt."

"Blackwater Bay is blocked, Your Grace. No chance of reaching King's Landing by ship. I managed to slip through, though, using a few old connections. Lord Stannis sent me to haggle with the Iron Bank for a loan."

Robert sneered, the mere mention of the Iron Bank souring the juicy chicken."Damn the crown’s debts, Davos. I’ve settled it. The Iron Bank’s wiping the slate clean and throwing ten million gold on top. Call it payment for the treachery they served me."

Davos gulped. He was Master of Ships, a member of the small council. He understood the myriad of issues that the Crown faced. While Tyrion managed to fix the economy, the debts were still far from repaid. 

"Did you truly slay the dragons… and that Targaryen?" Davos asked, his voice low. He wasn’t some wide-eyed fool—he’d heard enough whispers in Braavos. "And the Golden Company… you destroyed them?"

Robert chuckled, neither confirming nor denying. 

"Why do you think I’ve got the guts to sail straight back to King’s Landing?"

Davos didn't ask any more questions. It wasn't his place. He was just a small lord, newly established, thanks to Stannis' blessing. He was happy with what he had. And if King Robert had what it took, he was more than happy to follow. 

There was nothing to do on the ship. From Braavos to King's Landing was a week-long journey in good weather. Thankfully, they had just that. 

Still, Robert had nothing else to do but spend time talking with Davos or spending time with Missandei and Rhaea in his cabin. Since he'd decided to keep them in the Red Keep for the time being, he accepted their willing helping hand. 

It wasn't sexual pleasure all the time, however. Rhaea and Missandei both had lived a harsh life. They had plenty of stories to share. Of course, Robert would follow up with a good, deep spearing on the bed, the chair, and the table. 

Days later, they finally entered Blackwater Bay. The bay was too big to block completely, so a more narrow section was chosen as a target by the enemy navy. Sadly, the navy was far too grand as it not just included the Lannister fleet but also the Redwyne fleet as Lord Redwyne came under House Tyrell's influence. 

"That's it. We can't go any closer." Davos advised, handing the far-eye to Robert. 

Robert used the tool to look into the distance. King's Landing and the massive cliff walls of Aegon's High Hill were visible in the distance. So was the Red Keep atop the cliff. There were ships everywhere, flying the Lannister or the Redwyne sigil. There were also ships of the Iron Fleet at places. 

"This is good enough," Robert said and looked back at the two women. "By tomorrow, I'll lift the damn siege. Until then, keep yourselves out of trouble. Davos, you're stayin' here. Keep the bloody ship safe, far from harm."

"Aye, Your Grace. But how do you mean to reach the city? It's still a long way off." Davos glanced at the distant skyline, his gut tightening. The city might be in sight, but it looked small—too small—and that made it feel all the farther away.

Robert stretched his arms, his shoulders, then his neck. Then, he fastened his breeches tighter before walking over to the edge of the ship's deck. 

"Of course, I'm swimming the whole damn way!"

"..."

Speechless, Ser Davos wondered if he heard it wrong. The distance was at least two dozen miles, and that was a conservative estimate. So, he looked back at the two women just to be sure he had heard it right. 

"Did he say he's going to sw—"

SPLASH!

“YOUR GRACE!”

Panicked, Ser Davos almost jumped off at the sound of the splash. He grimly looked down from the edge. Into the deep, blue water.

______________

Question: So, since Margaery has already given birth to a son. What should be the outcome? 

[NOTE: House Tyrell does not matter in these situations. Those mfs fucked up anyway. Their influence on Robert is now 0. And with Robert's strength, nobody can influence him.]

Choice 1: Robert should marry Margaery and make their son the crown prince.

Choice 2: Margaery will die, but Robert will save his son. Hence, he can raise an heir without a wife.

Choice 3: Margaery and his son will both die.