TRAITORS! TRAITORS TO THE CROWN! MY OWN FAMILY! FIRST MYRCELLA, THEN MOTHER! The Imp ran off, the Commander of my Kingsguard captured like a common sellsword! NOW YOU LAY SIEGE TO YOUR OWN KIN! THE GODS SPIT ON YOU FOR YOUR TREASON!"
-(-)-
Joffrey Baratheon sat seething in the Iron Throne, taking comfort from the symbol of his power and the weapon that sat in his lap. He was king. He sat the Iron Throne. No one else. No matter how the many blades that made up its surface seemed to prick at his skin more than they ever had before, it was his.
His.
The Master of Coin had fled first. Baelish. The simpering snake. Absconding with Joffrey's favourite toy under everyone's noses. The interim Hand, the Imp that grandfather had sent him had fled weeks ago. Back to the true Hand who had so thoroughly conspired against him. Allied with that sword swallower who thought he could steal his throne!
And mother... Mother had left before any of them. Left him. Betrayed him. All for that squealing quim Myrcella! She thought she could take what was his too! He was glad he had taken Stark's head! They had all proven him right that day! Even if his whore sister survived, the scars on her back would never let her forget what a scheming snake he had proven her to be! She should have stayed, let Joffrey have his fill. He would have taken her to a brothel and let the patrons rape her to death for a single silver stag. It was a kinder end than she deserved and a kinder one than she would receive after everything they had done! Her and mother! Forget not staining a king's hands with such barbarity, it was his right and duty to deliver their punishment himself! Such suffering that they wouldn't even be able to regret! Just wish for an end that they would not receive!
"Your grace..."
The king startled, looking at the ancient man standing beneath him with bowed head.
Yes. Mother, Uncle Jaime, Baelish, the Imp, Grandfather, all of them were against him now. All he had left were the Grandmaester and the Master of Whispers. They were the only ones he could still trust.
"Yes," with no Hand, these two were his best insight into the situation. "How are our defenses?"
"The, eh," the decrepit creature halted, swaying on his feet. "The walls are as strong as they have ever been, your grace. And while the army surrounds us by land, they have shown no ability or interest in blockading Blackwater Bay. It will not be a simple task, but the possibility yet exists for resupply via the Narrow Sea."
"A possibility that only exists for so long as Lords Renly and Tywin do not curtail it," Varys continued. "While Lord Stannis may have absconded with the royal fleet, they were by no means the only ships in the kingdoms. Had Lord Tywin any foresight, he will doubtless have sent word for the ships of Lannisport to make their way here with all speed."
"You're the Master of Whispers, aren't you?" Joffrey spat. "Has he done that or hasn't he?"
The question seemed to catch the simpering eunuch unawares. "My birds indicate as much."
"So he has?"
"Yes, your grace."
"SAY THAT, THEN!" the king seethed. Did he have to start pulling teeth to get a simple answer out of this whoreson?
"Of course, your grace. My apologies," the eunuch bowed lower.
"Unfortunately, so far as men to hold the walls... We have very few, your grace," Pycelle picked up. "The gold cloaks aren't up to the task. The men who were brought in to bolster our forces are loyal to Lord Lannister before us and are therefore not to be trusted. And anything we might have considered a relieving force–"
"–Is currently camped outside the northern gates among the Reach banners," Varys finished.
"I'm afraid, your grace, your options are few. With our limited forces we cannot withstand a determined assault. We can weather a siege for a time, but only until we lose control of the bay." The ancient maester appeared wracked with regret. "It pains me to say so, your grace, but I recommend meeting with Lord Lannister to discuss terms of surrender."
"Surrender," Joffrey echoed in a flat tone, eyes narrowed. "You believe I should bow my head and beg mercy. And do you agree with this, eunuch?"
"Our position is grim, this I do not deny. I see no outcome in which we come out victorious," Varys stated before anything else. "However, I believe another option than surrender remains open to you. One I believe Lord Tywin also desires, though his circumstances demand he not convey it openly."
"Once again, Varys. You believe or you know?"
"Believe, in this instance your grace," the eunuch answered dutifully, a small smile appearing on his face as though his king's reprimand were a joke. "Lord Tywin is not a man prone to strategic oversights. The bay remaining open is conspicuous. As I conferred to you, ships are on their way but are nowhere near arriving. Tellingly, the Reach forces were moving slowly before Lord Tywin's alliance with them but began to move as an army should under his command. He increased their pace where if he had kept it as it was, the army and the Lannister ships would have arrived all at once. Lord Tywin has given you an option to escape this encirclement."
"Escape." The word tasted like bile.
"Indeed, your grace. Our vessels are few but it would be more than possible to allow your and Prince Tommen's escape. Trusting in the Reach and Stormlands to abide surrender would be a risk, whereas if you both leave the city, you can take ship to the safety of the Westerlands or to Essos."
"I see." His body shifted, and he felt another blade part the skin. "I see. You have given me your best counsel." And didn't that make him want to laugh. "One advises surrender. The other proposes I flee." He looked to his kingsguard, not caring which it was. "Take them."
The two kingsguard standing before the throne moved at once, the rotund Boris Blount securing the eunuch while Meryn Trant secured the old maester's arms by breaking one of them.
"Your grace–!" Varys spoke with visible and audible distress.
"I AM KING!" The pronouncement punctuated by the raising of his crossbow and loosing a bolt into the eunuch's soft flesh. The sound as satisfying as it had ever been. More so for the chance to personally execute a traitor. "This is my throne! Kings do not beg! Kings do not run! You'd have me flee like the Breaker's dragonspawn whore?!" He looked to Trant, knowing he would do as commanded for something of this nature. "They belong to my grandfather. Send their heads back to him over the wall."
"As you command, your grace."
Still seething, he retired to his royal chambers. Looking out over the city. The armies of Lannister, Baratheon and Tyrell, their banners barely visible as flecks of colour from this distance. Traitors. Traitors all of them! His uncle and his grandfather making war against him, their rightful king!
There was more he felt than fury, but he would not show it. He was king. Kings were proud and unshakeable. Just like... Just like his mother had taught him to be. His mother. The whore who spread her legs for the Breaker to keep his treacherous sister safe. Probably spread her legs too.
He needed a plan. For the time being, he would do the only sensible thing Pycelle suggested. Arrange supply by sea. He would order one of his kingsguard to make it happen. And then... He would recruit an army! They didn't have enough men? They had a thousand thousand people in this city who would gladly lay down their lives for their king! Remind them where their loyalty lay! Who made their comfortable lives possible!
Tommen asked him at dinner. About what would happen. About why their grandfather was fighting against them.
And Joffrey told him the truth.
He told him the unvarnished truth. Their grandfather had betrayed them. Their whole family had betrayed them. And if Tommen decided to join them, if he tried to betray Joffrey too? Then he would experience the skin and flesh being flayed from his bones, from his toes to his feet up his legs, his fingers, hands, arms, until he was just a sack of meat. Then if he was lucky enough to die by that point he would be spitted groin to skull and left to adorn the Red Keep until the crows tore away what was left of him.
Tommen had cried then. That was good. It meant he understood.
Many ships had been sent out over the next day. The beginnings of the young king's efforts to supply the city through the siege. More left as the besieging army began employing catapults. Bombarding the city with stones. The usual noise of King's Landing mixed with the terrified clamour of screaming smallfolk. Out in the city and outside the barred gates of the Red Keep, demanding Joffrey do something.
Cowards. If they wanted something done then why wouldn't they fight for him?
In fact. He resolved to tell them that. The words of their king would remind them of their duty. He whirled away from his window, ready to march out with kingsguard in tow, ready to speak to his subjects. But was distracted in his moment of looking away. In his periphery, he saw something strange. A blossom of green far in the distance of the city to the north-west. He turned again, once again looking out to witness the strange phenomenon. It was the smoke that told him what he was looking at. The black, acrid smoke as the great, green conflagration bloomed over the dragonpit.
Wildfire.
And it was. Wild. Untamed and untameable. From this distance it was impossible to tell the truth of it, but it seemed to coat the entire region of the city. Soon joined by more mundane fire as the heat and ash spread out. Flea Bottom was burning. A place built of wood and shit, there would be no extinguishing it until it was done.
It... It wasn't stopping. The fire continued to spread south.
Another blossom of green.
Joffrey, fearful, more than he had been even with thousands of men on his doorstep after his head, backed away from the window. He turned, threw open the door to his chambers. "A ship!" he demanded of the kingsguard outside.
"Your grace?"
"Secure a ship! We make for the bay!"
"Ah, at once, your grace!" the knight agreed, falling into step and barking at a runner to follow the king's command.
Let Renly have the burning city. The kingdom lived for its king and its capital lay where the king resided.
Servants moved in a hurry. Many moved to grab what little of worth they could as they fled from the keep. Word of the disaster had spread quickly, quicker than the flames themselves. Panic. Fear. Desperation. Words that spoke to everyone in the city.
What they found at the harbour was entirely predictable.
Many ships had been sent out for supplies. More had left with no intention of returning to the besieged city. And so the number still docked were vanishingly few and most of even they had already set sail. Whether having taken on desperate passengers or to avoid the wave of bodies they could see coming. As Joffrey and his shield of kingsguard and men at arms carved a path through the smallfolk, they saw themselves the moment that ended any chance of escaping by ship. Two vessels, their crews overwhelmed by the tide of bodies crashing onto the ship, capsized under the weight.
Steel had been drawn by the two remaining ship crews.
"M-MAKE WAY FOR YOUR KING!" Joffrey commanded. "Kingsguard! Clear a path to that ship!"
The guards were loyal as they should be. With steel and sturdy gauntlet they forcefully removed any smallfolk in the way. Bleeding and broken men and women littering the docks.
"Joff!" Joffrey heard a familiar wail, "Joff help!"
"I've got him! I've got the prince! Let me with you!" a female voice shrieked, only to be silenced by the wet squelch of a sword through flesh. A glance from Joffrey let him see the woman fall off a bloody sword, see his brother fall. See the man at arms miss the grab for the young prince.
"JOF–!" His brother's cry silenced by a sickening crack. The sight of Tommen obscured by the wailing peasants walking over him.
It didn't matter. "The ship! Secure that ship!"
"CAST OFF!"
The knights and guards moved all the quicker hearing the bellowed call from the ship. They wouldn't leave! They couldn't leave! "Stop! I am your king!" For all his screaming Joffrey almost fell behind his retinue as they stomped their way to the end of the dock. The mooring lines released, the ship began to drift, all the more when the sails were properly secured and took the wind.
A handful of knights. A handful more men at arms. What few servants managed to make it this far. And King Joffrey Baratheon, First of his Name. All stood toward the end of the dock, watching the ship drift further and further out into the river, angling out toward the bay. Some smallfolk were desperate enough to dive into the water and attempt to swim after it. Not that they would even come close.
"Stop!" Joffrey yelled again, his voice terrified and shrill. "Your king commands it!" He couldn't even see the crew anymore. "YOUR KING COMMANDS IT!"
Silence. Beneath the wind, beneath the crying of smallfolk, just pathetic, hopeless silence. Joffrey turned, witnessing the harbour filled with people but empty of ships.
"We're returning to the Red Keep," he ordered.
"Yes, your grace," even Ser Meryn sounded defeated as he gave his answer.
"Take the king!" Joffrey didn't know where the voice came from. Neither did anyone else judging by the confused and searching gazes of everyone around him. "Take the king! If we give him to Renly he'll let us out of the city!"
It was the silence that caused it. That hopeless, helpless silence. An army at the gates. More of the city burning by the minute. Their last hope of escape vanishing into the horizon. And one person has a bright idea. One last impossible hope to come out of all this with life intact. And in the silence, that one impossible hope was all they had to cling on to.
Guards held their swords out warningly as the crowd of pitiful smallfolk turned. As they came to realise their last chance. And almost as if there were some signal, the crowd surged forward in a great wave of bodies, much as they had done to the capsized ships. The sheer weight of their movement rendered the finesse and expertise of the kingsguard knights entirely useless on the limited space of the dock. As that weight crashed into them, many bodies were taken off the small structure and cast into the depths of the river. From there a greater disparity appeared, the lightly clothed smallfolk struggling with the heavily armoured knights, the still bloodied weapons far less helpful or convenient, especially with numbers of five to one.
Many more smallfolk watched from atop the dock, seeing the struggles of those unfortunate enough to be at the front of their crowd.
"I GOT 'IM!" one of the swimmers cheered, holding a blond by the throat. "I GOT THE KING!"
A cheer rang out.
"How dare–!" Joffrey tried to yell, only for the salty, filth-coated water of the Blackwater to fill his mouth. "Get your filthy–!" he struggled against the one holding him but that only put him under again. "I AM YOUR KING!"
"Dunk him!" came a shout from on the dock.
"YEAH, DROWN THE BASTARD!"
Joffrey barely had a moment to feel the fear of what might be. To take in the scene around him, his guards not even attempting to come to his aid for the sake of trying to save themselves from the dragging hands of the smallfolk. The sight was gone from him all too quickly. The man holding him showed no hesitation at all to shove his head under the water.
He held his breath, silently begging whoever would listen to let him survive this. He was king! Why! Why! WHY! Everyone turned their backs on him! What had he done wrong?! He wanted to be strong like Father! He did everything Father did! Why did they hate him for it!
His vision swam, his lungs burned. They were going to kill him. They were going to drown him like a dog. Present him to Renly as a prize. This wasn't how it was supposed to be! This wasn't what Mother promised him!
He couldn't hold it anymore. His body overruled his mind, his mouth opened in hopes of a single gasp of life-giving air. But only filthy and frigid water filled his lungs.
King Joffrey Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm. As his vision turned dark, as his mind fell silent, the last sounds he heard were the water-distorted cheers for his demise.
And his final thought, that the blame lay with everyone else but he.
<< Index >>
Apr 16, 2022Report
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The sounds of war weren't fit for ceasing outside the walls of King's Landing. The shouts of soldiers, the clamour of knights, the moving of heavy stones, the creaking of siege equipment. And of course the distant crash and screams heard from the other side of the wall.
For Tyrion Lannister, it was tiresome work. He knew the Lord Lannister wouldn't thank him for any of it, coordinating the siege teams as he was. None of the Westerlands contingent were happy about the orders they had been given. Tywin least of all, but the soldiers knew from the thunderous expression on Tywin's face what was happening here. They were being pushed into working against their own interests. Not that the bannermen, the knights, the men at arms and certainly not the Imp could do anything about it. They had thrown their lot in with the shining stag king and his Rainbow Guard and his knights too busy polishing their armour to care for battle strategy. All for the sake of saving that little shit Joffrey. And Tommen though, Tyrion remembered. Tommen was a good lad despite his parentage. He didn't deserve to die for Joffrey's stupidity so that might make all this worth it.
The bombardment continued. The cacophony of the siege camp continued. The screams beyond the wall continued. There was a cease for a time as a plea for a halt came from the wall. But, the order was handed down to continue. The smoke was ominous on the other side. Something clearly had gone very wrong. One of the loads causing a fire, presumably, but the logic was that would just make them surrender and open the gates faster.
That did not happen.
Evening began to fall, the sun sinking to the horizon across the open plains to the west. The light playing strange tricks on the city and the smoke. The dwarf stared up beyond the wall, swearing the sky were tinged green. His eyes narrowed. He clambered awkwardly up one of their siege weapons even as men jeered at him and commanded he stop as though they had the authority. It was the highest position he could reach. The best angle he could have.
Green.
His throat clenched as he realised he was right, when he dearly wished he wasn't. "Halt the bombardment." His voice was choked. He slid down one of the struts of the war machine, feeling the jar of landing through his whole body. "Halt the bombardment! All cease!" He jumped down, waddling as fast as his legs would carry him. "Bronn!"
"Aye?" the sellsword answered.
"Pass my orders on to all teams! Cease bombardment! Halt the assault!"
"A mite sure your lord father'll have my guts for garters. Yours an' all."
"There'll be someone else he'll have suffer before either of us!"
He didn't care to wait or watch Bronn follow and pass on his orders. Or to hear what knights might bluster at him for improperly trying to order them around when he was a sellsword. None of that mattered. They would receive 'proper' orders soon enough. Hopefully.
He waddled to the command tent. Stood on no ceremony as he stormed inside, as much as he could storm anywhere. "Lord Rowan, we must cease the attack," the dwarf insisted.
Mathis Rowan stared down at the anxious son of Tywin, unimpressed and unmoved. "Lord Tywin, it seems your malformed son has decided you must renege on your agreement."
"Oh, so your king's goal is to burn the city down with my nephews inside it, is it Lord Rowan? Because if so, he's doing a splendid job!"
"A few fires are nothing to concern ourselves with," the Reach lord spoke with disdain and indignation. "Their surrender must be nothing less than opening the gates."
"The skies burn green."
Tywin, having heard the byplay and not cared much to intervene until he would end it, suddenly found it much more important. He looked at his son. Moved with urgent purpose as he emerged from the tent, gazing over the skies above the city. "HALT THE ATTACK!" he bellowed, loud enough for even those in the distance to hear him. "WESTERMEN! HALT!"
"Lord Lannister, need I remind you–"
The old lion rounded on the golden tree lord, eye blazing with fury as he stared down the other man. "Need I remind you, this alliance was predicated on my grandsons coming out of that city alive, and at this moment it is being engulfed by wildfire on your king's order!" It was immaterial whether Lord Rowan understood he was playing with his own life in delaying him. Tywin dismissed him readily, taking ahorse, he charged along the encamped soldiers and knights. "WESTERMEN! Prepare to enter the city!"
-(-)-
The men had been ordered once the gates opened. The priority was to control the blaze. To avoid areas consumed by the unquenchable green flame for anything already engulfed was already lost. Far too much of the city was so lost. More still burned uncontrollably. The best they could do was collapse what combustible structures they could into the flames and keep the fire contained. Flea Bottom was an inferno. Anyone still trapped inside beyond saving. The Dragonpit was a blazing green bonfire that still burned strong hours after it ignited and would continue burning for days more yet. Constantly spewing more heat and ash. Catching anew the surrounding area. Nearby buildings were knocked down, the rubble given to the flame, leaving it to run its course.
By the time that Tywin, Tyrion and their vanguard arrived at the Red Keep, Renly Baratheon and his Rainbow Guard were already there.
Tyrion could see the show the youngest Baratheon brother was putting on. Renly looked furious. Looked. That was the important part. He styled himself a heroic king, and so this, what had occurred in this city, it was a travesty. An unnecessary massacre. Oh, he wasn't happy about it at all, but the anger was a convenient mask to cover the panic that must have been strangling him for his completely unnecessary blunder.
How convenient that he had a ready scapegoat.
"You!" Renly shouted, attempting to sound wrathful and intimidating and not quite reaching it, pointing an accusatory finger at the old lion the moment he saw him. "Does your bloodlust know no limits, Tywin Lannister?! We could have taken this city easily but you insisted on this cowardly and unforgivable sin against the Seven! Thousands upon thousands dead and dying and all laying at your feet!"
Tywin weathered the accusations with stoicism, paying no heed to them at all. He simply stared unflinching as the so-called king lay all his crimes at the Lannister's feet. Tywin did not care about those. In truth, he didn't care about the carnage and destruction too much either. Not by comparison to the only thing on his mind. The only thing he was here for. "Where are my grandsons, Renly Baratheon?"
"I should have known!" Renly continued his tirade, ignoring the question. It was far less important than depicting himself as the hero standing against the villain. "I should have known, allowing you to join my forces! I should have known you were capable of this! The Rains of Castamere stood as a warning for all of us and I foolishly ignored it! It is my folly for allowing you to sow your ruin upon this city!"
Tyrion was beginning to wonder whether Renly had been practicing this speech in the time he had while making his way to the Red Keep. It was quite well put together.
Tywin still remained unmoved. Only one question. Only waiting for an answer. "Where. Are my grandsons. Renly Baratheon."
"The Lannisters! Murderers! Slaughterers! Butchers and malformed grotesqueries within and without! To say nothing of kingslayers and oathbreakers!" the king 'seethed'. "And now a new sin against the Seven joins the list. I name you kinslayer, Tywin Lannister! Your reckless assault has slain your own grandchildren! May the Seven offer them the pity that you would not! I will see you pay for your–!"
Thwip.
A wooden shaft sprouted from Renly's neck. From the back and the front. The bolt of a crossbow lodged in his throat.
Tyrion tilted his head as the rainbow guard descended on Renly, protecting him as best they could even though it was far too late. No one had been paying attention to the dwarf when the fury of Tywin Lannister and the grandstanding of Renly Baratheon were on full display. He glanced down at his crossbow. He understood why Joffrey had taken to the weapon so quickly. It was very convenient. "Kingslayers. Well he was right about that one. Westermen! Kill them all!"
There was a beat of confusion. Members of the Rainbow Guard storming forward to slay the ones who killed their liege. The vanguard of the Westermen unsure whether to accept the order from the Imp. But at no reprisal from the old lion, they charged around the great lord and his son. The disciplined knights and men at arms faring well against Renly's elites and rolling over the surprised and horrified Reach knights.
"Tyrion..." Tywin finally said as they regrouped with more of their men. His anger was beyond understanding, even for him. Directed at everything. Inward and outward. At Renly, at Tyrion, at himself, at the Reach. "We will slaughter them all."
"Of course, Father," Tyrion agreed, waddling along beside the shaking lord. "We are Lannisters after all. And we are everything Renly claimed we are so long as there are debts to be paid."
They would walk the destroyed city. Gathering their troops once again. Forming a worthwhile army as they once again emerged from the northern gate of King's Landing. They would stand with this army. And they would call for a charge against their once allies. The Westermen carving a bloody swath through the unprepared Reachmen. They would charge along the lines, bringing more brave men of the Westerlands into the fold. Bidding them slaughter the careless knights and levies of their neighbours. They had been betrayed, and so they would reap their vengeance from those who wronged them.
Lord Mathis Rowan attempted to rouse a counterattack, but it was a failed effort with no time to implement. In the end, the Reach forces camped along the northern wall of King's Landing were routed. Forced to quit the field and escaping as best they could, fleeing the Westermen as though the Stranger himself rode with them.
In the end... The battle that would come to be known as the Fall of King's Landing would be considered a defeat for all involved. King Joffrey Baratheon, First of His Name. King Renly Baratheon, First of His Name. Prince Tommen Baratheon. The entirety of both kings' Kingsguard. A significant number of prominent knights and lords of the Reach. Many knights and a few lords of the Westerlands.
All dead.
All for nothing.
All while the city continued to burn.
-(-)-
Days passed. The Plaskett party travelled with speed to return home to Biteside. It was not intended to be a long stay for Bradley. The added wrinkle of having to recover from a wound that genuinely could have proven fatal was a problem, but not one that would cause much delay.
No. The delay came from the visiting of ravens. Two of them. One, from the men of the Stormlands. Claiming that Tywin Lannister ordered the use of siege weapons on the city of King's Landing, causing untold destruction by wildfire caches left in the city by the Mad King. The other, saying much the same thing, though laying the blame at Renly's feet for ordering such an unnecessary attack. Each attempting to get their version of the truth out ahead of what anyone else might say.
But on certain things, the accounts lined up. And so there was little room for speculation on them.
Cersei had not left her room since she received the news.
Bradley held his head in his hands. It had all seemed... So much better for just a moment. The wound was terrible but it made things so much more convenient turning Stannis into a truce-breaking evil wizard or whatever his reputation ended up being. Robb was Robb, and he'd deal with Robb. But for that moment, he had a game plan. Quickly deal with Stannis, then deal with King's Landing. Then deal with Renly. Maybe switch up the order depending on what circumstances dictated.
The world, it seemed, wasn't content to let things be quite that simple. King's Landing had become the world's largest funeral pyre. Renly, Joffrey and Tommen were dead. Tywin had... He wasn't sure what Tywin was doing but it seemed he quit the war in its entirety. If he had to guess, he would negotiate with Robb for the release of Jaime and that would be it. What else did the Lannister have to fight for? Cersei? Myrcella? Even if they weren't firmly with Bradley... They would never go back to Tywin now. Intentionally or not, he was responsible for Joffrey and Tommen's deaths.
Looking up at his war council, his wives and his robots, he sighed. "Wildfire."
For once, it was the heavily pregnant Daenerys who answered with useful information. "It's a concoction that supposedly resembles the fire of dragons. It burns green, sticking to any surface and burning until expended. Water nor earth nor anything else can quell the blaze."
"Yer tellin' me y'all had magic napalm and I didn' know about it?!" Ford complained.
"Ford," Bradley sighed again, "Not the time."
"I know, I know, just frustratin' is all."
"I really wish someone had cared to tell me the whole city was infested with stockpiles of magical incendiaries." If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. "Then again, I probably wouldn't have believed it the last time I was there. More importantly. Renly is gone. Joffrey is gone. The Reach probably have no idea what to do. The Westerlands are back defending their own."
"Prob'ly for the best," Asha offered with a shrugging gesture before returning to folding her arms. "If Balon's up to his old tricks, he'll either go north or south. Both'd look weak while the war was on while the Riverlands'd be too hard a target."
The giant drummed his thick fingers heavily on the metal table. "I almost can't believe I'm considering this, but it might be worth sending Tywin a warning."
"Keep the Ironborn penned in so they can't cause too much trouble?" Arya asked. "Can't hurt. I'm not a fan of doing Lannisters any favours, but if the old lion is satisfied to lick his wounds, he might as well do something useful for everyone else for once."
"So... What else do we do? What do we need to do?" Jocelyn asked, sounding genuinely confused at her own question. "The win condition was simple before. The Iron Throne. We take King's Landing, Father would be the winning claimant so long as we could bring the others to heel. But now... How do we win?"
"How do ya win any war?!" Ford asked. "With overwhelming firepower! Worked for me an' Salty over in Essos!"
"It isn't as simple as that," Jocelyn argued. "We can't just–"
"No." The table silenced as Bradley stood. "Ford. What are our manufacturing capabilities? Can we make vehicles using the vault fabricators?"
"Daddy?" Jocelyn asked, worried.
"Vehicles?! Well hell yes we can! I mean we'll need ta fabricate the components piecemeal, assemble 'em topside or else whatever we build'll be stuck down here." There was hope, barely restrained glee in the robot's voice. "Are we... Are we buildin' some big guns, General?"
For all of Ford's enthusiasm, Bradley only felt regret. He hadn't wanted it to come to this. But the level of escalation he had previously felt comfortable with, it had allowed him to take the Eyrie. But in the time it had taken, things had quickly begun to fall apart everywhere else. The more he held himself back, held his capabilities back, the more Westeros suffered for it. He had wanted to win by diplomacy as much as firepower. He wanted the kingdoms to want him to be king. It was the best way to change the world the way his daughter hoped for. He had played diplomat when the situation called for a conqueror.
When it called for a Breaker.
"I want you to put together a list of our options."
"Daddy!"
"I'm sorry, Jocelyn. I wanted there to be a better way but the rest of the kingdoms aren't interested in that. So many people are dead because of it. I'm putting an end to all of this. We'll do what it takes to end this war as quickly as possible."
"What about the Vale army?" Lyanna asked.
"The situation has changed. We'll disperse them. The hope was for them to march with us on King's Landing, maybe with the North and Riverlands. Not much point in that now." He shook his head. "No. We don't need an army. Not anymore. There are some things Westeros simply can't fight back against. The Targaryens struck fear into the kingdoms with their dragons but we don't need any dragons to control the skies."
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May 7, 2022Report
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Maybe it was naive. Maybe he was just feeling the need to impress a semblance of humanity on Westeros. But whether it was real or imagined, Bradley almost felt like a hush had come over the whole continent. A gasp followed by eerie, contemplative silence as the gravity of what had occurred struck each kingdom like a shockwave. Any notion of continued fighting pushed aside as the leaders of each house decided what exactly their next moves should be. The state of the board in the game of thrones had changed a great deal with the outcome of a single battle. Two kings fallen, the throne they all vied for sitting vacant like many of the streets of the city it resided in.
Even despite the decisive moves Bradley intended to make, it was only sensible to attempt to chart what courses his adversaries might take once the shock wore off.
The Martells were unknowable at this point. Who knew what they would do, or if they would even feel the need to do anything. It was entirely possible they considered the entire conflict none of their concern at this point. The Lannisters, at least the ones outside of Biteside, seemed to have reached that same conclusion. With Joffrey and Tommen gone, with Myrcella and Cersei his, they had nothing left to fight for. Nothing they could expect to take, at least. He had said it in the strategy meeting and it remained true. All that mattered to Tywin at this point was retrieving Jaime. Something Robb might allow him given all that had happened. There was no meaning left to their conflict. Retrieving Ned's bones, retrieving the Stark ancestral blade... Tywin had control of neither. No one did.
Which brought him to the Stark-Tully alliance. As he had thought, what were they even fighting for anymore? They had Sansa, those responsible for Ned's death were as dead as he. All save for Cersei. The sensible thing would be to focus all their attention on the ironborn, defending the west coast of the North. But there was also the stupid option. Would they come at Bradley next? It would be a poor decision for many reasons but one that wasn't outside the realm of possibility with how their last meeting ended. Maybe Robb thought Bradley already considered him an enemy for his trespass.
He didn't. So long as Robb saw the same wisdom that his ancestor did, there would be no further issues between them.
The Tyrells were a bit of a wild card. What they might do was very much in question but being leaderless, having no particular stake in the war without a candidate of their own to put forward, he couldn't see them choosing to interfere. They might cause problems for the Westerlands out of vengeance. Bradley couldn't see it going further than that. Whatever their intent, he would force them to capitulate and make sure it would stick.
Balon was up to his old tricks. The ironborn plans were fairly obvious. Rape and pillage like 'the old ways'. They were a problem. And after so long and so many attempts, it was seeming more and more like the only solution was an extreme one. A war had already been fought and lost. Balon lost his kids because of it. And here he was trying again, only worse. Somehow thinking he could create an independent kingdom based solely on their reaving culture. Did he look down on mainland Westerosi so much that he thought the response wouldn't be their total destruction?
Even now as someone completely unaffected, Bradley saw it as an option he wouldn't take off of the table.
But before the ironborn, there was an obvious first among the problems that needed to be resolved. Stannis had been the one camp that had shown the capability to completely bypass any defenses. Bradley's strength didn't matter. Power armour didn't matter. That was something too dangerous for him to allow its continued existence. He would find out how it was done, and make sure it could never be repeated. From there, the ironborn, then negotiating peaceful submission with the Lannisters, then the Tyrells, then the North, then finally the Martells.
Maybe then it would be done. Maybe then they could put the war behind them and begin the work he had first taken this path to begin, for Jocelyn's sake. A better world. Even if it needed a tyrant to get there.
The preparations had begun. All he had left was to sort out his own house as best he could. Some problems were simple. Others...
He was met by Myrcella as she came out of Cersei's room. The young girl stiffening as she stared up at the giant looming over her. "Bradley, um..." She clearly didn't know what to say. Didn't know how to talk to him since the revelation of her true parentage.
"How is she?"
The little girl looked down and away. "Not good."
The giant dropped to a knee, making a significant difference in that the height difference was only that of the height of a full grown adult instead of a mountain. His arm hung low as he put a hand on her shoulder. "Thank you for being here for her," he said sincerely. "I know this can't be easy for you, given..." Given Cersei was mourning the one who had her tortured.
"I'm... Pretending it's just for Tommen," she admitted.
Bradley nodded, pulling her into a hug. "I'm sorry. I didn't know him well but he seemed like a good lad."
The little girl nodded into his bicep, wiping her nose and eyes on her sleeve as he pulled away. "Thank you." She walked away, giving no indication of where she was going.
Leaving Bradley alone to visit his wife. Entering her room, he found her more or less as he expected to find her. No make-up, face blotchy and stained with tears. Sat on the lounge positioned against a wall. The curtains drawn.
She reacted to his presence slowly, her head gradually turning to acknowledge him. "Bradley."
He entered the room proper, sinking fully onto his knees on the floor before her. He took her hands in his. He didn't know what to say. There weren't words for moments like this. Except, "I'm sorry." He had made her a promise and he had failed to fulfil it.
She scoffed. "I want to hate you," she told him. "I wish I could. I just... I can't anymore. I feel empty. I can't even hate that little monster anymore."
"Monster?" he asked, not knowing quite who she was talking about. His first instinct was Joffrey but that seemed both obviously not the case and a stupid thing for him to even suggest.
"The imp. Tyrion," she clarified. "He killed Mother, but at least he gave Renly what he deserved. Renly dying at the hands of the most pathetic man in Westeros. Let that be his song." Fresh tears spilled from her eyes. "And at least by him being alive I know Father didn't kill my boys. If that creature still lives, Father would never have even considered risking Joffrey or Tommen."
"I know Joffrey was... Horrible." Her despair flowed freer as she continued to speak, her words interrupted by hiccuping sobs. "I'm not blind. What he did was unforgivable, but he was still my little boy! And Tommen! Tommen never hurt anyone! That bastard cock swallower killed them both!" Her voice strained with anger and anguish. "The gods are punishing me."
"Cersei–"
"That must be it! Everything I've done, my debts are coming due. My love for Jaime, he used it against me. Myrcella... I..." She looked her husband in the eye, full of regret. "The night we conceived her, I was going to say you forced me. Watch Robert tear your head from your body, vengeance for leaving me to his wailing for your wife. Eddard Stark, I named him a traitor before Joffrey. I started all of this! I pushed him to the horrors he visited on Myrcella, turned him into the monster the kingdoms loathed! It's me! I'm cursed!"
"You're not!" he denied her, forcefully pulling her into a hug.
"I'm cursed!" she wailed, crying into his shoulder. "Bradley! Don't let me hurt Myrcella like that!" she begged. "Please! Don't let them take her away from me too! You should've left me to Lyanna! At least then the gods might have been merciful!"
"Cersei, listen to me," he demanded, kissing her forehead as she continued to sob. "You're not cursed. You did everything you could to protect your children. What would the Mother even be if she cursed you for that?" He didn't care for the Seven. They didn't matter to him. But they mattered to her. "Never blame yourself for this when you did everything you could to keep them safe."
It was the best he could do. In truth, it probably didn't even matter what he said. Words weren't enough in moments like this. But he was there for her. Myrcella was there for her. She wouldn't be left alone in her grief. They just had to hope that was enough that she might come back from it.
He stayed with her for some time after that. Consoling her as best he could as she weathered her own roiling sorrow.
-(-)-
"It's something I never believed could be true."
He sat with Daenerys atop the roof of the keep. No one was spared from the gravity of what had occurred in King's Landing. Even a girl who had never been there. It was, after all, the seat of power for her family for almost three hundred years.
"I remember when we first heard the rumours," she confided, sitting on his lap within a crenellation of the wall. "Viserys and I were being hosted by some wealthy Essosi or other. Show pieces for the man's other guests. That was our life after we lost our home. Vagrant beggars who occasionally lived like royalty. Invited to stay among wealth and power as a mummer show. Royalty who would live on the street otherwise. Viserys hated it every time but he weathered the mockery, always more driven than I was." She shook her head, dismissing the tangent with a toss of her elegant braid of white hair. "They were discussing the... Discussing Robert at the table. I don't know whether it was an added insult but Viserys took it as one. It was the first time we heard why they called Aerys the 'Mad King'."
"I hadn't wanted to believe it then, and Viserys was furious," she admitted. "Cursed them all as liars. Our father, burning his vassals alive. And distributing wildfire across King's Landing... It sounded too absurd to be true." She grimaced. "What purpose would it serve? It was obviously just the lies of the usurper, staining the name Targaryen with any means he could."
"It's easier to see only what we want to see about family," he told her, holding her protectively, a hand resting on her baby bump. He had certainly learned that lesson from Lyanna, sad as it was.
"I suppose that's true," she admitted. "He really was the Mad King everyone declared him to be, wasn't he? Ready to sacrifice his own people like that and for nothing." She looked up at her husband, her eyes meeting his. "Is that what I come from? Is that what I'll be? Is that...?" She looked down again, at where Bradley's hand rested.
"I'm going to be honest, even if it's hypocritical," he told her. "There's a reason incest is a taboo beyond being 'a sin against the Seven' or whatever other local religions call it. It causes problems in mind and body for the children of it. Your house had a reputation of instability long before Aerys. That's likely the reason why."
They left another example of the dangers entirely unspoken.
"That won't happen to you though," he continued, hopefully putting her fears to rest. "Or our child, or Jocelyn's. The FEV counteracts those problems. If ever you were going to suffer such maladies, you no longer will since you got pregnant."
That's... Somewhat reassuring," she offered with a weak smile. "If in a clinical way."
"Then I'll say it like this. Aerys wasn't well. I could tell that from when I first saw him. You won't end up like him. I'll make sure of it. You'll be who you want to be by the choices you make. You'll see our baby grow up into a fine young woman with you there to teach her the ways of the world."
The Targaryen queen laughed. "I still feel like I barely know the ways of the world."
"That's the way for most first time parents. It was for me."
"Then I'll trust in your expertise."
-(-)-
"Uncle Bradley."
After so many rough conversations today, it was a relief to talk to someone who was mostly still put together. And also someone he could see eye to eye with by default. "Arya, something you need?" Well, mostly eye to eye. He still had a foot on her but it was the closest he could expect to get.
Maybe all the misery and doubt was getting to him, that his thoughts were trying to create their own amusement.
"The..." It wasn't often one saw a seven foot woman made of muscle struggle for the right words like an uncertain teenager. But it could be easy to forget that was still who Arya was on the inside. "The preparations, the things you're building. How long do you think it'll take?"
"We have the robots on it, putting things together as much as we can before shipping them topside for final assembly. With the foundry doing the heavy lifting... Probably a couple of weeks at most."
"A couple of weeks," she echoed. "Then I'll be... Uncle Bradley, or, umm, your grace, I'd like to make a request."
"Okay...."
She took a deep breath in through her nose. "You've decided to end the war. I get that. I get why. Stannis needs to go and a show of force is probably the best way to end the fighting now with King's Landing in ruins." Her fingers curled, her hands clenched into fists. "How... How do you plan for that to go for the North?"
The king of the Vale sighed. So that was her fear. It wasn't an unreasonable one. "I'll give them the same choice I'll give every other mainland great house. They can surrender and become part of my kingdom, or they can see what happens when they don't." His lips curved into a frown. "History can rhyme. So long as Robb has the wisdom of your ancestor, it will end without a fight."
"And if he doesn't?"
"... I won't kill him. Or your mother, or any of your family. But I will make it clear why he should have taken the first offer."
She nodded. "I see." Her jaw firmed, her teeth clenched as she resolved herself. "Your grace, I would like to accompany you for that meeting."
"I... That seems like a poor choice on my part. Both for asking you to split your loyalties like that and for what it would do to you to be put in that position. Cersei was one thing but this would be asking you to act against your own family."
"It's acting for my family," she corrected him. "I... I won't stop you. I don't want to. I want this war to end. I want peace. I want the world Jocelyn talks about. Where everyone can have what we have. Where Bran isn't just the lucky one for having you as an uncle. And I want the North to be part of that without resentment. If it helps Robb come to the right decision even a little, I want to be there." Her lungs took in a steadying breath. "So I need you to impregnate me."
He blinked hard, trying to follow the sudden, gigantic swerve the conversation had taken him on. "What?"
"That's my request," she confirmed with a nod. "When next my time comes and I should be going under, I want you to fuck me until you put a baby in me instead." The vulgarity was not helping him acclimatise to this turn. "It'll be in about two weeks. I can't let important moments pass me by just because I turn into a cock-hungry whore, when I could be out making a difference. Losing one week out of four, do you know how maddening that is?"
"No, I can't say I do," he admitted. It didn't sound great. And her argument was a reasonable one. Staying out of the end of things for a reason like that did seem like a terrible thing. Something she would regret for the rest of her very long life if it went badly. "Arya..." He was having trouble coming up with counterpoints. Perhaps largely because a woman who fit exactly what his instincts wanted was telling him to breed her. To a certain extent, body was overruling mind. "This is a significant decision. I can understand why you want to go this way but are you sure this is what you want? Not the part about the North. Having children."
She looked away, her ponytail flicking with the movement as she scratched her cheek, her other hand on her hip. "It's the way things have been going for a while. Just because I'm under for the worst of it doesn't mean the need goes away. Honestly I'm amazed you only have four, soon to be six kids." She smirked, though her smile had a little uncertainty as she put her hand over her womb. "Or seven."
Bad choices. His life up until now had been made of bad choices. And yet somehow it was hard to judge himself too harshly for how few people had been hurt by them. He had done far more damage for inaction than action. Hesitation had never helped him. "Alright."
She sighed in relief. "Good. Thank you. I'll look forward to it." She turned, giving him a wiggle of her hips as she walked away.
A noble daughter. His smallfolk sexpet maid. The king's wife. An exiled princess. His own daughter. More expected in the future.
What was his amazonian niece on top of all that?
<< Index >>
Last edited: May 29, 2022
May 20, 2022Report
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There was very little for Bradley to do in the time allotted for construction. All he was needed for was to occasionally ensure things were moving along smoothly. The rest of his responsibilities were simply what he was expected to do as the lord of the town of Biteside. Even those responsibilities were slim. Mostly settling disputes between the locals and the immigrants Ford brought with him from Essos. Nothing serious. Just the occasional culture clash, often as a result of their worship of Ford as their metal war god. It was what it was, and in the end his interventions came to a close with statements along the lines of 'live and let live'. So long as no one caused a problem, it was fine for now.
Not much meaningful to be done, he took the opportunity to do what he wished he had had the time to do more of over the past few months. Something that might have solved so many problems. It was his failing, but not one he believed he could have avoided.
Finding Lyanna was a bit of a struggle, finding she wasn't anywhere in the keep. No one had seen her leave so that suggested she must have been in the vault. He ventured down, eventually coming by the playroom just to check.
Sure enough, there she was. Not playing with Lora, their doting servant and plaything. No, instead it was rather the opposite. Lora sat with a hand between her legs, the other massaging and softly milking her own breast. Watching her lady. Lyanna was strapped to the wall, another of their favourite devices. Bradley had pleasant memories of this one. Binding Lora to the wall, watching her writhe in ecstasy, her plentiful assets jiggling as she was forced to cum over and over, all the while Bradley would make passionate love to his wife.
Now, Lyanna was the one on the wall. Naked. Blindfolded, wearing sound-cancelling earmuffs. Completely insensate save for the vibrations and massages being forced on her. Buzzing away at her breasts, her abdomen, her feet. Massaging wands playing at her pussy and asshole. Her body quivered, the chains attached to her piercings shaking as she mewled and whimpered through her gag.
"Milord!" Lora exclaimed, jumping to her feet. Her naked breasts bouncing, still leaking milk from her own attentions. "May I–?"
"How long has she been up there?" he asked.
"... More than an hour, Milord," she answered hesitantly. "Was this improper? The lady insisted, she, she asked me to provide relief. This was what she wanted."
He nodded. "You've done nothing wrong, Lora. How often do you serve her like this?"
"Twice a day at least."
"I see." This had been a possible outcome. He hadn't gone overboard with Lyanna's punishment. He knew he hadn't. Enough to be a constant reminder, not enough to turn her into a nymphomaniac like Lora. "Get yourself cleaned up and give us the room please, Lora."
"Yes, Milord."
She wiped herself down, tidied her clothing and scurried out of the room, shutting the door behind her. Leaving Bradley to sigh as he stared up at his first wife as she quaked from another orgasm. With a flick of a switch, he shut off the vibrators and massagers, Lyanna sagging in her restraints in response. Panting for breath as best she could with her mouth gagged. He quickly moved along to removing her earmuffs, then her blindfold. Then her gag.
She blinked away the bleariness of her vision, but the size and shape of the figure before her could only be one person. "Bradley?"
He smiled gently. "Hello, love."
"What..."
He doesn't answer her unasked question. Instead he continues his work, carefully removing each restraint in their proper order then gently carrying her down off the wall to sit beside him, an arm wrapped around her. "Lora tells me you've been doing this a lot."
"Is that strange?" she asked defensively. "I remember how often we used to come down here together in those early days after we were wed."
"After you got used to the idea of Lora," he nodded. The early early days weren't quite so lust-stained as what came after. "But I remember back then, it was always at my prompting. And Lora was always the source of entertainment. So yeah, it's a little strange."
"I... After my punishment," she said, wetting her lips, "I... It was hard. Just getting through my day was arousing and... You were gone."
"I didn't push things that far," he noted gently. Not denying her words, just expressing his confusion.
"No. No, but... I needed relief all the same," she admitted. That alone wasn't shameful. Least of all to him. "So I had Lora help me and I lost myself in it." She gave a certain set of machines a significant look. Telling him exactly what she had put herself through. "I loved it. I just wanted more and more. It let me block things out for a while. But then it was over. I went back to my normal day. Even still, I..." She looked away. "Everywhere I went, these," she gently tugged the chain, causing her bell piercings to ring lightly, "People would hear them. And they'd smile. I felt... I felt like they were mocking me. Like they knew what had been done to me and why. I felt ashamed."
That was the point of the punishment, but Bradley said nothing.
"I came back, brought Lora back down here with me. I didn't come up for the rest of that day. It felt good. It felt good and... When it was happening, I didn't have to think." She looked up at him, finally meeting his eyes again, only to lose her nerve and look down. "I asked Florence for more modifications. To make me more like Lora."
"You don't get to make that kind of decision," he immediately stated, despite wanting to just let her talk. It was the last thing he wanted.
"I felt like, it would be best if I didn't make decisions anymore," she admitted. "I wouldn't be able to hurt anyone anymore." Her eyes rose, slowly, until finally she managed to look him in the eye and hold her gaze. "Bradley, would you like me to be your sex pet?"
"Lyanna..."
"You can, you can do whatever you like to me," she promised him. "Tits like Lora's. Or muscular like Arya. Whatever you like. Make me sensitive enough to cum from a touch."
"Lyanna, why do you want this?"
Realising he wouldn't give her what she asked for, she looked away again. "It would be easier. Everything I've ever done, every choice I've made that really mattered was short-sighted and stupid. When you first found me in that storage room... I love our daughter, but we both know that was the worst thing I could have done. Running to Rhaegar. I started a war, Bradley." Tears began to run down her cheeks. "I got Father killed, I got Brandon killed. All to run away from my problems. Had you fuck Cersei which led to everything Myrcella went through, I... Ned... And then Cersei... I can't..." Her voice gave out to sobbing.
Her husband held her against him. Rubbing soothing circles in her back. "So you're giving up then," he concluded. "That's why you want this."
"Better to be a thoughtless toy than ruin everything for everyone I love."
He shook his head, before kissing the top of hers. "Lyanna... I once said you and Cersei were alike. I won't deny you made stupid decisions. Cersei did too. You were impulsive, she was scheming, you both suffered for it. But here's the thing. We're all idiots. All of us. Asha has more book-learning than most ironborn but she's still a dopey cunt who came here trying to hop on my dick for no better reason than she felt like it. Daenerys has no god damn idea how the world works. Arya just wants to be a knight from an old legend, Jocelyn, bless her, but she's so naive."
He tilted her head up to look at him again. "And then there's me. Lyanna, I was in that storage room too. I'm the reason Lora is the way she is because I left her to Florence without thinking about it. I fucked the king's wife. I left you and Cersei alone with Farnsworth to mediate. And I could have ended this war in the first month but I let it go until now. I wasn't willing to do what was necessary. To do what I should've done at the very start." He had made mistakes, so many mistakes. Neither of them were in any way blameless for the shit they had gotten themselves into.
"Lyanna... If you want to become my sex kitten, that's fine. But don't do it to run away. We have regrets and we'll live with them. The last thing I want is for you to stop being the woman I married all those years ago because no matter what happened or what might happen, I'll never see that as a mistake. Even if you're as big a fuck-up as I am, I still love you."
"Bradley..."
He held her there for some time, letting her get her emotions out. Staying right there to reassure her. With nowhere else he wanted to be but to be there for his wife, as he should have been so many times before.
It was inevitable, for how both of their bodies had been changed. The two of them naked in a room holding one another. Even as powerful emotions rampaged through them, two remained true. Love, and lust. After some time, they found gentle comforting caresses to become something more. Rekindling flames that had been in danger of guttering out. And just like in that storage room so many years ago, husband and wife made love. Bradley laying back, letting her take control as she rode him. Holding back all of his vigour and ferocity for her. To be the man who loved her before the man who fucked her.
They both bore the marks of their mistakes and misdeeds. Bradley's scars. Lyanna's chains. But what was important was that they would each carry them onward as they worked to set things right.
And as Bradley reached his peak, spilling his hot seed inside her to set off her own climax, Lyanna realised it was the most satisfying she had experienced.
"I love you," she whispered as her body sank to lay upon his broad body.
"I love you too."
-(-)-
Time passed. It was strangely pleasant. Maudlin, but pleasant. For that brief period of waiting for the final preparations to be complete, no one had anything to fight about. Everyone ate together for meals, enjoying one another's company. In some cases that was more strained than others, but it remained it felt like things were finally beginning to click into place. At least for now.
But such oddly pleasant and simple times inevitably came to an end. The preparations were completed. They could move out and finally put this war to bed... Were it not for one last bit of preparation that needed to be completed that would take just one day more.
"She is inside," Florence told him. "Ze door will lock be'ind you, just in case."
"Can't believe you prepared a whole room for this," he muttered.
"I 'ad spare time while seeing to ozzer preparations," the gynoid shrugged. "It seemed a worzwhile gesture to me wiz nozzing better to do."
"Alright, well, thank you." He took the few steps toward the door, looking back at her over his shoulder. "See you soon."
"We 'ave not seen ze impregnation of 'uman en'anced," Florence added as a final warning. "Ze lust may take time to abate even once it 'as 'appened. And based on our animal test subjects, it will not entirely go away."
"Well," Bradley shrugged, "Long as she can control it like me, I think she'll be satisfied."
"Zen satisfy 'er as you will," Florence added with a smirk of amusement that looked almost natural.
Bradley opened the metal bulkhead door, quickly closing it behind him the second he passed through. Heard the sound of the automatic lock. A precaution. Arya wanted to be bred, and she wanted it to be him. In her lust-addled state though, her body probably wouldn't care whose cum filled her so long as she got filled.
The room was empty, save for the large bed. Or rather the raised platform that spanned wall to wall covered in mattresses and pillows. And on that platform, like it was a stage, Arya lay there as the performer. She had come in wearing loose-fitting undercloothes but between then and now, they had been quite literally torn off. The muscular young woman lay on the bed, sweating like mad, desperately trying to finger-fuck herself to a satisfaction that would never come. She could climax and visibly had. But no matter how many times, she would never be satisfied. Not without virile cum flooding her womb to breed her like the bitch in heat she had become.
"Uncle Bradley..." she moaned. It took a moment for Bradley to realise she wasn't calling him. Her eyes were closed. She was moaning his name, lost in a fantasy, her mind overrun with lust.
"Arya."
"Uncle Bradley!" she shouts, her eyes flying wide open to stare at him. Surprise only takes an instant to give way to need. The young lady with the body of a goddess threw herself off the bed, slamming her naked body into his. "Cock! Uncle Bradley, I need your cock!" Her hands tore at his clothing, ripping off his own undergarments as she had her own. "Give me–!"
He grabbed her arm, grabbed her thigh as she raised it, trying to impale her cunt on his stiff pole. Lifting her by those two limbs he leapt onto the bed, pinning her beneath him. "Stop!"
"Give me your cock!" she shouted, kicking and punching at him with her free limbs. She was one of very few people able to actually meet him with raw strength and hers was greater in that moment. Her wild, uncontrollable lust gave her a ferocity he struggled to match. She shoved him off her, pushing his cock away right before it could penetrate her sopping wet cunt. Her mind unable to comprehend he was going to give her what she wanted.
She pinned his arms down, attempting to mount him, but he flipped the two of them over, one mighty hand wrapping around her face. Blocking her vision. He felt her teeth sink into the flesh of that hand. She couldn't be in control for this. She might have hurt herself, or even him, in her fervour. He let her chew his hand, try to tear it away from her face and stop pinning her down. But in the same moment, "AHHHH-!" She suddenly roared, only for the sound to trail off into an almost girlish sigh. Matched at the same time with the wet smack of her pussy getting filled to the brim with fat cock. "Yes, fuck me!" she shouted, no longer fighting him, instead pulling her thighs apart with her hands, her hips fucking back against him. "FUCK ME!"
He showed not a single ounce of restraint, knowing a rough fucking was the least of what his niece could take. Slamming into her hut, sucking cunt as it seemed to relish his invasion. The lewd sounds of her pussy slurping around him as he rammed her insides. Each thrust earning an animalistic grunt from Arya, her firm tits bouncing with the impacts.
He came inside her, letting his cum flood her womb knowing exactly what it would do. His seed was absurdly virile. There were effectively no real methods to prevent pregnancy during the correct window. And Arya was so lust-crazed because it was that correct window for her. Every jet of hot cum that flowed into her core was meaningless after the first. She was already bred the second he shot a single drop of cum inside her. It was just a matter of time for when her addled state would abate.
Or was it? She had certainly calmed down. A final screaming orgasm as her body got what it wanted, and then just deep breathing. She lay there on the bed, panting. He withdrew his cock, noting just how little cum was flowing out of her. Like her pussy clamped down to make sure it could do its job.
He was glad he hadn't fully relaxed, let his guard down. The moment his cockhead escaped her, the moment she felt empty, she grabbed him.
It wasn't over.
Her attempt to forcibly change positions was denied. The mountain of a man moving with her attempted grab and throw to toss her instead. Chasing her down and pinning her face against the wall by the back of her head. "Not calmed down yet?!" he asked. "Fine!" Once again he drove his cock into her from behind, raising her leg for leverage.
"Yessss!"
Over and over again, he pounded her young, powerful body. Every time he finished he would give her a chance to calm down. Every time she would try to turn the tables with violent sexual intent. And every time he would pin her to whatever was convenient and pound her cunt all over again.
Six times. Arya's crotch a mess of smeared cum and sweat, taking desperate, ragged breaths. Six times he had fucked her to her satisfaction. And only after the sixth did she not try to force another. Whether that was from her need abating or because she simply didn't have the strength anymore, he didn't know.
Until she spoke. "Uncle Bradley..."
She sounded more herself. "How do you feel?"
"Sore," she admitted, struggling to rise onto her elbows as she lay on her back. She stared down her own body, reaching her hand down between her legs, it coming back coated with cum. "Is it over?"
"If you're thinking straight, I guess it is," he answered. "Do you remember anything?"
"... Yeah..." It was like the haze in her mind was clearing, letting her remember the experience. "Oh, fuck, that was way more intense than I thought it'd be."
"No kidding," he agreed with a quick laugh. "You've always been a wild one but that was something else."
"Yeah, thanks for stopping me. I'd've probably tore your dick off to get it inside me." Her cum-soaked hand rested on her belly. "Guess I'm gonna be a mum." She laughed weakly to herself. "I'm gonna be a mum." She looked up at the man who had impregnated her. "Uncle Bradley, can we do it again? But... Nicer this time?"
He smiled softly at her. "Sure kid, whatever you want."
-(-)-
Dragonstone.
It was a solemn moment. Stannis Baratheon had seen what the Breaker was capable of. It was exactly what Mellisandre had feared, had warned him of. All of Westeros seemed to think Stannis their enemy now, when in truth he was the only one trying to save them from the monster in their midst. He had resolved himself during his return to Dragonstone. After everything he had seen, everything that had happened. After Renly. He had to put an end to this.
He resolved to do whatever was required. To trust his cause to Melisandre.
No matter what sacrifice he needed to make.
"Father, please!" the teenager girl bound to a stake screamed, looking at him. Staring at him with horrified, confused and terrified eyes. "Don't do this! Please! How could you! I don't–!" Her screams, her pleas, they fell on deaf ears. Her father didn't care. Or more accurately, no matter how much he cared, he had decided this was necessary. She looked around at the gathered men, many refusing to even look at her for their own shame that they were allowing this to come to pass. "Someone! Anyone! Don't let him do this! I DON'T WANT TO DIE!"
A rhythmic thrumming sound rose in the air around them. Like a drumbeat on the wind.
"Oh great lord R'hillor!" the red priestess Melisandre beseeched, her hands raised to the skies. "Take this girl into your care, purify her soul with your cleansing flame that we may save this world! Bless this man, the Prince that was Promised, that he may cleanse the scourge that plagues these lands in your holy name!"
The drumbeat grew louder. Closer. Like the god she was praying to was descending upon them.
With a tightly controlled voice, Stannis gave his final, dreadful proclamation. "Light it."
"FATHER PLEASE!"
A man strode forward, torch in hand. His own misgivings were meaningless. This was what his lord had commanded. His only path was to follow that command. Only to stop as several flashes of angry red light burst in front of him. "What the fuck!"
Panic erupted, but most of the men present were trained warriors and knights. They scanned the area for the source only to find it above them. A great beast of metal that descended nearby. It didn't even touch down on the ground before a woman in pitch black plate armour burst out of it with a great metal contraption in her arms, pointed at the gathered crowd.
More metal men followed her. All with armour easily recognisable. But only one bore a sigil on his breast that any in the kingdoms knew by now.
The Breaker strode out of the machine. His face unseen. But his voice spoke enough of his fury. "WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, STANNIS BARATHEON!"
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Jun 4, 2022Report
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Stannis stared uncomprehending at the impossibility arrayed before him. A great machine that could descend from the sky, carrying a half dozen soldiers all as armed and armoured as the Breaker's heavy plate. All of a size with him. The smallest among them a woman in dark plate armour, her helmet adorned with a single red eye burning with malice. Somehow even with the Breaker bearing down on him, that thing chilled his blood more than anything else did.
But his confusion was short-lived. The monster had come right to his door. Had encroached on his territory with fire, thunder and fury. The lord of Dragonstone, the rightful King of Westeros didn't believe this encounter would occur so swiftly after the previous. He believed he would have more time. Fate, it seemed, had other plans. Yet it changed nothing. He had placed his faith in Melissandre, her and her heretical god of fire and light. He had already pledged himself to doing whatever was necessary.
No matter the sacrifice.
None expected Stannis Baratheon to take up the dropped torch himself and throw it upon the pyre. He deafened himself to the screams of betrayal from his only child just as he had deafened himself to them before. Whether it was by his own hand or his man's, the great sin rested upon his shoulders all the same.
"Hold them here!" Stannis bellowed, mounting his horse and dragging the red priestess up to sit behind him. Dishonour after dishonour. All would be worth it. It had to be.
Behind them, Bradley stared at his horse as it galloped away. Held the murderous robot at his side from taking the shot that would have ended this immediately. A point needed to be made. Shooting them in the back as they fled wouldn't make that point. "Arya!" he called out. "The girl!"
"Yes, your grace!" his niece answered, already running, her blades out and striking as she mowed her way through any who would stand in her way. Whether a deadly strike or a glancing blow, men fell regardless as the electricity arcing along the blades momentarily paralysed them. She sheathed her blades as she arrived at the pyre. Not even stopping her charge. The stake the teenage girl had been bound to was already burning. With the strength afforded her by her enhancement and the armour, she used her momentum to fully break the stake at the base, carrying the girl out of the flames before cutting her restraints.
As for the rest of the battle, if it could be called such. Only a handful of men lost their nerve and quit the field before the fighting began. These, as one might expect for those attending a ceremony such as this, were among Stannis' most leal and dutiful men. Most stood strong and proud. Determined to be a bulwark, to prevent the great evil from reaching their king.
They stood strong and proud as not even a man but a machine sprayed them with burning bolts of red light. They prevented nothing. They changed nothing. The only dignity they afforded themselves by their actions was to die on their feet. So far as Bradley was concerned, for what they were party to, it was all the dignity they deserved. He strode through the ash and corpses, paying them no further mind as he approached the leader of his Kingsguard and the girl she had rescued.
As he expected after coming into this horror of a scene, even after being saved, Shireen Baratheon was a mess. How could she not be? Her father had just tried to kill her. That he failed did not make anything better in the slightest for her. She had still suffered the ultimate betrayal. He felt sympathy for her. She had lived a cursed life even before this, suffering a deadly affliction that even surviving left her terribly marked. In a world where daughters were for marrying off? She likely believed she had no worth at all. And this day, her father proved he agreed.
"Get her in the vertibird," Bradley instructed. "Make sure she's comfortable." It wasn't an order given for strategic reasons. Under normal circumstances she would be a hostage, used to negotiate a surrender. But in this case? Stannis wanted her dead. Keeping her in the aircraft meant she was as safe as she could be.
Arya spoke platitudes to the girl as she walked her toward Ser Donnel, the first of Bradley's knights taking the distraught teenager into the aircraft, giving her a blanket and some water.
If any gods existed, she was treated cruelly by all of them. Bradley held sympathy for her, but that sympathy only went so far. He would give her purpose that the world refused her. Whether she would thank him for it would remain to be seen.
Seven kingdoms. Nine by territories. She would be his fifth.
He shook the thought away. Such thoughts were for later. He needed to focus on the now. This was likely the most dangerous of his conquests. The only foe that had proven conclusively that they could succeed against him and Bradley still didn't have a clue as to how beyond 'magic'.
A king, three knights and a machine of war marched toward the great castle in the distance. The first territory of the Targaryens arguably on the shores of Westeros. The launching point for what would become the unifying war of the Seven Kingdoms. As they neared, it appeared to all that they were approaching great dragons made of stone. The ancient Targaryens used Valyrian magics to shape the walls of the castle that way, or so the legend went.
The four neared the fortress. Stared up at the great walls that protected the occupants for hundreds of years. At three hundred yards out, they could see a few arrows pinking against the ground ahead of them. At two hundred yards out, the arrows began pinking off the metal of their armour instead. Not a single one of them flinched.
"Bradley," Salty the assaultron spoke as the arrows rained down on them. "When we capture this Stannis, may I have him?"
"No. At this point, he needs to die."
"Oh. A shame. Then again, after seeing him, he'd probably break far faster than my pretty little prince."
"I don't really need to hear about what you do with Viserys," Arya complained, pulling a boxy contraption up onto her shoulder.
"Ready, Arya?" Bradley asked, getting a nod. "Good. Fire when ready."
Inside her armour, the Stark daughter grinned, pulling the trigger on the device. A long tube of metal emerged from the front, followed by a trail of smoke. The tube sailed toward the front gate of the castle. Adjusted aim and fired another, then another, then another.
With a series of powerful explosions, the walls around the castle gate were reduced to rubble, the gate itself barely holding up against the explosive onslaught. There was easily enough space for the four of them to make their way through.
But they were here to make a point.
"Wow, the Targaryens sure built things sturdy," Bradley observed as the group neared the gate. The Breaker taking the hammer from his back, swinging it lazily in a circle, winding up. It had been so long since he used this weapon for its purpose. Even taking the Eyrie and during the peace negotiations he had relied on more openly modern equipment. Though the hammer itself was no ordinary hammer of this world's era. His wind-up increased in speed to the point his rotating arm began to blur before finally with a step forward he slammed the head of the hammer into the midpoint of the gate.
The entire wall shook. The ground quaked beneath them as the vibration of the impact ran through the structure. The weakened and broken walls crumbled under the force of the strike, to say nothing of the gate itself. The entire structure broke from the blow. The walls allowed it to come free and the kinetic force blasted it back into the room beyond.
There had been guards inside. Their mangled and mulched bodies visible under the rubble of the gate. More were off to the side, attempting to get their bearings amid the sound and fury, trying to see through the clouds of dust. They raised their weapons but what were they even supposed to do in the face of such force?
Die. Swiftly and mercilessly. Each one experiencing the hell of a shot from a high-powered plasma rifle that did not give a single shit about metal or leather armour.
It was unfortunate for them. They were the first, and so were not given the warning. "Throw down your weapons," Ser Alford called out in his deep, booming voice as the group moved through the room, caring little for the corpses they left in their wake. "Surrender and you will not be harmed." It remained unfortunate for those further into the castle also. The brave men who refused to surrender charged the group, only to be met by the fury of an assaultron. Her claws making mince meat of their insides as she tore through their ranks. Death. Death and horror as four made a macabre march through the castle step by step. Room by room. Clearing the great fortress of any who would show the slightest resistance.
The one strength Stannis held was his possession of the royal fleet. He didn't have men to crew every vessel but it still made him a dangerous enemy to confront on his island base. Bradley had completely blown past that obstacle, not that it would have been an obstacle regardless for a man of his means without restraint. Had he felt it necessary, every ship would have sunk to the bottom of Blackwater Bay. Instead, the ships remained undisturbed but useless. Leaving Stannis with only his ancient fortress and far too few men to guard it from even a conventional Westerosi assault. The few men of the Stormlands who remained loyal to him after his name had been dragged through the mud were dying in droves. Those who learned better chose to run and hide rather than trust these monsters' mercy. There was not a single thing Robert's rightful heir could do about it.
Right up until the Breaker, his two knights and his murderous machine entered the great hall of the stone drum. An archaic stone room, once again carved or shaped to resemble a dragon laying on its front. And inside were the targets of this assault.
Bradley's retinue had done nothing to those in this room, and yet they were still greeted by a scream as they entered. The woman in red chanting in a language the four didn't understand as she stood over a woman burning to death. This was no carefully constructed ritual like what had been arranged outside. By the looks of things, she had been set alight by the implements of the nearby kitchen. As the chanting continued, the flames consumed the woman even faster until the screaming stopped. Bradley could see clearly from the readouts that the woman was still alive. She no longer screamed because she couldn't. Her lungs and throat had cooked, incapable of taking in the air to give voice to her agony.
"Not enough!" the red priestess declared. "It isn't enough! Great R'hillor! Take your humble–!"
Arya had heard more than enough. She grabbed the woman and dragged her away from the now charred corpse to pin her against a wall with one hand. Her own hand covering the mad witch's mouth to keep her silent.
Bradley stepped forward, looked down at the woman who had just burned to death. She was unrecognisable. "Who was she, Stannis?" he asked, looking up at the man who had become so inexplicably desperate and deranged. "Name your victim."
"Her name is Selyse and she is no victim," the dour and defeated man answered. "She chose this."
"Selyse," Bradley echoed. "Your wife." He nodded slowly, trying to find any sense of reason in these actions. "If I had arrived even a moment later than I did, would you now be saying Shireen had chosen this too?"
"No." The answer was so immediate as to seem entirely honest. "My misdeeds are mine and I shall carry them alongside every honour until the Stranger takes me. I will not try to deceive or avoid them as you have."
"How upstanding of you," Bradley replied with thick sarcasm. "Ritually murder your daughter but at least you own up to it. Bit of a contradiction though. Remember when you tried to murder Cersei and I only a few weeks ago? And you tried to claim no involvement in the act?"
"I made no such claim," Stannis immediately countered. "Ser Davos spoke of his own accord. I would not have asked him to deny my actions." He still continued to hold his head high. "Each act of dishonour and disgrace I have taken has been for a single purpose. To rid the world of the evils to come. You weren't the first, but you only became more immediate a concern as I learned of what you had done. The corruption you had wrought in these kingdoms."
"The corruption I wrought? The corruption I wrought?" Bradley asked in complete disbelief. "Were you maybe not paying attention to anyone else? Renly, for example? Or Balon? Tywin? Just me? Well, Stannis, you can have my formal apology. I'm sorry I fucked your brother's wife. But I feel like I shouldn't need to tell you that doesn't make it okay to murder your daughter in ritual sacrifice!"
"Do you believe that was the only reason I would go to such lengths?!" Stannis demanded with sudden and uncharacteristic fury. "Your knight keeps the red priestess silent! Do you fear what she has to say?! She told me everything I needed to know. Of what you would bring to the Seven Kingdoms. Horrors uncountable, cursing the land awash with sickening green flames!"
The Breaker stared at this man who had seemed so level-headed every time they had met previously. He turned from Stannis to look at the red priestess glaring hatefully at him. "Green flames." He reached a hand out and Ser Alford handed him his rifle. With a sound completely alien to the Westerosi, he fired the weapon, a bolt of green energy escaping it to splash against the stone wall, leaving a scorch mark on the surface. "I can do green flames. Not left much ruin or curses behind with them. You know what did, though? Your brother. Having King's Landing bombarded until a wildfire cache ignited. That sounds like green flames cursing the land to me."
He waved the weapon, never quite pointing it at anyone in the room. "You might not know what these are, but they aren't curses. And the only reason I've ever used them was to put an end to the madness of this war. Once to capture the Eyrie, with few deaths and Lysa Arryn taken alive, mind you. And today. I use these weapons today because you tried to murder Cersei and I in our sleep and because your brother burned an entire city to cinders! This weapon is in your castle right now because I'm ending this war. Mace Tyrell will bend the knee. Tywin Lannister will bend the knee. Doran Martell will bend the knee. Robb Stark and Edmure Tully will bend the knee. The time for death and disaster has ended because I'm ending it."
"It appears you are," the Lord of Dragonstone acknowledged. "Now that I can no longer stop you." It wasn't subtle how the King of Mountain and Vale had failed to include Stannis in those who would bend the knee. "Whether you burn the world around you or not, the foundation you'll build will be made of only fear. You'll lie and cheat your way into power as you always have. Your Lannister whore. Your Targaryen sow. Your Greyjoy cutthroat. Using them to call yourself a king. Taking the seat of the Vale only because of your unnatural weapons. You take what you don't deserve because no one can stop you."
"I know, right?" Bradley laughed humourlessly. "Someone might think I was a Targaryen or a Baratheon or something." He looked at the rifle in his hands again. "I can make it quick if you like. It's the only mercy you still deserve."
"I tried to kill my own daughter," Stannis reminded him. "So on that we will have to disagree."
The Breaker nodded. "Fair enough." With another alien sound, the rifle belched another bolt of green energy at Stannis Baratheon's chest. It burned through his heavy cloak... And nothing else. Leaving pale skin entirely unblemished underneath.
Stannis looked down in amazement. Bradley cocked his head in confusion. He looked to the red priestess whose expression had turned rapturous. "Huh." Handing off the rifle to Ser Alford, he drew his sidearm. "Quick it is then." Sighted and put a bullet between the Baratheon's eyes, blood and brains exploding out of the back of the man's head. A plaintive squeal could be heard from the red priestess, muffled by Arya's hand. Bradley turned to the priestess, sighted again and gave her the same treatment.
Well.
That was one problem mostly resolved. Only around a dozen or so to go.
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