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Chapter Text

The King was visiting The North.

The Kingdom of the North, the land of the Starks, was a land often ignored by the Lord of Seven Kingdoms; but now, King Robert Baratheon was headed north, to see his old friend, and the Stark patriarch Eddard Stark.

Arya was excited. She was going to meet the royal family. Things were always so boring in the North. Nothing to do in all the cold. Sansa was fine staying indoors and stitching all day, but Arya needed something more.

She was looking forward to this.
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Catelyn Stark was dreading the visit of the king.

It was not that she disliked King Robert personally. The Baratheons and the Tully’s always had a civil relationship. It was that she just knew that the visit would take all focus away from her husband. The pair had not seen each other in nearly a decade. The leaders of Robert’s Rebellion. The defeaters of the Targaryen dynasty. That felt like eons ago. The pair would no doubt be reminiscing about the glory days of a bygone era. She knew that by the end of it, the castle would be in shambles from all the men and drinking, with no doubt that Robert would partake in a large portion of it

And what was Robert doing there anyway? Jon Arynn, her brother-in-law, had just died suddenly. Shouldn’t he be worrying about that? Shouldn’t he be in search of another hand-to-the-king. Robert was never the most responsible man, but even this seemed foolish for him.

Yes. She could tell this would be a long few weeks.
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Arya watched intently as the king’s caravan arrived. They must’ve been 100 men strong, maybe 200. Her father had guards and bannermen, but nothing like this. She, her siblings, her parents, and all the castle workers and common folk were there to try and get a glimpse.

First came the soldiers holding the King’s sigil, then came the the elite guards. Then directly behind them, came the Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, Joffrey Baratheon.

Arya had only heard of Joffrey. Now that she thought about it, she had only heard of all of the Lannisters and Baratheons. King’s Landing was months away by horse.

Arya did not have much interest in boys, but she had to admit the Joffrey was a handsome young man. Strong jaw, beautiful hair, cool blue eyes. Truly regal looking. Joffrey glanced at her, caught her staring. He gave her a slight smile. Arya averted her eyes. She could feel a slight blush coming on, but she could just blame it on the cold. She looked up at her sister Sansa. She had a smile on her face, and was openly staring at Joffrey; she must of thought he was smiling at her.

Of course she did, she thought everything was about her.

Arya was snapped out of her thoughts by the man following behind Joffrey.

Well if you could call him a man.

Ser Gregor Clegane. The Mountain.

Arya had never seen a man so large in her life. He had to be nearly 8 feet tall. His horse looked double the size of a normal one. He was wearing menacing, all black armor, and the sword at his side had had to be bigger than her father.

She turned her head and caught a glimpse of her mother. Her skin had grown pale, and her eyes wide. Her mother looked at her father, who also had a concerned look on his face. She leaned in to whisper to him, but Arya always had good hearing.

“Is that who I think it is? Her mother whispered harshly

“Aye. I suppose it is” He father answered, not looking at her.

“I will NOT have that man in my home.” Her mother said, eyes blazing. Her father gave her a weary look.
“Cat-“ He tried.

“Do you know what he’s done?” She said, not really asking.

“I’ve heard the stories” He said simply. Her mother just glared at him. “He’s loyal to the Lannisters and the crown. I’ll make sure Robert has him on a short leash, alright? Now I’ll hear no more about this.” Her father stated. Her mother narrowed her eyes at him before turning back to the caravan.

Well that was interesting, Arya thought. Seems like she had to do some further investigating on the giant man.

Soon, the main attraction showed, The King. Robert Baratheon. He was fatter than she thought he’d be. She always figured a king would look…well kingly. She glanced back at Joffrey and tried to see any resemblance, but could find none. The seed must not be strong.
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Following the welcoming, a feast was thrown in Winterfell’s Great Hall. Townsfolk, guardsmen, all were welcomed to revel in the arrival of the King. Sansa was made to sit by Joffrey, while Arya was given Tommen to entertain. Sansa was, of course, happy, giggling and chittering like the silly maiden she was, making constant doe eyes at the prince. Sansa thought she had the handsome prince all to herself. Hell, word was going around that King Robert intended to wed the two, linking the houses of Baratheon and Starks.

Arya frowned at the prospect. Sansa, Sansa. Always being giving what she wanted, and for what? Because she was the oldest. Because she was the prettiest? Because she knew how to stitch dresses?

Whores could stitch dresses and be pretty, but you didn’t see them being handed the position of queen. Sansa wouldn’t make a very good whore though. She talked too much.

Arya and Sansa were beckoned over by the queen, who was sitting next to their mother. They walked over, and the queen addressed them.

“Sansa-“ Cersei said. “Such a pretty girl. Tall too, like me.”

Sansa beamed at the compliments. Arya just rolled her eyes.

“And you…” Cersei said looking over to Arya. “Remind me of your name.”

“Arya.” She said, rather annoyed that the queen didn’t bother to remember her name. She supposed she was used to it though.

“Yes, Arya. you’re very…” Cersei said, apparently searching for a compliment to give the girl. “Well you have very nice birthing hips.”

Sansa snickered at the description of her sister. Arya was not the beauty her sister was. While she was by no means an ugly girl; there are plenty of noblewoman who would in fact fit that description, but she was on the shorter side, and had boyish features. Some assumed she was Bran’s twin given how similar they looked most of their childhood.

But what she did have, a trait she got from her mother and the Tully side of the family, was generous birthing hips. She was skinny as a rail up until the age of 14, and then suddenly, her bottom half began filling out nicely over the last 3 years; a plump ass, thick thighs, and wide hips. Sansa had always teased her for it. Truth is she was just jealous, given her petite frame; nonetheless, the constant teasing did get to Arya, who saw her figure as a negative.

Arya just frowned. Their mother dismissed them, and Arya decided she had enough of the feast and stormed out of the Great Hall. Sansa smirked, satisfied that she got under her sister’s skin. As she returned to her seat, she noticed Joffrey was nowhere to be seen She looked around, wondering where prince went.
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Arya left the Great Hall for the castle in a foul mood. Her sister was always a right cunt to her. She thought just because she was the oldest, and prettiest, that she could treat her however she wanted. As if it made up for that empty head of hers. Arya was so swept up in her internal rant, that she didn’t notice the body in front of her. She bumped into them, causing her to stumble backwards on fall onto her bottom, with an OOF.

“Watch where you’re going.”

Arya was about to tell off this person for their rudeness, until she looked up, and saw that it was Joffrey staring down at. His mouth was fixed into a light scowl as he brushed off his shirt and coat.

“Sorry…” She said looking up at him. Even in the dark, Joffrey’s blonde hair seemed to shine, and his blue eyes almost looked like they glowed.

Fuck, he’s handsome, thought Arya, as she stared up at him from below. She must’ve been staring for a tad too long, since Joffrey raised a blonde eyebrow at her.

“Aren’t you going to help me up?” Asked Arya, trying to cover her obvious staring. The prince just snorted.

“Why? You have two perfectly good hands and feet.”

“Because I’m a lady.”

“And? I’m a prince”

Arya snorted and laughed at his response. She was so used to people babying her, that it was actually refreshing to have someone not, even if it came out in a pompous attitude. She got to her feet and brushed herself off.

“Why aren’t you in there celebrating” She asked. Joffrey just rolled his eyes.

“What’s to celebrate? Riding for months to this frigid, grey wasteland.” Said Joffrey in a snide tone. While she didn’t appreciate the description of her home as a wasteland, he was right. Winterfell was grey and cold. Hell their house colors were grey. Arya looked at the gold and red in his clothing, and wondered if one day she’d have clothes as colorful as that. “Or should I be celebrating being shackled to your sister?” He said frowning.

Arya’s eyebrows shot up at the direct insult to her sister. All the boys loved Sansa. She was pretty and docile. A highborn man’s dream.

“You don’t like her?” She prodded.

“Ha! I’ve only spent half the day with her, and she’s been chattering my ear off about poems, what color she wants at her wedding, about how pretty our children will look.” He ranted mockingly. Arya let out a bark of laughter. She was starting to like the prince already.

“Should you really be speaking of your betrothed in such a way?” Arya teased.

“Hmph. No different than how my father speaks of my mother.” He said, his tone suddenly turning solemn. Arya figured that it must be a sore subject for him.

“You know, If you don’t want to marry her, you don’t have to.” Said Arya earnestly. Joffrey just snorted and shook his head.

“Don’t be daft. I have no choice in the matter. It is my duty to my family and the crown.” He said, though Arya wasn’t entirely sure that he believed his own words. “If my father wishes me to marry Sansa, it will be done. The same will happen to you.” He said through a frown.

“Not me. I’m not going to let some lord I don’t even like take me, just because it’s my duty” She said spiritedly.

Joffrey stared at her, and then smirked.

“So if it was a lord you DID like, you’d let them take you” He said smoothly, taking a slight step closer to her. Arya’s face went slightly red. Was he flirting with her? Arya had never been flirted with before. All the boys always gave Sansa attention. She was the pretty one after all. Yet here was the prince of the Seven Kingdoms, talking to her instead of her sister. Arya almost felt overwhelmed, but she was never one to back down from a challenge.

“Hm, maybe. They’d still have to work for it though.” She said, matching his energy. Joffrey just smiled at her more.

“You are an intriguing girl, Arya Stark.” He admitted.

“Heh, you actually know my name.” She said smiling.

“Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?” He asked, raising a confused eyebrow.

“No reason. Well I think it’s time I made my way to my chambers.” She said, making her way past him. She looked over shoulder, sparing him a glance.

“Goodnight Joffrey.”

“Goodnight Arya.”
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Catelyn always hated feasts.

While they were rare occasions, they always proved to be hectic. No one ever thinks about what happens AFTER a feast. Drunks staggering around everywhere, stumbling into places they don’t belong. She had already found a man passed out near one of the stables, and caught a couple fucking near the training yard. Catelyn took it upon herself to clear out the rabble, and generally her presence and disapproving scowl alone was enough to scare a commoner or guardsmen sober with apologies, and get them on their way.

She had cleared the courtyards of the vagrants and drunk soldiers, but there was one last place to check.

The Godswood.

Catelyn never liked this godswood.

She had been born a Tully, at Riverrun far to the south, on the Red Fork of the Trident. The godswood there was a garden, bright and airy, where tall redwoods spread dappled shadows across tinkling streams, birds sang from hidden nests, and the air was spicy with the scent of flowers. The gods of Winterfell kept a different sort of wood. It was a dark, primal place, three acres of old forest untouched for ten thousand years as the gloomy castle rose around it. It smelled of moist earth and decay.

The only redeeming feature in her eyes, were the hot springs. The springs were closed off to the common folk, and even the guardsmen. Only the Starks, Jory, and honored guests were given permissions to use them.

But nevertheless, every once in a while they have to deal with the guardsman or laborer who tries to sneak their way in. Ned usually let trespassers off with a warning, and generally that warning was all that was needed. Ned wasn't a cruel lord, but he did take respect of the Old Gods seriously.

Catelyn walked toward the springs, and she heard the sounds of someone moving in water.

Great.

Someone was there. Just what she needed. The springs were hidden in a natural alcove of trees and rock, so it made it easy to see someone in there, before they saw you. She got closer, expecting to see a drunken guardsman and a woman.

What she did not expect to see, was the massive torso of Gregor Clegane sticking out from the water.

Catelyn froze, not daring to take another step.

Seeing Clegane out of his usual dark armor, it really dawned on her just how MASSIVE the man really was. Cat was tall for a woman, but her head just barely met his ribcage. His chest and shoulders were wide, and all muscle. He had arms like small tree trunks. He was truly a specimen of a man.

Catelyn found herself noticing something else about Clegane.

He was a handsome man. By no means matching the looks of say Jaime Lannister, but he was surprisingly well groomed, beard covering his round face. Outside of a small scar under his eye, his skin was unblemished and his complexion clear, surprising for a seasoned warrior.

He almost reminded her of Brandon.

No.

What was she thinking. To even compare the late Brandon Stark to….HIM.

She should just leave. She should get a guard, or rather several. She didn’t have to be there. She knew what he was. What he’s done. What he’s capable of.

But she told herself she wouldn’t allow any man to make her feel fear in her own home. She was the Lady of these lands and-

“Whoever’s there, best come out.-“ Interrupted Clegane’s baritone voice. It startled Catelyn, who realized she never knew what the man sounded like. The force of his voice matched him. She didn’t move, finding herself holding her breath.

“Don’t make me come and get you.” He said. It wasn’t a threat. Just a statement of fact. Catelyn staled herself. She wouldn’t be bullied in her own home, on her own lands. She stepped out, where he could see her.

He looked at her, raising an eyebrow. His eyes looked around, then back at her.

“Lady Stark” He said simply. Even that made her uneasy.

“Clegane” she answered back sternly. “What do you think you’re doing?

Clegane lightly scowled at her.

“What does it look like woman. I’m taking a bath. Baths rare in The North?” He said, continuing to wash himself. Catelyn’s mouth opened, and she gaped like a fish. Who was he to talk to her like that. She could have him executed if she so demanded it. She wanted to say something, to threaten him, but she thought otherwise. She was the lady of Winterfell. It was expected that she remained composed.

“The godswood springs are not for public use. I’m sure that was made clear to you and the other guards.” She said, trying to keep her tone under control.

“Aye, but I’m not a guard. I am a knight, and head of the House of Clegane. That makes me a “honored” guest.” He said.

Catelyn once again found herself at a loss for words. This wasn’t how she expected this conversation to go. The Mountain was thought to be a dim man, least that’s what she’s heard. But here he was, talking a circle around her.

“You weren’t INVITED.” She said throughout gritted teeth. Clegane simply turns his back to the woman, letting her get a glimpse of this muscular back.

“Leave me be woman.” He said, not looking at her.

“Now look here Clegane, I don’t care that the king brought you along for whatever reason. I am the lady of this house, and you will follow the laws of this castle! Now remove yourself from that spring before I retrieve my guardsmen.” She said, leaving no room for argument or misinterpretation. She had had enough of his lip.

“Meaning they’re not here.” He suddenly said.

“What?”

“You said retrieve.” Clegane faced her again as he spoke.” Meaning they’re not here already. It’s just you and me.” He said, as if talking to a child. Catelyn was about to retort, when the full implications of his words dawned on her.

She was there alone with him.

And she just openly threatened him. The Mountain. The man of unspeakable deeds.

She was about to turn tail and run, when he suddenly moved, throwing one huge leg over the edge of the spring, and began climbing out. He was extremely quick for his size.

Catelyn took a half step back as he exited the spring. He was in a squatting position, and then stood to his full, massive height.

Catelyn eyes went wide as she took in the man; steam coming off his muscular form. She didn’t know why, but her eyes moved themselves downward from his face, to his chest, down his stomach, to his-

Oh.

Oh gods.

Catelyn was looking at the biggest cock she’s ever seen in her life.

Not that she had seen many.

She had of course seen Ned’s, who was…adequately endowed. 5 inches was completely acceptable she told herself. It got the job done; giving her children, and continuing the blood line.

She had also seen Brandon’s manhood decades ago, something she never told Ned of course. During his courting of her, one night he got drunk, and cornered her in a corridor. He exposed himself to her, telling her he couldn’t wait to be inside her. He was larger than Ned. Around 7 and one half inches. At the time, Catelyn thought that that would never fit.

But Clegane, The Mountain, was something entirely different. His cock was massive, swinging between his legs. it had to hang at least 12 inches, and the wasn’t even hard. It was thick as her forearm. It was covered in veins, and it looked as if it was pulsing. His balls were the size of a man’s fist. They looked so FULL.

Catelyn found herself thinking about Elia Martell. Everyone knew what Clegane did to Elia Martell and her family during the sack of King’s Landing. How he raped her, and then cut her in half. Least that’s what the stories say. He killed her with two weapons that day. His sword, and the massive bitch breaker hanging between his legs.
Suddenly Clegane took a step toward her, and then another. Catelyn stood frozen as he walked towards her, cock swinging side to side between her legs.

Well, this is how it was going to end.

Raped, split in half by Gregor Clegane in a place that’s supposed to be holy. Maybe she deserved it, she thought, for being too cocky, showing up without any protection, trying to tell a man like The Mountain what to do. Maybe if she didn’t fight, he’d spare the children.

He stepped closer once again, now close enough to reach her with an outstretched arm if he chose. She just stared at him, well rather his cock as he came within feet of her.

And then he walked right past her.

Catelyn let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She turned and saw Clegane was gathering his clothes from a flat rock he had set them on. She stared at him, thoughts. in disarray.

Clegane looked over his shoulder at her, then continued to walk away, out of her sight.

Catelyn felt her knees shake before giving out. She dropped down to the ground, letting out a shuddering breath.

She really hated these godswood.

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Sansa was pouting. The prince, her soon to be prince, was nowhere to be seen.

She was so excited when her parents told her that King Robert was interested in marrying her to Joffrey. She was going to be a princess; the queen one day!

Well that was the plan at least. Nothing was official yet, and her mother seemed hesitant to the idea. But why wouldn’t she want her to be happy? She swore if she didn’t get to marry Joffrey, she would just die. She starve herself. Throw herself from the highest tower. She just had to marry him. She had to!

First she had to find him though. He had been at the feast, naturally Sansa was keeping him company, and then suddenly he was gone. Gods, she hopped Arya didn’t somehow scare him away. She wouldn’t be surprised. Arya was always ruining things. She never knew her place. She was the younger sister. She was supposed to be quiet, and get whatever Sansa didn’t want. But no, she had to always go and make a nuisance of herself.

Sansa searched the courtyards, hoping that Joffrey hadn’t already retired to bed. All of his family was still in the Great Hall, so maybe he was close by. She turned a corner, and saw none other than Jaime Lannister standing off in the distance. He was appreciating a blacksmithing station, hands running over the tools, admiring the forge. Perhaps he knew where her prince ran off to. They were going to be family soon after all, so she’d better introduce herself properly. Not to mention that the prospect of speaking to a handsome knight wasn’t entirely unappealing to her as well.

“Ser Jaime ” She called from across the courtyard. Jaime looked up at her, and smiled slightly. Even just a smile had Sansa blushing. She crossed the courtyard over to him.

“Lady Sansa.” He said smoothly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I was wondering if you saw Joffrey come by here. I couldn’t find him at the hall.”

“No, can’t say that I have. Though I take it by you looking for him, that you don’t mind the prospect of marriage” He said through a smile. Sansa blushed and looked at her feet.

“Well…nothing is official. But I’d be honored to be Joffrey’s wife, and serve the realm.”

Jaime gives her a queer look, almost as if he was looking into her for something. Sansa squirmed a bit under his gaze.

“You know, not everyone is queen material.” He said.

This caught Sansa off guard, who’s eyes grew wide with concern.

“Ser?” She questioned.

“I’ve served under 2 queens. Rhaella Targaryen, and of course my sister. I protected them, served them,” He said. Sansa noticed a particular emphasis on the word ‘served’. “A queen has certain qualities to her.”

“Well Ser- I mean Ser Jaime, My mother and Septa Mordane have taught me everything I need to know about being the perfect lady, and-“

“Being a queen is not something that can be taught like common literacy.” He interrupted. “It is a trait that that few can learn, and even fewer can keep.”

Sansa looked up at him in worry. Did she have these traits? Oh Gods, he wouldn’t have brought it up if he thought she did. She wanted to be a good wife for Joffrey. She didn’t want to mess things up with Joffrey before she even got to King’s Landing.

Unbeknownst to her, Jaime Lannister was taking in every detail of her reaction and
dismay. He watched as she squirmed and pouted, fidgeted with anxiety at his words.

His words were complete bullshit of course. Honestly he had just meant to tease the girl. He did love messing with Starks. A bit of Lannister past time, but how the Stark girl reacted, the dread on her face at the prospect of not being a perfect wife….no, Jaime could have some fun with this. He flashed her a toothy, predatory smile.

“Fret not dear Sansa. We’re going to be family after all. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t share what I know with you.”

Sansa’s eyes lit up at this. He had her.

“Oh Ser Jaime you would do that for me? Thank you, Thank you!” She said, leaping forward hugging him around his torso and burying her head in his chest. He was a bit surprised by the sudden contact, but wrapped his arms around her nevertheless. She pulled her face off of his chest and looked up at him smiling.

“Are you ready for your first lesson?” He asked.

“Wait, now?” She questioned.

“No time like the present” He replied. Sansa was unsure. This was all so unorthodox. She was used to strict regiments and lesson plans. But she wanted to be perfect for Joffrey, so she slowly nodded her head.

“Good. Now…..give me a kiss.” He ordered. Sansa pulled back slightly, eyes growing wide.

“S-ser?” She questioned nervously. He just smirked at her.

“A kiss girl. Queens are supposed to know how to do these things. To make their husbands happy.”

“I-I don’t know. Septa Mordane always said a lady-“

“Sansa Sansa, you’re not going to be a LADY. You’re going to be a princess and a queen. Things are different. Plus, this kind of thing is completely normal South.” He lied.

“R-really?” She asked, doe eyed.

“Really.” He said.

Admittedly he was laying it on a bit thick, but he could get away with it simply because Sansa was not the brightest girl in the world.

Sansa looked around, to make sure no one was looking, and then went to her toes and gave him a chaste kiss on his lips. She held it there for a few seconds, before pulling back. She looked at him nervously, trying to gauge his reaction.

“H-how’d I do?” She asked sheepishly. Jaime looked up, as if he was contemplating his answer.

“Not bad….for a Northern Girl, but completely dreadful for the south.”

Sansa looked as if she’d been slap, face calling into pure despair. Tears started welling up in the corner of her eyes.

This is almost too easy, he thought.

“Don’t worry. That’s why I’m here. To teach you.”

Sansa was once again about to thank , when he bent his neck, and pressed his mouth against hers. She squeaked as his mouth enveloped hers. She instinctually struggled slightly against his hold, but she wasn’t going anywhere.

Jaime shoved his tongue into her mouth, moving it all around, tasting her. At first Sansa just stood there, frozen in shock, but then relaxed into the kiss. She tentatively moved her tongue with his, not being completely sure what to do. She had never experienced anything like this before. None of the epic stories or poems she read mentioned this.

Some of her handmaidens had some experience with the opposite sex, but none of their accounts could have prepared her for what Jaime’s mouth was doing to her body and mind. She felt hot even in the cool night air. Her mind was hazy.

Jaime let his hands slither from her back upper back to the base of her spine, right above her ass. He didn’t go any lower. He knew not to push TOO much. Like a duel, you don’t want to make unnecessary, risky swings at the start. You start slow, tiring out your opponent, and then-

Then you strike.

He pulled back from the kiss, biting Sansa’s bottom lip as he left. She let out an airy gasp. Her pupils were blown, and she was breathing heavily. She barely remembered how she even got there.

“Not bad for your first lesson.” He said silkily, finally untangling his arms from around Sansa hips.

“Lessons? Oh! Yes….lessons. Thank you Ser Jaime . That was- that was different than anything I’ve ever heard of.”

“Yes. Northern education isn’t anything spectacular now is it? But like I said, you’re a quick learner. There’s hope for you yet, if you’re willing to learn of course.”

Sansa beamed at him.

“Oh yes, Ser Jaime . Of course.”

“Good. Now, it’s getting rather late. You should probably be off. Whenever you want your next lesson in being a queen, come and find me.”

Sansa nodded her head, before turning to leave. He watched her as she left. He had just violated her mouth with his tongue, and she thanked him for it.

He had dreaded coming to The North, but maybe there was some fun to be had, in the castle of the Wolves.

Chapter Text

It had been a few days since the King arrived in Winterfell, and the wanderlust had all but worn off for Arya. She had only been able to speak 2 words to the King before either she was sent off to do some menial lesson with the Septa, or the King lost interest and went to go find her father. She had expected to hear grand tales about the war, controlling the Seven Kingdoms, SOMETHING.

But no, King Robert was more interested in getting drunk, and sneaking off to be with ladies of the night.

Well, at least there was Joffrey.

Arya was too proud to admit it, but she might have developed a crush on the young blonde prince. But not like her sister, who liked Joffrey BECAUSE her was a prince.

No.

Though they only had a brief conversation, Arya figured that the prince was something unique. He didn’t baby her when he talked to her. That was a unique feature for high-born men, who thought Arya to be some delicate flower.

Often, she found herself watching the prince. Not stalking, surely not, but watching him throughout his day in different places. Joffrey was often with The Mountain, who acted as his personal guard. He’d walk around Winterfell, in the various courtyards and open areas. He didn’t ever seem to enjoy it, likely bothered by the cold. Southern people never could handle the cold of The North.

Sansa also would attach herself to his hip. She’d be chittering into his ear, smiling ear to ear, swoon at his very presence.

It made Arya feel ill.

Her sister was always blind. She couldn’t even see that Joffrey clearly wanted nothing to do with her. It was only his instilled high-born manners that he didn’t tell her to fuck off. Though she couldn’t completely blame Sansa for not seeing the signs. Their fathers planned to marry the pair of them off. Arya found herself feeling saddened at the thought, as well with a tinge of jealousy.

Besides walking around the hold, there was one other spot that Joffrey had been visiting. On the eastern end of Winter Town, there was a slight wooded area. It was considerably safer than the Wolfwood and close enough to the town that children and the inexperienced could go into it without protection. Joffrey would ride into the woods, without Clegane, around late afternoon, and be back before the sunset.

Arya had initially thought that he was sneaking off with Sansa, to get up to Gods knew what. Luckily that theory was quickly dashed when Arya saw Sansa, stumbling around and looking for him.

Arya decided that she would follow the prince, curious to what he was getting up to. Arya had always been a rather sneaky child; she could get in and out of most places with relative ease. She waited in Winter Town, by the path the prince usually took. Sure enough, Joffrey came trotting through on his horse, entering the woods. Arya trailed behind him on foot, slightly off the path. He wasn’t in a rush, so she didn’t have to strain herself keeping up.

After riding on the path for a few minutes, Joffrey abruptly cut into the woods. Arya followed, but lost sight of him.

Now what could the prince be doing where he didn’t want anyone to see him?

Arya was able to find the horse’s tracks, and followed them until she got to a small clearing in the trees. Eventually she found the horse, tied to a small tree, but still no Joffrey. Suddenly, there was the sound of a ‘THUNK’. Then another, and another after that. Arya followed the sound to its source, and sure enough, there was Joffrey, and in his hands was a crossbow.

Joffrey leveled the crossbow, aiming at something. Arya followed his line of sight, and about 15 yards away, was 3 dead rabbits, all shot right in their heads. He was aiming at a fourth, that hopped into the path. He pulled the trigger, and the bolt flew through the air, striking the rabbit right between its little eyes.
“Wow!” Arya exclaimed before she could stop herself. Joffrey spun around, crossbow lifted. Arya was lucky that he didn’t reload the bolt, or she might’ve been just like those little rabbits. When he saw that it was her, his face was at first angry, and then a bit panic stricken.

“What are you doing here girl!” He demanded, eyes looking around. He seemed worried that there might be other people watching.

“Better question is what are YOU doing here?” She countered. She stepped out where he could see her better, then looked toward the dead rabbits littering the ground.

“Did you do all of that?” She asked. Joffrey went red in the face, he opened his mouth, as if to come up with an excuse, before closing it again. Arya walked closer to the dead rabbits, examining them.

“Wow…..you’re really accurate! How did you get so good?” She asked with sudden childlike excitement. Joffrey’s eyebrows shot up. That certainly was not the reaction he expected. He stared at her, searching for a hidden agenda in her face.

“You’re….not scared?” He asked carefully. Arya gave him a queer look.

“Why would I be scared?” She asked as if talking to a child. Truth is, she wasn’t. In fact, she was throughly impressed. It was no secret that Arya was not like most high-born women. She was interested in weaponry and and warfare. While her sister was sewing and reading poems about brave heroes, Arya was playing with blades, and reading epic poems about armies and cities being crushed. Her parents tried to “correct” her, punish her for playing with weapons, giving her double lessons with the Septa, but all attempts always failed.

Joffrey was still staring her, obviously unsure of what to say. She could tell by his reaction, that his….hobby was something that was frowned upon by others close to him. Arya could sympathize with that.

“Honestly, it’s impressive. 4 rabbits, likely moving when you shot them. And I don’t see any other bolts, so that means you hit all your shots.” She praised. Slowly, a smile spread across Joffrey’s face, and he puffed out his chest.

“Well…yeah, I’ve been practicing since I was a small boy. I’m with the crossbow as my uncle is with his sword.” He boasted. Arya smiled at the return of his signature bravado.

“Does it have a name?”

“What?”

“Every weapon needs a name.”

Joffrey thought for a second.

“Will-breaker.” He answered.

Arya almost felt herself shiver.

“Would you like to try it?” He asked, presenting the crossbow to her.

Arya had never shot a crossbow before. Her father was more traditional, and his guards mostly were armed with traditional bows and arrows, which she found herself to be rather proficient with. She nodded her head, and Joffrey handed her the crossbow.

It was lighter than she thought. She looked around for a target. A small crow. That would do nicely. Arya aimed, and the fired. She wasn’t used to the recoil that came with a crossbow, and her shot was off.

“Shit” she cursed. Joffrey snorted behind her.

“Here, let me show you.” He said, walking up behind her. The wraps his arms around her arms, guiding them into place. Her face went red at his touch. Once he positioned her arms, he slid his hands down her sides, right under her ribcage.

“You want to use your shoulder to steady your shot. Keep your abdomen tight.”

His hands slid down her stomach. It tickled.

“You want to have your feet staggered a bit, back leg planted”

He let his hands fall to her hips, holding them in place. Arya held her breath, partially to steady her shot, partially to keep herself from whimpering.

“My, your hips-” Joffrey said under his breathe. He didn’t intend for her to hear him, but she did.

Arya suddenly pulled away and turned to him, face distraught.

“Why would you say that?” She whispered harshly. Joffrey gave her a confused look.

“What? What are you on about?” He asked defensively.

Shit

Arya hadn’t meant to make a scene. She hadn’t meant to wear her insecurities on her sleeve. She dropped the crossbow, and tried to move past Joffrey. He grabbed her by the arm, stopping her in her tracks.

“Let me go” She demanded, trying to tug her arm out of his grasp.

“Did I offend you in some way?” He asked genuinely. Arya stood silent for a minute.

“What? Me mentioning your hips?”

“Don’t talk about them!” She said louder than she meant.

“It’s a bloody compliment.” Joffrey replied. Arya snorted at that.

“Hardly……my sister makes fun of me for it all the time.” Arya said, looking at her feet.

Joffrey rolled his eyes, before tugging on Arya’s arm, causing her to spin into his chest. He then wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her in place. Joffrey was a whole head and a half taller than Arya, so she had to look up to see his face.

“Leave it to your air-head sister to make you ashamed of your gift.” Joffrey said, slowly rubbing his hands on her hips. Arya squirmed a bit at his touch.

“My gift?” She questioned. Joffrey smiled down at her.

“Yes, your gift.” He replied, letting his hands slide down to her ample backside. Arya gasped has his hands came into contact with her ass. He began rubbing each cheek slowly, before sinking his fingers into them through her dress. Arya’s eyes were wide as she stared up at him. He acted as if his groping of her was completely normal.

“Most high born women would kill for your birthing hips.” He said as he continued to palm her ass. Arya mewled at his touch, relaxing and allowing him to knead her like dough. “Means you made to be bred.”

Arya’s face went completely scarlet at his words. He was so direct, so casually vulgar. Arya an unfamiliar wetness between her thighs. She thought she was somehow sweating in the cool weather. Joffrey bent down to whisper into her ear.

“With hips like yours, I’d be shocked if your husband let you out of the bedroom. They’d keep you in the bed, and pump child after child into you, strengthening their blood line. Creating a dynasty with each stroke.” He groaned into her ear. His hands never stopped groping her bubble butt, kneading and pulling at her cheeks. Arya fully shuddered at his words and ministrations.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of.” He finished, giving her right cheeks a casual slap for good measure. Arya swallowed a groan as she shivered in place. Finally, Joffrey slid his hands back up to her waist, pulling back to fully look at her.

“Feel better?” He asked through a smirk. Arya let out a breathy laugh.

“I feel definitely SOMETHING.” She said, trying to catch her breath that she didn’t even know she lost. Joffrey just gave her another smirk.

“Good. Now, let’s kill some things.”
__________________________________________________________________________________________________

Catelyn was in full panic mode.

Arya was missing.

She knew the rules. She was to be home, back in the walls of Winterfell by dusk, and if she ever left, to bring one of the guardsmen. It was now an hour after sundown, and none of the guards had even been aware that she let the keep.

Despite how difficult Arya was at times, this was a rule she NEVER broke.

Something must have happened. She must have gotten hurt, or lost or-

Or Clegane.

Since the night at the springs, Cat felt as if The Mountain was watching her. She felt like she always saw him in the corner of her eyes, but when she looked, he was never there, impressive for a man of her side. She had wondered if some form of retribution was coming for how she spoke to him that night.
And now she worried that she had her answer.

That beast of a man must’ve done something to her youngest daughter. Her heart raced at the thought.’

She had to find Ned.

Catelyn looked throughout the keep, but couldn’t find her husband. She asked a servant, who revealed that Ned was with King Robert at the encampment for the King’s men. She hurried to the encampment, entering the largest tent amongst many. Inside, she found her husband, The King, a mixture of the King’s and Ned’s men, and-

The Mountain.

“Catelyn, I’m glad you’re here, maybe you can-“ Began Robert. Catelyn ignored him, and marched right up to Clegane.

“YOU.” She growled out. Ned and Robert looked at her in complete shock. Clegane just raised a black eyebrow at her.

“Where is my daughter Clegane?” She demanded, eyes glaring up at him. Clegane remained silent, face impassive. Ned walked up behind her.

“Catelyn, what is the meaning of this?”

“Arya is missing Ned. She’s never broken the dusk rule.” She said looking back at him, before turning his attention back to The Mountain. “And I know, he has something to do with it.”

“That’s a strong accusation Cat. Joffrey is also nowhere to be found as well. Maybe they’re together.” Interjected Robert.

The prince was also gone. She supposed that could explain-

No. That didn’t make sense. As far as she knew, Her daughter hadn’t spoken two words to the prince. Plus, Arya had no interests in boys. Why would they be together, with no one knowing where they were?

“Don’t Cat me Robert.” She said harshly. “You brought this man into our home. You know the things he’s done. Until we get to the bottom of this, I want him in chains.”

Robert’s face turned red with anger, but surprisingly held his tongue. Ned stepped in.

“Cat, I know you’re worried, but you can’t just speak to the king lik-“

“And don’t you ‘Cat’ me either Eddard!” She only used his given name when she was furious. “Our daughter is missing.” She said defiantly. She was appalled that Ned was being so passive about this, about having this monster in their home. She had wanted to tell them about the night of the feast. About how Clegane broke their house rules. About how he spoke to her. About how he exposed himself, and that horse cock between his legs to her; how he could have ravished her. She didn’t as she believed it would cause trouble, but now her daughter was missing, and her blame fell squarely on the Mountain. Who else could it fall on?

Ned looked back at Robert. Robert looked at Ned, and simply nodded.

“Guards, take Gregor Clegane to the dungeons until we figure out what’s going on.” Ned commanded. His guardsmen seemed hesitant. Why wouldn’t they be. They knew the same stories she had.

Surprisingly, Clegane complied. He removed his weapon from his side, and let the men lead him out of the tent. On his way out, he gave a glance to Catelyn. Catelyn didn’t back down, maintaining his gaze as he passed her.

Catelyn found herself thinking about how nice his eyes looked/

_____________________________________________________________________________________

It was an hour after Clegane had been taken to the castle dungeons, that Joffrey and Arya rode into Winterfell. Catelyn, Ned, as well as the King and Queen rushed down to great them, both relieved and angry.

“Where have you been boy!”

“Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Why would you go without a guard? Without telling anyone?”

The torrent of question flew at the pair, clearly not realizing the commotion they had made.

Joffrey began to speak, to come up with some excuse, before Arya cut him off.

“It was my fault” She said.

Catelyn and Ned gave their daughter a surprised look as she carried on.

“Joffrey said he wanted to see more of the area, and I had been ever so bored with all my lessons with Septa, that I offered to show him the area.” She explained.

“Arya, you know the rules. You’ve never been out past dusk before.” Catelyn interjected.

“Well I thought I knew where I was, but we got lost. It took us a while to retrace our steps.” Arya said, looking down at her feet for effect. “I’m sorry” She said in the sweetest voice she could muster.

“Arya, I’m very disappointed in you but I’m glad you’re alright.” Said Ned in an authoritative tone. “You will stay within these walls until we leave for King’s Landing. Do you understand?”

Arya looked disappointed but nodded. She dismounted Joffrey’s horse, giving him a glance before she was escorted back into the keep.

“Hmph, letting a girl get you lost-” Chastised King Robert. Joffrey frowned but said nothing.

The small crowd dispersed, leaving just Ned and Cat.

She let out a sigh of relief.

“You have to go and give your apologies to Clegane.”

Shit.

She gave her husband a look, but he didn’t back down.

“Don’t look at me like that Cat. I understand you were upset, but you threw a baseless accusation at landed knight. You spoke to the king as if he was your child. What if Clegane speaks to Tywin Lannister about this? That we imprisoned his favorite vessel?”

Catelyn looked at her feet. She was so sure that The Mountain was guilty.

“Go make this right Cat.” Ned finished, before he turned and headed inside the castle.
_____________________________________________________________________________________

Winterfell’s Dungeons were located in the First Keep, the ancient and abandoned part of the castle. Ned never bothered to have new dungeons built, since there were never any prisoners to be held, and anyone who did any minor crimes could be housed in the Winter Town Jail. For that reason, their weren’t even any regular guards assigned to the dungeons. Ned had to take 2 sentry’s from the wall to guard the cell door.

Catelyn walked down the steep stairs in the decrepit building, and saw the guards standing at their posts. When they saw her, they straightened themselves and greeted her.

“I will need the keys to the cell.” She said plainly.

“Ma’am?” One of the guards questioned.

“Seems that Clegane is innocent.” She admitted begrudgingly. “Give me the keys. and return to your assigned positions. I wish to talk to Clegane alone.”

The guards look at each other, a bit concerned.

“My Lady, are you sure you don’t want us to stay and-“

Catelyn held up her hand to stop him. She wanted no one, NO ONE, to hear her apologize to a man like Gregor Clegane.

“Yes, I’m sure, now please do not make me ask again.” She said, holding out her open palm expectantly. The two guards looked at each other, and then shrugged. They dropped the keys in her hand, before making their way out of the dungeons. Catelyn took a deep breathe, before unlocking the door, and pushing it open. She had to put most of weight into it, because of secure it was.

When she finally got the door open, she saw Clegane sitting on the cot, which was much too small for him, shirtless.

“Aren’t you cold?” She asked. She wondered why she was concerned about his comfort.

“No.” He said simply.

Catelyn inhaled deeply. She would power through this.

“You’re free to go Clegane. My daughter returned unharmed. You’ve been vindicated.” She forced out.

He just stared at her, unmoving.

He obviously wasn’t going to make this easy. Steeling herself, she continued.

“-And…..I was mistaken. I should not have accused you, without evidence. And for that I am sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

Catelyn was caught off guard by that.

“I beg your pardon?”

“No. You’re not. You’re not sorry.”

The Mountain stood up, stretching. Catelyn couldn’t help but admire his muscular torso for a second time. He walked to the edge of the room.

“You’re not sorry at all” He continued. “I’m sure your husband made you come down here, to try and push your honeyed words on me. But you’re not sorry.”

Damn. She hadn’t expected him to be that perceptive. Catelyn kept her face passive, as to not give away it away.

“I did not come to argue with you Clegane. Just to offer my sincerest apologies.” She retorted. Clegane just snorted.

“Aye, I’m sure you want to put this all behind us, lest I tell Tywin Lannister how The Starks treat his vessels.” He said, as he began to pace back and forth next to her.

Catelyn once again had Clegane see right through her.

“Listen Clegane, I was wrong. I admit that. There’s no need for this incident to go beyond Winterfell” She tried. She hated how she had to attempt to placate him. “Besides, you were only in here for 2 hours. Hardly worth-“

“Despite my sigil, the only dog in my family is my brother.” He interrupted. Slowly, he began to walk circles around her, as if she was some prey. “I do not like being caged.”

Catelyn had enough of his dramatics. If he would not accept her apology, Ned could take it up with him.

“Fine.” She said sternly. “Have it your way.”

She moved to leave the cell, but suddenly realized that they had switched positions; Clegane was now standing between her and the cell door.

“S-step aside Clegane.” She said, trying to remain calm. She had allowed herself to be flanked, and have her only exit blocked.

Clegane just smirked down at her. Even his smile felt like a threat.

“Nay. I think we’ll see just how sorry you are.”

Catelyn made a break for it.

He was big. Maybe she could use his size to her advantage. Slip under his arm, and get through the door before he could turn around.

Clegane easily crouched down and caught her around the waist, and lifted her clear off the ground.

“Ahhh! Stop! Let me go! Helllllpppp guards! Someone, ANYONE!” She yelled as she kicked and thrashed over Clegane’s shoulder. He just held her like a child throwing a tantrum. Her screams echoed in the dungeon, but no one was around to hear them. She might as well been screaming into a void.

Clegane walked her over to the cot, and unceremoniously plopped her down on it. She made to stand, but he placed his large hand on her shoulder, and flipped her over to her front. The cot was small, so chest rested on it while her knees mad hard contact with the ground. If it wasn’t for her dress, they would’ve been bruised.

Clegane grabbed the back of her neck and pinned her head to the cot. She once again struggled to no avail.

“Clegane l-let me go this instant! You won’t get away with this. My husband will have your head! H-he’ll have you torn apart by dire wolves! Let me go know and you can save yourself.” She tried. Her voice shook as she spoke, taking any much of the intended forcefulness of it. The Mountain just scoffed and flipped her dress up over her back, revealing her small clothes. After 19 years in the North, Catelyn was used to the cold. She never bothered to wear leggings anymore, but even she shivered at the sudden exposure of her fat ass.

“W-wait! Clegane please….if you let me go now, I’ll never speak of this. We can just pretend it didn’t happen.” She begged.

Again, unfazed by her words, Clegane used his free hand to rub over her cloth covered mounds, with surprising gentleness.

“Oh fuck-“ Catelyn let out before she could stop herself. She couldn’t see his face from the position she was in, but she was sure he look satisfied with himself. He continued to gently rub two fingers over her covered cunt, taking his time. Catelyn squirmed under his touch, biting her lip, to keep her voice from coming out. She felt ashamed that her body was betraying her. That she was letting The Mountain make her cunt wet.

Clegane moved her small clothes to the side, exposing her cunt to him. Slowly, he pushed his middle and index fingers into her. Catelyn couldn’t stop herself from moaning. His fingers alone were as long as Ned’s manhood, thicker too. Her hips bucked as he pistons his thick fingers in and out of her.

I won’t come

I won’t come

I don’t want to come

Please don’t make me co-
Catelyn couldn’t finish her thought, as an orgasm ripped through her body. She moaned like a whore as she shook, and sprayed her juices all over Clegane’s fingers and the dungeon floor. Her face burned with shame, as this monster brought her to completion.

Something Ned hadn’t done in YEARS.

Truth is, Catelyn was a very repressed woman. Many high-born women were. Ned wasn’t interested in sex outside of making heirs. He in fact hadn’t even touched her in over a year. And now here she was, coming harder than she had in years, for the man violating her.

Catelyn came down from her high, and heard Clegane shuffling around behind her. He still had her pinned down so she couldn’t see, but suddenly she felt something on her lower back. It felt heavy. Not heavy enough to be his other arm, but-

Oh.

Gregor Clegane’s now hard cock was resting on her exposed ass and lower back.

It dawned on her that the night in the Godswoods, she hadn’t seen him at full mast. His cock was 12 inches SOFT. But now- now he had to be at least 20 inches, and as thick as her bicep. She couldn’t help but whimper as she felt the weight of his cock on her. It felt like someone reacted a broadsword on her back.

“Clegane….please…..don’t stick that in me. You’ll kill me. Oh Gods, you’ll kill me.” She payed and begged. She knew it fell on deaf ears.

She felt his tip press against her cunt. It felt like someone’s fist going into her. With one hand on the back of her neck, and the other gripping her hip tightly, he began to push his hips forward, leaning down and putting some of his weight on her. Catelyn struggled with renewed vigor as The Mountains cock head began to stretch her open. He was just too big.

Her struggles didn’t faze The Mountain, who had a tight grip on her. He continued to push into her, until about 5 inches of his length were in her cunt. Well there was the threshold. The furthest her husband had ever been in her, and here was Gregor Clegane, who didn’t even have a quarter of his cock in her. Her cunt squeezed and trembled around him, almost sucking him in more. She couldn’t describe the sensation of having her walls utterly stretched, and she knew this wasn’t even the peak of him yet.

He continued to push into her, more and more of her length. Catelyn at this point was openly begging and moaning, as he continued to utterly reshape her cunt.

“Clegane…please…” She begged as he pushed past 8 inches in her.

“Gregor.”

“W-what?”

“My name is Gregor.”

“G-Gregor……please, just-“

As if ignited by her saying his given name, The Mountain rammed the rest of his cock into her cunt, to the hilt.
Catelyn let out a shriek, as his massive rod, bulged lewdly in her stomach. He was deeper than she even knew existed. She could feel him in her tits. He held himself in her for a few seconds, before pulling out halfway, and ramming back in her, then again, and again. His strokes were so forceful, Catelyn thought he’d fuck her right through he cot.

Her cunt is a tight sheath around his member, gripping him tightly, though due to his size, any cunt would have a vice grip on him. Her juices flowed down her legs as he railed into her over and over again, leaving a small puddle forming on the cold stone floor. Her mind was going blank at the sheer sensation, her cunt was being turned inside out. She stopped screaming pleas, now she was just babbling and whimpering as he fucked and filled her.

One particularly sharp thrust, sent her over the edge. Her legs shook, knees digging into the hard floor as she came and sprayed around Clegane’s cock. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, as her violator made her come.

Even through her orgasm, Clegane never ceased thrusting his hips; in fact, it spurred his thrusts to become more wild and savage. The sound go his hips slapping into her ass, and her mewls and moans, echoed through the dungeon.

He sped his thrusts even faster, they became a blur. Even in Catelyn’s fucked haze, she knew what that meant.

“DontcomeinmeDontcomeinmeOhGodsOhGods” She babbled.

The Mountain literally ROARED as he climaxed, pulling Catelyn’s hips to his. Immediately she felt his hot cum flood into her, and just like everything else with him, it was massive. His first shot was enough to completely fill her womb. His second shot, caused her stomach to bulge slightly from the sheer amount. The grip of her cunt around him didn’t allow a drop to spill out of her.

After 2 full minutes of filling her with his seed, emptying his massive balls.

Slowly, he pulls out of her. When he finally unsheathes himself from her now gaping cunt, a torrent of his cum spills out, pooling on the ground. Catelyn shudders, breathing heavily, barely aware of where she is.

He lets go of her, causing her to slide off the cot, and crumple to the ground.

Gingerly, as if getting ready for a morning walk, The Mountain dresses himself. Catelyn just lays there in a heap, too exhausted and sore to move, as she looks up at him.

“Apology accepted.”

With that. He walks out of the dungeon.

Chapter Text

Catelyn was conflicted.

Gregor Clegane, The Mountain, had ravaged her.

Took her like some cheap Northern whore. Her cunt used and abused by his massive bitch breaker. She was left in the cold Winterfell dungeons, knees bruised and scraped, as Gregor’s seed leaked out of her cunt. It took her a quarter of an hour before she could even stand.

She hobbled out of the dungeons, barely able to walk from soreness and exhaustion. When she arrived at the master bedchambers, her husband was fast asleep, none the wiser that The Mountain had just fucked her.

She should’ve just woken Ned up. Told him how The Mountain had dishonored her, taken her against her will. It was his fault anyway, making her go apologize to that man, and what did that get her? A womb full of his seed, and a gaping cunt. Gods it would take DAYS for her cunt to return to normal. She’d certainly had to drink Moon tea as well. It was one of few options women had to make sure the seeds planted in them didn’t grow. Hell, she probably would need a double serving, because something told her that Clegane’s genes were strong ones.

She should’ve woken Ned up and said all this to him…..but she didn’t. She decided to let him sleep for the night. Not like she could reverse what had already happened to her. Clegane didn’t seem like the type to run, but even if he did, The North was loyal to Ned. She would tell her husband about her defilement in the morning, and have Clegane’s massive head on a pike by supper.

That was a sennight ago.

It had been a full 7 days, and Catelyn still hadn’t told a soul about her encounter in the dungeon.

Why?

Well when she woke up the following day, she began to really consider the sequence of events, and doubts clouded her mind.

Say she told Ned what happened. What then? It was highly illegal to do harm to standing lords without a trial, and Ned certainly wasn’t one to bend rules. And no doubt Clegane would deny all charges. He was a Lannister vessel. He was backed by the most powerful family in Westeros. She knew that The Lannisters would take various measures to protect their prized soldier.

Then of course there was the very real possibility that Clegane would seek a trial by combat. While she knew the knights and bannermen of her husband were capable fighters, she knew they would be no match for The Mountain. She couldn’t in good conscience send someone to their death trying to be her champion.

Beyond that, there was the shame it would bring their name.

She stupidly went into a dungeon with him. This was the second time she interacted with him unguarded. She’d have to go into detail of what he did to her, and be examined in court by the maester. She didn’t think she could bear to have the court gaze upon her stretched pussy for evidence.

No….she would say nothing. It was the best choice in the long run. In a few days time, they would make their way to King’s Landing. Once there, Clegane would be sent back to his lands, and away from Catelyn, then she could just pretend as if nothing happened. As if he hadn’t bent her over, and fucked and orgasm out of her in her own home. She could endure. She just had to avoid Clegane at all costs.

Though, now that she thought about it….she hadn’t actually seen Clegane since that night. She should’ve taken that as a blessing from the gods, but for some reason, Catelyn found no comfort in not knowing where The Mountain was.

____________________________________________________________________________

Arya was having a wonderful time over the last sennight

Ever since that day in the forest with Joffrey, she had been riding high. Her and the young prince were kindred spirits. Though she was technically grounded to the walls of the hold, it was easy enough for Arya to sneak out and in before anyone noticed. They’d meet in the woods, and hunt small animals, and talk. Well, Joffrey talked mostly. Boasting about himself and his family lineage. Arya didn’t mind. She liked hearing him talk. She liked to hear him go on about the Lannisters and the power and lands they held. She found herself envisioning being to the South, in the lush lands he described, in the Lannister red and gold. Better than the cold and gray of Winterfell.

Besides all of the talking, there was the touching. She had thought his casual groping of her had been a one off thing, but the fact of the matter was he was just getting started. To call Joffrey brazen would be an understatement. When they were alone in the woods, he groped her ass anytime his hands were free, as if her backside was something that had always been his. Kneading, pinching, slapping; he played with her ass to his heart's content.

At first she played coy, batting his hands, but after a few days, fully gave into his ministrations, leaning into his hands, mewling at his touch, bending over slightly whenever he was behind her, to give him full access.

Joffrey took her acceptance, and pushed it even further. He’d not only touch her when they were alone in the woods, but also while they were within the wall of Winterfell. He’d giver he ass a slap as he walked past her on the grounds, he’d pull her into alcoves to paw at her bubble butt, before releasing her and going about his business like nothing happened and every time, Arya would just readjust her clothes, and walk away with a smile on her face.

This particular morning, Arya was with Joffrey in the training yard. They were watching the kingsguard and Lannister soldiers practice formation drills, led by none other than Jaime Lannister. Arya was taken in by the precision and uniformity. Joffrey was taken in by her thighs in the trousers she had on. He slyly rubbed one of her thighs as they sat on a bench.

“Joffrey! There you are!” Came a voice. The pair jumped apart, startled.

Into the courtyard, walks Sansa, followed closely by Robb and Theon. Sansa saw how close Arya was to Joffrey and frowned.

“Arya? What are you doing here? Joffrey, she’s not BOTHERING you is she?” Sansa asked in an accusatory tone.

“I’m just watching the soldiers.” Arya answered sharply.

“Oh, don’t you two start.” Robb interjected.

Joffrey frowned at the unwanted intrusion of the group, but didn’t let his full displeasure show.

“I was just explaining to your sister some of the drills and formations.” He said smoothly. Arya smiled at the scowl that came to her sister’s face. Satisfied, Arya turns her attention back to the soldiers

The group watched the drills for a while. Suddenly Robb snorts. He leans towards Theon to speak to him.

“Our men would make quick work of these boys” He tells Theon. Theon just nods his heads and agrees, the obedient ward he is. Hearing them. Joffrey frowns and arches an eyebrow.

“Is that a fact, Stark? He countered.

“Yeah, it is.” Robb continued “My father and his men helped free this land of Targareyn tyranny, while you lads in the south, sat pretty until it was convenient.”

“It’s called strategy, Stark. Something you northerners know nothing about.” Joffrey answered in a bored tone.

“Is it strategy to stab kings in the back?” Robb said, glancing toward Jaime. Joffrey just smirks.

“Well….it worked didn’t?”

Joffrey and Robb glare at each other. Suddenly, Joffrey smiles and stands to face Robb.

“How about a friendly competition then.” Asked Joffrey. Robb just raised a dark eyebrow at him.
“Me and you. A light sparring session. Your Northern ways vs my Southern.

“Ha!” Laughed Theon from behind Robb. “You’re going to fight Robb?”

“I’m not talking to you Greyjoy, I’m talking to your better.” Joffrey said without even glancing at him. Theon sputtered but said nothing, not wanting to push his luck mouthing off to royalty. Though to his credit his skepticism was warranted. Robb was a strong young man, muscular and solid. Joffrey was leaner, and a bit shorter. Robb would without a doubt have a weight and strength advantage.

“You sure you want to do this little prince?” asked Robb with a sneer.

“Robb stop it! You’ll-” Started Sansa in a high pitched wine. Joffrey just held out his hand, stopping her words.

Arya looked between the pair, eyes flashing. Robb just stared at Joffrey, and Joffrey at him. Sansa was pouting between the pair, and Theon was looking at a very interesting smudge of dirt on. Finally, Robb throws his arms up.

“Alright your highness. Have it your way. Just don’t go crying to your father when you get knocked on your arse.” Said Robb with a sneer. Arya was annoyed by his sense of superiority, as if he’s ever been in real combat. He only ever sparred with Theon and the children of their father’s bannermen, but he was too thick-headed to see that they always LET him win.

Joffrey walked over to his uncle. He said something that the others couldn’t make out, but whatever it was, a large grin spread across Jaime’s face. He took off one of his gloves, and gave a queer sounding whistle. Almost immediately, the soldiers stopped training, and maneuvered into a large circle in the training yard. Arya was impressed by the grace of their movements.

“Well, are you coming or not?” Yelled Joffrey from the center of the circle of men. Robb frowned before moving to the circle. The men parted ways so he could get to the center. A squire brought practice swords and some protective chest padding. Arya, Sansa and Theon moved closer so they could see the action. The pair readied themselves.

“Last chance to back out.” Said Robb, twirling his sword in his hand. Joffrey just sneered at him, and the two began to circle each other.

It was Robb who attacked first, swinging att Joffrey’s head, obviously trying to end things quickly. Joffrey just leaned out the way. Robb advanced Joffrey, using his superior reach to his advantage, trying to close the distance between them. Joffrey just continued to dodge and parry his blows, back peddling and side stepping around Robb. The Stark heir was clearly getting frustrated.

“Stop running and fight ba-”

Just as the words left his mouth, Joffrey planted his back foot and went to a high guard, he slashed downwards, and caught Robb in the thigh before he could react. Arya had to keep herself from squealing with delight.

Robb hobbled backwards grimacing. “Lucky shot” he growled.

Joffrey just smirked at him, before taking another high guard, waiting. Robb advanced him again, but this time, Joffrey met Robb’s strikes with his own, blocking and countering. The two went back and forth with each other for several minutes, neither having a clear advantage over the other. Arya admired Joffrey as he moved and fought. He really was a handsome specimen of a man.

Joffrey and Robb locked swords, pushing against each other trying to gain leverage. Robb being taller and stronger, was causing Joffrey to falter, his legs shaking a bit as evidence. Robb smiled, thinking he had the prince, when suddenly.

*SPTT*

Joffrey spit directly in Robb’s eye.

Robb jumped back in disgust and pain, one hand going up to wipe his face

“Ah! You little-”

Robb swung blindly at Joffrey, who dodged the swing with ease. Using Robb’s own balance against him, he swept his feet from under him using the flat of his sword. Robb fell forward to his hands and knees, catching himself from falling on his face. Joffrey raised his sword, and cracked Robb directly on the back with it. He yelled out in pain, and fell to his stomach. Joffrey placed a foot to the base of Robb’s spine, and held his sword to the back of his neck, and smiled.

“Told you, attacks to the back seem to work.” He gloated.

Arya couldn’t contain herself, and clapped at Joffrey’s victory. Sansa looked at her, scandalized, but Arya couldn’t care. Joffrey had shown who was superior here. Robb rolled over to his back, trying to catch his breath.

“You fucking cheated” growled Robb as he sat up. Joffrey just gave him a derisive snort.
“Cheated? This was battle. You do what you have to win. You really think your father was being honorable as he cut down scores of men on the battlefield.?” Asked Joffrey in an amused tone. Robb didn’t look so amused. He got to his feet and started advancing towards Joffrey.

“You question my father’s honor?”

‘Gods, for the eldest, he sure was fucking naieve’, Arya thought frowning. Honor this, honor that. Honor was something their father beat into their head, but Arya was no fool. She read enough about war and history to know that honor didn’t win wars and hold kingdoms. Honor isn’t what kept Winterfell under the Starks for thousands of years. The North and their fucking obession with honor and tradition was something that Arya couldn’t stand. One of the reasons she was so eager to ride South.

Robb takes another step toward Joffrey, but Jaime steps between the two.

“Now Now young wolf, don’t be a sore loser.” He said smoothly. Robb looked down and saw that Jaime had slightly unsheathed his very real sword. He was a sore loser, but he wasn’t stupid.

“Feh!” He said, throwing his practice sword on the ground, before turning and storming off back towards the castle. Theon followed obediently behind him. Joffrey smiled smugly, and walked toward Arya and Sansa with a confident swagger.

“Erm...you fought bravely Joffrey.” Said Sansa, forcing a smile.

“Fuck bravery. He won, that’s all that matters.” Interjected Arya. Sansa shot her a dirty look.

“Arya, shouldn’t you be going to your lesson with Septa Mordane. Wouldn’t want mother to know that you were late again.” Sansa said tightly. It was Arya’s time to shoot a glare. She huffed, knowing that her sister was right. She leaned toward Joffrey to whisper in his ear.

“Come find me later on. A reward for the winner” She said breathily, too low for her sister to hear. Sansa gave a confused look as Arya walked off. She was even more confused by the large smile on Joffrey’s face.
____________________________________________________________________________

Catelyn was confused.

Confused as to why in the names of the Gods, she found herself trying to locate Gregor Clegane.

She should’ve been avoiding him at all cost after what he did to her, but she hadn’t seen him in days. Had he ran, expecting retribution? No, since nobody seemed to be alarmed at his absence. Was he planning something? Catelyn did NOT like being in the dark. She told herself it was better to know where he was, so she could avoid him, than to give him the opportunity to catch her by surprise.

She walked the various court and training yards looking for him, but alas he was nowhere to be found. She was walking by Winterfell’s South Gate, when she saw a short, chubby man, running, well more like hobbling towards the entrance. He was waving his arms trying to get her attention.

“M’lady, M’lady” said the man, out of breath.

Wilhelm Mann. Owner of Winter Town’s whorehouse.

The guards made to stop him, but Catelyn waved them off, curious as to what would have the man in such distress. Wilhelm made it to her, bending over, trying to catch his breath.

“Thank….huff….you….huff…..M’lady.” He said wheezing.

“Mann? To what do I owe the visit?” She asked firmly. Catelyn honestly didn;t care much for Wilhelm. He was a lecher and whoremonger and not all too bright either, but he paid his dues on time, so he was given his freedom to operate his business.

“It’s my whores, your grace!” He said, suddenly standing upright. Cateyln arched an eyebrow at him. “He’ll ruin them!”

“WHO will ruin them?”

“The man! A soldier. He-he...he’s as big as a mountain!” Rambled Wilhelm.

Catelyn's eyes went wide.

So that’s where he was. Gregor Clegane had spent the last sennight at the local brothel.

Cately didn’t know why, but she felt a pang of jealousy.

“What exactly is he doing? Is he not paying? Hurting your workers?”

“Well….no, not exactly.”

Catelyn gave him a confused look.

“Then...what?”

“Well...it’s just that….Well he’ll put me out of business frankly” Wilhelm exclaimed. “No other patrons besides one will stay while he’s there! And he’s ruining my whores! Stretching their cunts with that massive rod of his! No normal man will want to use a whore whose cunt is the size of a stable! Erm, excuse my language, your grace.”

Catelyn just looked at him in disgust.

“Why don’t you just kick him out?” She asked.

“Have you seen the size of im’? Every time he looks at me, I think he’s going to pop my head like a grape. I was...er, wondering if you could get him to leave?”

“Me?” She asked incredulously

“Well I’d ask your husband, but he’s busy with The King. Please. He’ll listen to you. You’re the lady of these lands.”

Catelyn opened her mouth, then closed it again, unsure of what to say.
____________________________________________________________________________
Catelyn was in a whore house. Not somewhere she ever expected to be in her life.

She told herself that it was her duty to her subjects to help then when asked. She told herself that the whorehouse was the best place to confront Clegane, since it was a public setting. She told herself all this, yet the reality simply was she was in a whore house that smelled of swear, wine and cum.

“Well, let’s be on then.” She said to Wilhelm.

“Er, after you, M’lady”, he said sheepishly.

Wilhelm’s brothel had 2 floors. The first for mingling and selecting your girl, and the second for the action itself. Catelyn could surmise that Clegane was upstairs. Catelyn steeled herself, and began to ascend the stairs. As she climbed, she really started to take notice to the rhythmic slapping of flesh that she was hearing.

“Well, surprised to see you here.” Came a cheery voice as Catelyn reached the top of the stairs.

Tyrion Lannister. The imp of the Lions.

‘I shouldn’t be surprised to find him still here’, thought Catelyn.

Tyrion was sitting in a chair, or rather, he was sitting in the lap of whore, who was sitting in the chair; goblet of wine one hand, and the whore’s tit in the other.

“What brings you to this fine establishment today?” Asked Tyrion in a teasing tone. Catelyn didn’t like how the imp spoke to her, but decided to ignore it.

“Seems the proprietor of this building is having a problem with one of the tenets.” She replied.

“Oh I told Wilhelm I would replace that plate I broke. Didn’t think he would call the lady of this land on me.” He said in a teasing tone. “Unless of course you mean the giant who’s been running through all the whores.”

Catelyn’s face reddened a bit at his words.

“Yes, I was lucky to get….”

“-Ros”

“Yes, Ros. I was able to get Ros here before Clegane laid claim to all the other lovely ladies here. Poor girls. After he’s done with them….Well suffice it to say, childbirth might be a walk in the godswood for them.”

“Enough.” Interrupted Catelyn, getting sick of his flippant tone. “Just point me to where Clegane is.”

Tyrion just gave another toothy grin. “Well I’m sure you can hear the meeting of flesh.” He explained, before gesturing to the door at the end of the hall.

“Ser Tyrion. Please return to the castle.” She requested. She didn’t want Tyrion to hear anything she had to say to Clegane, or anything he had to say to her.

Tyrion just raised an eyebrow at her.

“Oh but I’m having such a fine time here.”

Catelyn shot him a glare, then looked up at Ros.

“You can take your…..companion with you.”

Tyrion put his finger on his chin, as if contemplating, before swinging his little legs and hopping to his feet.

“Very well. Come Ms. Ros. Let’s leave the beauty and the beast to talk. Maybe she’ll soothe his wretched heart.” He said sarcastically as he grabbed Ros’ hand and led her down the stairs.

Gulping, Catelyn made her way down the hall. The sound of the slapping and grunting got louder and louder as she got closer to the door. She could smell the sex in the air. Slowly she reached for and opened the door.

She was met with the site of Clegane’s naked form once again - this would make three times- as he fucke into a whore he had bent over on the small bed. The whore had fiery red hair, much like Catelyn’s. She was pale and with freckles. She was young, maybe having 19 name days. She was a bit on the small side, and Catelyn would’ve guessed her younger if it wasn’t for her very substantial breasts that were swinging with each thrust. Catelyn herself was a generously endowed woman, but she felt a pang of jealousy at how much larger the young woman was.

Despite her presence in the doorway, the fucking didn’t stop. Clegane had one hand firmly gripped on the whore’s waist, while the other was fish hooked in her mouth, causing her tongue to flop out, and drool run freely down her chin. The red-headed whore was grunting and yelping at Clegane’s sharp thrust. Catelyn could see his cock bulge in her stomach as he drove his bitch breaker in and out of her.

Catelyn felt a familiar wetness begin to form between her legs at the scene, as she squirmed where she stood.

She must’ve been standing there longer than she realized, because she was startled when Clegane called out to her.

“Lady Stark.” He said, never ceasing his thrusts.

“C-Clegane” She stuttered back.

“What do you want?” He asked simply, as he slapped his whore’s ass, causing her to gasp around his fingers.

‘What do you want?’ How dare he speak to me in that tone. As if I’m inconveniencing him. As if he didn’t ravage me not but days ago’, She thought with a frown on her face. Despite the voice in her head, Catelyn couldn’t actually formulate any words as she stood there and continued to watch him destroy the whore with his dick. She was only broken out of her haze, when Wilhelm suddenly appeared behind her.

“Oi! You brute! You’re in for it now! I’ve got the Starks on my side” Wilhelm said with sudden confidence now that she was there. Although as he spoke, he still hid behind Catelyn. “You-you get out of her, now! Before you break her like you did all my other whores!”

With a grunt, Clegane gave one final thrust, before grabbing the whore by the hips, and pushing her off his member. She collapsed on the mattress, before rolling off the bed in a heap. Clegane’s member glistened with her juices as it bobbed in the air. Catelyn went to kneel down next to the whore.

“Are you okay?” She asked in worry. The whore just mumbled into the floor. “I’m sorry? I can’t-”

Suddenly the whore’s face shoots up from the floor, with a big, crooked smile on her face.

“FOOK” The whore exclaimed, startling Catelyn. “I avent’ been fooked like that since I lost ah bet an’ had to fook ah giant.

Catelyn just looked at her wide eyed.

“Ygritte! Get up and get dressed. You’re done here.” Commanded Wilhelm, finally stepping into the room.

“Ah, Do I ave’ to? I was enjoyin’ that. Shit I should be the one payin’ em.” She said, as she pushed herself to her feet, legs wobbling.

“Yes.” Answered Wilhelm sternly. “Now go downstairs and get yourself cleaned up.”

Ygritte limps her way out the door, but not before looking over her shoulder back at Gregor.

“Come find me if you wan’ to continue our session while I’m not workin’” She said huskily, before exiting the room.

“And you” Wilhelm said, pointing at Clegane. “You’re here by banned. Now please leave before-”

“I didn’t cum” Interrupted Clegane stoically. Both Wilhelm and Catelyn were caught off guard by him.

“I-I beg your pardon.” Said Wilhelm, panic filling his eyes.

“I said, I did not cum yet. I came here to please myself, and I’m not leaving until I do.” Said Clegane.

“I-I demand you leave this instant!” Sputtered Wilhelm.

“You better leave me be fat man, before I decide to fuck you instead.” Replied Clegane, standing from the bed.

Wilhelm gaped like a fish, before backing up and cowering behind the door frame.

“Y-you can’t speak to me like that! Tell him, m’lady!”

Catelyn squared her shoulders and looked at the giant man in front of her.

“I will not have you threaten my subjects Clegane” She said, trying to sound confident. Clegane just looked at her, before taking a step towards her, cock still hard and bobbing freely. Catelyn’s eyes couldn’t help but glance down at it, as it pointed at her like a weapon. She still couldn’t believe that inside of her.

“I. Didn’t. Come.” He just repeats, looking down at her.

Catelyn felt butterflies in her stomach as his eyes bore into hers. She should’ve just gotten the guards, but that would likely cause an incident and violence. Her husband should be the one confronting him, but he was off doing gods know what with the king. So she had to step up and be the man he wasn’t.

If Clegane wouldn’t leave until he spilled his seed, fine.

Sometimes the path of least resistance was the best one.

“Wilhelm. Go and find something to do. Maybe to the tavern.”

Wihelm didn’t need to be told twice. He scampered out the room and down the stairs. Catelyn waited until she heard the front entrance close before she spoke again.

“Sit on the bed” She suddenly said. Clegane just quirked an eyebrow at her.

“Whatever will make you leave without an incident. If you need to spill your disgusting seed, so be it. Now sit on the bed.”

Clegane said nothing, but obeyed. Catelyn took a deep breath, before dropping to her knees between his legs.

‘Fucking disgusting. This obscene, massive thing.’

Tentatively, she reached out her hand, making contact with his cock. She was surprised how hard it felt in her hand? Yet the skin was soft and smooth. She brought her other hand forward; he was so thick that her fingertips didn’t even touch as she wrapped it around his length. She began pumping her hands and arms up and down his length, Ygrritte’s juice acting as lubricant as she began to jerk off Clegane. His cock felt heavy in her hands; reminded her of the times Ned allowed her to hold his greatsword.

Clegane just looked down at her as she stroked his cock. He gave no indications that he was enjoying her minstartions. Catelyn frowned a little at his stoicness. She was on her knees, giving him a handjob, and he didn’t so much as make a peep. Catelyn doubled her efforts, working her hands up and down his cock at a feverish pace. He was so large that she had to move her whole arm to stroke the full length of him.

After a few minutes of no response, and her arms growing tired, Catelyn decided to change tactics. Catelyn angled his cock downwards, so that it was level with her face. Clegane raised an eyebrow at her.

‘Try and stay silent now you big brute’

Catelyn opened her mouth and dove forward, cramming his bulbous head in. She had to stretch her mouth wide to fit his tip in. She felt like she was trying to heat her own fist. Catelyn layed her tongue flat on the bottom of her mouth, so she could swipe at the underside of his cock. She shallowly bobbed her head on his tip, as her hands continued to work and stroke him. She was only fitting about a fifth of his cock in her mouth, but she lavished his head with her tongue, and sucked hard and deep, trying to bring him to climax.

‘Ned never could last when I serviced him with my mouth’, She thought proudly.

But Gregror Clegane wasn’t Ned. She bobbed and sucked on his cock for several minutes, and the only progress she made was giving herself a sore jaw. She pulled herself off his cock with a light *pop*.

“What is with you Clegane?” She asked sharply. She continued to stroke his cock with her hands as she glared up at him. “Why won’t you cum?”

The only response she got was an amused snort from the giant man. Catelyn narrowed his eyes at him.

“What, can only spill your seed when you’re violating someone? When you’re raping their cunt?” She asked through bared teeth. She leant forward and spit on his tip, to give her more lubrication as she pulled him off. She was growing frustrated. She knew that she was one of the beauties of these lands. Certainly better than any of Wilhelm whores. Yet here she was, struggling to even get a reaction out of the man.

‘Maybe he needs some visual stimulus.’

Catelyn took her hands off Clegane’s rod, and hurriedly began to undo the laces of her dress. Once loose, she shimmied the material off of her shoulders, revealing her breasts. Catelyn was proud of her tits. Even as she got into her late-30s, there wasn’t a hint of sagging. Clegane’s eyes widened a bit at the sight of her breast, barely noticeable on his stone face. But Catelyn noticed.

‘Hmph. Even a brute like you knows a fine pair when he sees them.’

Catelyn leaned forward, and wrapped her breast around the base of his dick. She began moving her body and hands, pleasuring him with her tits. Clegane grunted, which She took to mean she was doing a good job. She licked at his shaft as she gave him a frantic titfuck.

“Come on. Cum. Cum already you fat cocked bastard.” She said lewdly. She said it, hoping her dirty talk would spur his release, but in reality all it did was make her own cunt moist.

“If you want me to finish, you’ll have to do better then that.” He finally said. Catelyn was rather offended by that. Her actions would make any normal man spill their seed many times over. It wasn’t her fault that he was some horse-dicked freak of nature.

“Fine.” She seethed. Unwrapping her tits from his cock and standing. Clegane just looked at her. “You take control then. The faster we finish, the faster you leave.”

“On the bed. Bent ov-“

“NO.” She interrupted. “You shall never have me like that again. NEVER.” She finished adamantly.

Clegane frowned at that. Catelyn took a strange pride that he seemed displeased at the idea of not having her cunt again. Suddenly Clegane stood.

“Fine” He said gruffly. “Lay on your back. Head hanging over the edge of the bed.”

He leaned in close, faces inches from hers.

“I’m going to fuck that pretty face of yours”

Catelyn flushed red at that, and felt her womanhood tremble a bit. She just stared at him for a minute, before slowly placing herself in position.

She laid there on her back, world inverted, met with the image of his huge balls swinging between his legs.

“Open” He said simply, and Catelyn found herself immediately obeying, opening her mouth as wide as she could. Clegane squatted down, lining his cock up with her lips, before pushing forward. Catelyn’s mouth stretched to accommodate him. She had had trouble when she was just sucking on a few inches of him, but now here he was, trying to cram all 20 inches of his cock into her mouth.

“HRRUUUK…” She gagged violently as he force-fed more and more of his cock into her mouth and throat. Catelyn could feel her throat bulging as he continued to push his hips.

When he had about half of his cock in her mouth, she started panicking.

‘Oh Gods, I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe!’

She began to squirm and slap his thighs with her hands, trying to dislodge his manhood from her throat. He was unfazed, and kept pushing forward.

“GLURK……..” She wretched as his cock began to push into her gullet.
“Relax, and this will be all the easier for you” He growled. Her throat burned, and her vision was getting cloudy as he pushed the final inches of his massive cock into her mouth, pressing his fat balls against her forehead. Then he just held himself there.

Catelyn’s slaps and squirming became less and less as she began to lose consciousness. After a few more seconds, they completely ceased, her limbs going limp, eyes rolling into her head.

Suddenly, Clegane stepped back, pulling himself all the way out of her throat. Catelyn gasped for air, panting and breathing heavily.

“You……. son….. of a wh-HMPF!”

Catelyn was cut off by Clegane ramming his cock back into her mouth.

“GLURCKK…..” she wretched at the sudden intrusion of 15 inches of his rod. Clegane shifted his hips back, and then forward again. He began to fuck into her throat, as if it was a waiting cunt.

“GLURCKK….GLUCCK….GLRUCCK...GRUCK…”

All Catelyn could do was lay there and take the brutal face fucking he was giving her. His heavy balls slapped against her forehead with each thrust. She planted her palms on his thighs in a futile effort to slow his thrusts, but Clegane was only focused on his own pleasure.

‘Gods, this time he really is trying to kill me with his cock’, She thought as he rammed himself into her throat over and over again.

Clegane’s pace increased, rocking faster and faster. Catelyn was still surprised that a man of his size could move like he did.

“GLURCKK..GLURCKK..GLURCKK..GLURCKK..GLURCKK” She gagged as he hammered her throat. Drool and spit spilled out over her upturned face, making a mess of her makeup. Her lipsticked smeared across his cock, like landmarks

‘Just cum already you fat dicked ogre. Cum, cum, cumcumcumcumcum!’, She thought in a delirious haze. Her throat burned, her head was light, and despite her best efforts, her cunt was drenched and gushing. She was thankful that her dress still covered her lower half, or Clegane would see the evidence of her arousal.

Clegane’s leg’s buckled a bit, which Catelyn knew meant he was near his end. Clegane let out a growl resembling a bear and sheathed his member completely in her throat, as his balls contracted, cock swelled, and he began to shoot his load directly down her throat. Catelyn could only lay there as her stomach was filled with his thick seed. She took small comfort in her mind that she wouldn’t have to attempt to swallow his cum, as it was shot directly into her stomach.

What she was less comforting in mind, was the orgasm that shook through her body.

She had cum, just from the brutal assault of her throat. Her legs shook and her hips bucked as she sprayed her small clothes with her juices.

‘What in the name of the gods is wrong with me?’

Clegane pumped his hips shallowly, milking every last drop of his seed. Slowly, he began to pull himself out of her mouth. Spit and cum bubbled around Catelyn’s lips as he dragged his shaft out of her throat. When he got to the tip, he held himself there. On instincts Catelyn didn’t even know she had, she sucked hard, pulling out the stray cum left, filling her cheeks. Finally, he completely unsheathed himself from her mouth.

He then cradled her head, sitting her up right, and turning her around. Catelyn’s mouth was closed, still full of his cum, so all she could do is look up at him with confused, clouded eyes.

“Let me see.” He said simply. Catelyn opened her mouth without question, showing him the pool of cum that sat there, her tongue wiggling and swimming in it.

“Swallow.”

Catelyn closed her mouth and swallowed down his load, into her already full stomach. She hiccuped as she finished.

“Am...Am I done?” She found herself asking in a hoarse voice.

“Not yet.” Clegane replied. Clegane walked over to a small bowl, filled with water, and a rag; standard practice in whorehouses. Clegane wet the rag, and and walked back over to her, and with surprising softness, began to clean her face.

If her mind was working at full capacity, she might’ve been shocked and distrysting of his actions, but she just sat there in a haze as the huge man cleaned her off like a small child. She found herself thinking about how sof his hands were.

After he finished with her face, he stood her up, and again with shocking gentleness, began to lace her dress back up, helping her put her arms through it’s sleeves, and tying the back. Once he finished, he went to his own pile of clothes, and began dressing himself slowly. Catelyn just stood there, not sure of what to do.

“You may leave.” Clegane said, pulling on his pants. “I will leave once I’m dressed. You have my word.”

Catelyn didn’t know why, but for some reason she didn’t think of Clegane as a man who lied. After a few seconds, she was able to will her feet to move. She walked out the room, giving Clegane a spare glance over her shoulder, before making her way down the brothel stairs. She looked around to make sure no one was there, before leaving the brothel.

There she was, once again ravaged by Clegane. Once again brought to climax by him, and once again making a walk of shame back home.

At least her night was over.
____________________________________________________________________________

Arya’s night was just getting started. She waited anxiously in her room, for the promise she spoke earlier.

‘Come find me later on, A reward for the winner’, She had told Joffrey earlier. Honestly, when she said it, she might've just been high on the rush of seeing him defeat her brother so soundly. She didn’t even know what she meant by “reward”, but Arya had always been good at improvising.

-Knock Knock-

Arya jumped at the knock at her door. She quickly went to open it, and standing on the other side was her prince, Joffrey, sporting his signature smirk. Arya just smiled back at him. She leaned her head out the door and looked around, making sure no one was around to see them, before grabbing Joffrey by his shirt, and pulling him into her room. He stumbled inside, and Arya closed her door.

“Well, giddy aren’t you? I thought I was the one getting something.” He said teasingly.

Arya giggled. She never giggled.

Joffrey really was doing things to her that she couldn’t even comprehend.

“Oh shut up.” She replied playfully. Joffrey leaned down to meet her eyes.

“Why don’t you make me.”

Arya stares at him for a second, before closing the gap between them, and pressing a firm kiss to his mouth.

Joffrey lets out a sound of surprise, before wrapping his hands around Arya’s waist. He straightened back up, causing Arya to go onto her tiptoes. Joffrey slides his hands down to her ass to support here, and just to get a feel.

The pair’s kiss is hard and aggressive. Mouths forming to each other, tongues battling for dominance. Joffrey pulls back, but nor before Arya gives his bottom lip a little bite.

Both are breathing heavily.

“Wow” Arya finally says.

“Eloquent.” Joffrey said with a smirk.

“That...that was my first kiss.” Arya admitted blushing. It’s funny, despite all the groping, and feeling each other up, the pair hadn’t actually shared a kiss over the last several days. Didn’t bother Arya, though. She was never a traditionalist.

“Mine too” replied Joffrey. Honestly that shocked Arya. She had figured all the girls in the south would be all over the young prince.

“Well, I suppose you’ll be wanting your reward” She said shyly. Joffrey raised an eyebrow at her.

“That wasn’t it?” He questioned.

Arya smiled, and detangled herself from Joffrey’s grasp. She stepped back, so that he could see her full form. Then, she pulled the string of the waistband of her trousers. They dropped to the floor, exposing her lower half to him.

She wasn’t wearing any smallclothes.

She stood there, fidgeting a little, as her lower body, smooth pale legs, hips, cunt and ass were on display for Joffrey to see.

She heard his breath hitch a little. His eyes were wide and staring. He stood there silent for several seconds. She was starting to feel a bit self-conscious. Then he smiled. Wider than she ever saw him smile before.

He was on her in a second, kissing her, and digging his hands in her supple ass. She squeaked and moaned into his mouth, as he manhandled her ass, digging his fingers into her soft skin, kneading and pulling.

“Gods I wondered what you felt like under your clothes.” He said, pulling his mouth back. Arya just giggled again and moaned as he gave her right ass cheek a light slap.Her cunt dripped and leaked down her legs as he continued to grope her. He started rocking his hips, grinding his clothed crotch against her slit.

“You better take those off, unless you want me to make a mess all over you nice pants,” She moaned into his ear. He didn’t need to be told twice. With one hand, he began undoing his trousers; Arya gave him a hand, helping him undo the knot in front, and dipping her hand in to feel him. He gasped as her hand closed around his hardening cock. She had no frame of reference outside of teaching from Septa Mordane, but she guessed he was on the larger size. The girth of him completely filled her hand, and he was growing to what she had to guess was 8 or 9 inches. He felt warm in her hand. Joffrey let his pants and smallclothes fall to the ground, and he stepped out of them, and kicked off his shoes. Now they were both bottomless, feeling and exploring each other.

Arya had had enough touching, and decided to step things up a notch. She pulled away from Joffrey once again, who let out a sound of protest. She smiled, and spun around, presenting her fat ass to him. She looked over her shoulder and wiggled her hips, before walking over to the far wall of her room, and placing her hands flat on the stone wall. She bent over slightly, sticking her ass out. She looked over her shoulder again.

“You can stick it anywhere…..besides inside me.” She said breathily. Arya was a wild girl, but she had a hint of modesty to her.

Joffrey looked like he wanted to protest, but then stopped himself, not wanting to push his luck and spoil the moment. He walked forward, cock bobbing in the air, and settled himself behind her. He pressed his chest to her back, letting his cock fall between her ass cheeks. He begins to rock his hips, using her ass to jerk him off. Arya moans, and pushes back, trying to match his thrusts. She wiggles and shakes her ass on his crotch, letting his cock fuck between her cheeks. Joffrey groans and bucks harder into her, cock disappearing and reappearing in the valley of her ass. He leans back,and gives Arya’s left ass cheek a slap, then her right. He goes back and forth between her cheeks, slapping and smacking them. Arya, just yelps and moans, continuing to move her hips and ass on him.

“You like that huh? Had to know that a wild girl like you would be a masochist.” Joffrey taunted. Arya just mewled and nodded her head. He weaves one of his hands into her ponytail and pulls hard, causing her to gasp. Almost as if it were a reign he used it to pull her, so he could fuck harder between her globes. The sound of his hips smacking her ass filled the room.

Joffrey pulled back. He grabbed Arya by her shoulders and spun her around. Her pupils were blown, neck flushed, and she was panting heavily.

“Gods you’re so beautiful.” He said earnestly. Arya reddened even further at his praise, and gave him a goofy, crooked smile. She gripped his cock, and maneuvered him between her thighs, tip, pressing right against her cunt. She bent her head down and stuck out her tongue. After a few seconds, a glob of spit formed, and fell from her mouth, splatting right against Joffrey’s shaft. She gave him a few strokes with her hand to get him lubricated, before grabbing his hips and beckoning him forward. Joffrey got the message, and began to pump his hips, fucking in between her closed thighs, and grinding against her cunt.

He gripped her ass for leverage, fucking hard against her thighs. Arya rutted back against him, moaining and yelping at his hard thrusts. Her cunt was dripping all over his cock, adding lubrication, making it that much easier for him.

‘Is this what sex is like? Gods I would’ve done this earlier if I knew. Not with any of these local boys though. Only someone like Joffrey. Only Joffrey’ She thought as unfamiliar pleasure built in her stomach.

“Your cunt is so wet. So wet for ME.” Joffrey growled into her ear. Arya moaned at his words. She was close.

“Joffrey...something is- oh gods, OH GODS” She moaned lewdly as she thrust her hips faster, to get more friction against her pussy. Joffrey was happy to oblige, and met her thrusts with his own.

“Joffreyjoffreyjoffrey-oh FUCK”

Arya squeezed her legs together tightly, as she came. Her cunt sprayed, anointing Joffrey’s manhood with her juices.

Arya had never cum before. Sure when she was younger, she’d let a finger stray between her legs every once in a while, but she never brought herself to completion. Now that she finally reached her peak, she honestly couldn’t think about anything else.

“Oh..oh gods....” She panted as she came down. Joffrey pulled back slightly, looking at his glistening cock.

“S-sorry” She apologized shyly.

He just smirked at her. “For what?”

Suddenly, he bent down, and hooked his arm under one of her knees. Arya yelped, as he stood back up with her leg, spreading her open to him. She eyed him warily

“Joffrey, what are you-”

“I want to fuck you.” He interrupted. Arya flushed pink, and felt her cunt somehow get wetter than it was before.

“Y-you can’t” She tried weakly. She pushed against his chest half heartedly. Truthfully, she was so worked up, she didn’t even know if she WANTED to put up a fight.

“Oh, but I can.” He said, adjusting himself so that his tip was aligned with her entrance. He pushed forward slightly, parting her outer lips. Arya’s breath hitched as he began penetrating her. “You couldn’t stop me. If I wanted to, I could pin you down, and fuck you all night. I could ram myself right into your cunt, and fuck a baby into you.

Arya shuddered. She knew she should be mortified, but his words sounded ever so appealing to her. He continued pushing, head making it’s way into her virginal cunt.

“You’re right. You could take me right now.” She moaned out. “It’d be such a waste though.”

Joffrey stilled his hips.

She had him.

“What do you mean by that.” He asked, brows furrowed.

“I’m not fertile right now.” She explained. Despite what people thought, Arya did in fact pay attention in her lessons with the Septa. She learned about her natural womanly cycles. Septa Moderna made her and Sansa keep a calendar of their fertile periods. She said it was good to practice it now, so they knew it when married. “If you fuck me right now, If you pump your seed into all night, I won’t get pregnant.”

Arya didn’t know why, but there was a hint of disappointment in her voice as she said that.

Joffrey opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed. His brows knitted themselves downward, and he frowned slightly. Arya could tell her was slightly disappointed by her words, and contemplating what to do next. After a while, he let out a frustrated sigh, and let go of her. But he wasn’t quite done yet.

“On your knees.” He barked. Immediately, Arya dropped down, baningin her knees on the hard floor. She looked up at him in anticipation and confusion. He gripped his cock, and began stroking his cock right in front of her face, hand a blur. Arya reached out to touch him, but she swatted her hand away. She frowned a little, but placed her hands in her lap, eyes bouncing between his face, and his manhood. Suddenly his free hand shot out, twisting it in her hair.

“Stick out your tongue” He ordered shakily. She could tell he was about to blow. Arya obeyed, opening her mouth and laying it flat against her bottom lip. With a shudder and a low moan, Joffrey’s cock shot his load. First spurt landed directly against Arya’s forehead in a large glob, the second hitting her right cheek. The third and fourth spurts, hit her squarely on the nose, and on her wiggling tongue. The final spurts shot against her chin, and neck, as his orgasm died down. When he was sure his balls were empty, Joffrey let go of her hair, and looked at his handy work. Arya’s face was covered in his cum, running down to her torso and shirt. She put her tongue back in her mouth, and swirled around his seed, tasting his essence. She decided it wasn’t at all bad, maybe even something she would actively savor, as she swallowed it down.

“Heh. If I couldn’t breed you tonight, I figured marking you would be the second best option.” He said through a toothy grin. Arya smiled up at him, with cum covered lips. Joffrey then offered his hand to her to stand. Always the gentleman. Arya took it, and stood back up.

“Here, let me get you a cloth to-”

“No.” Arya interrupted simply. Joffrey looked at her queerily.

“No?” He repeated.

“No.” She said again. “ Wouldn’t be much of a marking if I just wiped it off. I’ll wear it until morning.” She said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Joffrey just stared at her.

“What if someone comes in and sees you. Your sister? Your father?.”

“I’m not ashamed of this.” She said earnestly. Joffrey stared at her once more, and then smiled.

“You are truly something else Arya.” He laughed. “And you're MINE.”

Arya beamed at him. “Yours.”

No more words needed to be said. Joffrey pulled his clothes back on, and bid her goodnight.

Arya stood there, pantsless, thighs covered in her juices, cum running down her face.

And she couldn’t be happier.

Chapter Text

Sansa was annoyed.

Arya

She had alot of nerve bothering the prince, that wild child. Her behavior during Joffrey and Robb’s duel was totally inappropriate and unladylike, as she always was. Sansa knew Arya would act up during the King’s visit. She wondered where their mother was; she was usually always on top of disciplining Arya when she acted up. Even more, Sansa was annoyed that the prince seemed to be humoring her little sister’s foolishness.

‘He must find her behavior amusing, like one would find a street performer,’ Sansa thought meanly. Sansa was trying: Doing her makeup, brushing her hair until her arm got sore, and wearing the finest dresses she had all to catch the prince’s attention and time, but he seemed more interested in Arya’s silly antics.

Maybe she needed another lesson.

Ser Jaime’s offer. The lessons to be a Queen.

Sansa hadn’t seen much of Ser Jaime since that night in the courtyard. Their kiss hadn’t been like anything Sansa ever felt before. She could hardly believe that things were so different in the South. Maybe she WAS too much of a Northerner to attract the prince. Well that just wouldn’t do. She needed to find Ser Jaime immediately. They were to leave for Kingslanding within the next 2 days, and she needed all the practice in Southern customs that she could get.

She asked some Lannister men if they’ve seen Ser Jaime anywhere. And pointed her in the direction of the derelict, old parts of the Winterfell, The First Keep. She wondered why Ser Jaime would be there - perhaps to explore the castle. Sansa always hated going there. Her father always told them to stay out of there, that it was haunted. She didn’t believe those ghost stories anymore, but the prospect of having to go there still didn’t exactly entice her. Still, she didn’t have the time to be picky, so she made her way.

She wandered the keep, wondering where the knight could be. Suddenly, she sees him, off in the distance with his back turned toward her. She calls out to him, but he can’t hear her. He begins to walk away, headed in the direction of the old Broken Tower. That tower was something her father ESPECIALLY told her and her sibling to stay away from, and with good reason. Sansa thought it looked as if it could come down at any moment. Why would Ser Jaime have any interest there?

She saw Ser Jaime enter the tower, and she followed quickly behind him. Blast her dress. Made climbing the many stairs to the top an ordeal, plus it wasn’t as if Sansa was the most physically active. She struggled to make it up the stair of the tower, having to stop several times along the way. When she finally got to the top, she heard light slapping noises through the entrance of the sentry tower.

‘What in the Gods could that be’ She thought as she peeked her head around the corner to take a look.

What she was met with, was the sight of Ser Jaime’s pale, muscular ass, fucking into a cunt.

Sansa nearly eeped as she jumped back, covering her mouth as not to be heard. She peaks back around the corner, just to make sure her eyes weren’t mistaken. Ser Jaime was currently railing into some whore in this abandoned watch tower. His hands were gripped firmly on her hips, as he fucked into her. Sansa could hear the woman’s breathy gasps as at each thrust.

‘My word. They’re really going at it’, Sansa thought as she watched their coupling. It wasn’t particularly ladylike to spy, and it DEFINITELY wasn’t lady like to spy on people having sex, but Sansa couldn’t tear her eyes away. She felt a wetness between her legs, a wetness that Septa Mordane explained was completely natural to girls her age. She squeezed her thighs together as she continued to watch them fuck.

Ser Jaime laid a hard smack to the woman’s as, causing her to gasp loudly.

“Again” The woman ordered, which Ser Jaime happily obliged.

Wait. That voice.

It sounded like- no, couldn’t be.

Oh but it was.

Jaime threaded one hand through the woman's blonde hair, pulling her upright, and revealing her face clearly to Sansa.

It was the Queen, Cersei.

Sansa’s eyes grew to the size of a full moon at the display. Brother and sister fucking. The ultimate taboo. The practice was not unheard of in Westeros. The Targareyns were famously inbred for generations, but as history showed, that did not turn out for them in the long run.

Sansa wasn’t quite sure what to do. Should she leave and tell someone? What good would that do? They’d just deny it. Plus, was it her secret to tell. They weren’t hurting anyone really, she thought.

Maybe it’d just be best if she just snuck away. They didn’t notice her after all. She could just back away and-

“Stop. Stop!” Cersei suddenly yells. Sansa freezes. She thought she had been seen, but Jaime moved toward the window instead of the stairwell. He reaches out and grabs something. Not something, someone.

Bran.

Bran always likes to climb things. He was so nimble.

“Are you completely mad?” Ser Jaime asked, holding the young boy by his shirt.

Bran looked scared, and confused. Sansa wasn’t even sure he understood what was going on.

“He saw us” The Queen said in a panic. “He SAW us!”

“I heard you the first time.” Jaime answered. He got quiet for a while, looked around, then looked back at Bran.

“You’re quite the little climber aren’t you?” He finally said. “How old are you?”

“Eight” Bran answered. Jaime just stares at him, then looks back at Cersei, still kneeling on the stone floo. Sansa watched, unsure of what was going to happen. Eventually, Jaime let go of Bran’s shirt, and Sansa felt herself relax for a second. Just a second, because moments later, Jaime pushed Bran against his chest. Bran falls backwards, out of the window. Sansa covers her mouth to stop herself from screaming.

Ser Jaime, the most handsome night in all of Westeros just pushed her little brother out of a window. Sansa began to back her way down the stairs, moving as quickly and quietly as she could. She had to get to Bran. Maybe he was alive. Maybe she could get help in time.

Just maybe-

As Sansa bounded down the last step and out of the tower, she saw a very large man standing over Bran. He was looking at Bran’s broken form, and then, looked up at her.

Gregor Clegane.

He looked at her for a moment, and then, much to Sansa’s surprise, he gently picked up Bran and took him into his arms, began to make his way towards the main castle. Not knowing of what else to do, and still scared of being discovered, she did the only thing could think of…

And ran.
________________________________________

Catelyn was going about her daily duties when she heard a commotion in the main courtyard. She figured that the Lannister men and The Stark men had once AGAIN gotten into a fight. She swore she had broken up at least a dozen over the last 2 days, practice duels that always escalate into fists fights. She walked into the courtyard, prepared to make a scene.

“Alright, If any of you are fighting-” She began. She quickly fell silent when she saw what was happening. Gregor Clegane, The Mountain, was surrounded by a circle of confused and worried looking guards and servants as he marched forward with Bran in his arms. Catelyn runs up to him, pushing through the small crowd.

“Dear Gods, my baby boy,” She wailed. She placed her hand on him, but the boy flinched in pain. “What happened? Someone tell me what happened!”

“Fell from the tower.” Clegane said simply, voice cutting through the yelling and chattering of the ever growing crowd. He tilted his head back, indicating to the Broken Tower in the distance.

“I don’t….how-” Catelyn tried, mouth not being to form a sentence. She didn’t know what to say. She felt fluish, a horrible feeling in her stomach. Her boy Brandon Stark, lying broken in Gregor Clegane’s massive arms.

“Get the Maester now, or the boy will die and details won’t matter.” Clegane barked, snapping Catelyn out of her trance.

“Someone get Luwin NOW.” She commanded. Several guards and servants ran toward the keep. Clegane followed behind them, along with Catelyn. When they got inside, Maester Luwin was already coming down the stairs.

“Gods, what happened?” Luwin asked, getting close to observe the boy. He looked up at Clegane skeptically and with accusation in his eyes.

“Take the boy now, I will explain later.” He replied. Luwin squinted his eyes at him for half a second, before nodding, and having his assistants take the boy from Clegane. Catelyn made to follow them, but Luwin stopped her.

“My Lady, it would be better if you stayed here. I’ll have someone-.”

“That’s my son! He needs me. He needs his mother by his side” She yelled. She hadn’t noticed that tears were running down her face by now. Luwin gave her a sympathetic look.

“Please Catelyn, you must let us work.” He said. Catelyn looked as if she wanted to say something else, but closed her mouth. She fell to her knees and began openly sobbing.

“Please help Lady Stark to her quarters.” Luwin instructed one of the servants. The servant knelt by Catelyn and helped her to her feet, and began to escort the hysterical mother to her room. Catelyn gave a last look back at The Mountain before being led away.

“And someone send a rider out to get Lord Eddard as quickly as possible. We need him here as soon as possible.”

____________________________________________________________________________

It took hours for Ned and the King’s hunting party to finally return. By then, Maester Luwin had already done what he could for the day. The boy was shattered. Multiple bones broken, including his spine, internal bleeding, and likely some form of head trauma. He could only do so much with injuries of this caliber; truly, it was up to the gods. When he finished doing what he could, he allowed Catelyn to sit next to his bedside. He made it clear that she could not touch him at this time- any little thing could send the young boy to the gods. So she sat there is pure anguish, crying silently. Ned arrived in the bedroom, still covered in dirt, and smelling like the wilderness. He walked to the bed and looked at his son with sorrow.

“I always told that boy to be careful with that damned climbing” He said woefully. “I should’ve been stricter. Corrected him more harsh. Then maybe this wouldn’t have happened.”

Catelyn said nothing, just continuing to silently cry over her son.

“Maester Luwin said that his back…..that he might not walk again if- when he wakes.”

Catelyn still said nothing. She didn’t even acknowledge when he walked into the room.

“Catelyn please, say someth-”

“You were gone.” She finally said.

“What?”

“You were gone” She said again, louder now. “Of having a merry time with your old friend...while I was here, alone.”

Ned gave her a helpless look. She still had tears in her eyes, but her voice was angry now, indignant.

“Catelyn, I as Lord of this house, I was doing my duty to the cro-”

There was that word. Duty. that word she fucking hated.

“Bollocks!” She shouted, suddenly standing and facing Ned. “Bollocks! You and you’re damned duty. You and that damned king.”

“Cat, you can’t speak of the king like-”

“Don’t fucking CAT me!” She screamed “Robert has always taken you away from. He tells you to march, and you march. You matched south, and came back with a BASTARD. And now…...tell me Ned, tell me….do you still plan to go with Robert to King's Landing?”

Ned had the grace to look guilty.

“Cat….the king needs me-”

“Your SON needs you. I need you. Bran is laying here in pieces, and you plan on following that fat whoreson a month’s ride away!”

“Watch your words woman!” Ned threatened taking a step forward. “I know you’re upset. Gods I know you are, but you will not talk to me that way, and you will not talk of the king that way.”

Catelyn just looked at him in disgust. He didn’t realize it, he COULDN'T realize it, but what he was doing would prove to be irreversible. Catelyn quietly sat back down by her son. Ned sighed, and turned to head out the room.

“Please Cat, try and understand.” He pleaded, but she wasn’t listening. He made his choice once again.

So she was going to make hers.
___________________________________________
Sansa was terrified.

What she saw, who she saw, it was just too much.

The queen and Ser Jaime, fucking. Obviously not for the first time, not that that would’ve made a difference.

They tried to kill Bran. The boy was only 8. He didn’t know what he was looking at. He wouldn’t have told anyone a thing. That didn’t matter to Cersei and Jaime however; they didn’t want to take the risk.

But thank the gods Bran lived. He was in shambles, body broken, but he was alive, though no one could say for how long.

And then there was the matter of her. What she saw. Sansa witnessed everything. And she DID understand what was happening. If she would’ve came forward about what happened, no doubt Ser Jaime and the Queen would be in shackles in a heartbeat.

But she hadn’t come forward. It had been a full day since Bran’s fall from the tower, and she hadn’t said one word.

Why?

The answer was simple. Sansa still wanted to be queen.

If she told of what she saw, her father would never let her marry Joffrey. She knew it was terrible but it was the truth. This was Sansa’s chance to become the most important and most envied woman in all of Westeros.

She told herself that it was Bran’s fault for climbing in the first place. He was told so many times how dangerous it was. She had gone and visited him that night, sitting with their mother for a while. She looked so drained. She stayed for a while, before deciding to head back to her room. She walked out of the room, letting the door close behind her; she turned left to begin walking, when she ran into a solid mass, almost knocking her off her feet.

“I’m sorry Lady Sansa.”

Oh Gods.

Sansa looked up. It was Jaime Lannister.

‘Oh Gods he’s come to kill Bran. He’s come to kill ME.’ She thought in pure panic.

“My lady, is something the matter?” Jaime asked in genuine confusion. She must have been staring at him like a scared rabbit. It dawned on her that they hadn’t actually seen her, and that she had to act normal for them not to expect anything.

“S-Ser Jaime. What are you doing here at these hours?” She asked. Jaime put in his best sympathetic face.

“I heard what happened to the boy. My condolences to you and your family.” He said bowing his head. Sansa frowned slightly. He lied so easily.

“Yes, my mother is taking it especially hard. Having Bran pushed from the tower like that.” Sansa said, eyes cast downward to her feet. When he didn’t respond, she looked back up, and saw that he was staring at her, eyes wide, and jaw fixed.

“Ser?” She asked cautiously

“Pushed?” He asked simply?

Shit.

She messed up. Slight slip of the tongue, one that could prove deadly with someone like Jaime Lannister.

“Yes pushed….by a hard gust of wind. He lost his grip and fell. Nothing anyone could’ve done.” She said, trying to hide the panic from her voice. Jaime just looked at her, face unreadable. After a while, he smiled slightly.

“You know, I think now would be a good time for another queen lesson” He suddenly said. Sansa felt a wave of relief wash over, seemingly being convincing enough. But then she was suddenly confused.

“Now Ser? I don’t think I’m in the right spirits to-“

“Nonsense. A queen must always be ready, even in the face of tragedy” He said, grabbing her by the forearm. He began dragging her down the corridor. She tried to lightly pull from his grip without making it too obvious, but he held her fast, dragging her to a small alcove in an empty corridor. It was one of the back halls for servants and workers, but it was only used for large events to prevent congestion, otherwise it was completely devoid of life. Sansa looked around nervously as he pushed he back against the wall

“Your next lesson to be a queen. Your mouth.” He said.

“My….mouth Ser? You mean like my smile?”

“Not only your smile. How you talk, how you eat. Your mouth is key part of how people perceive you.” He explained. As he spoke he brought his hand up and gently rub his fingers over her lips. Sansa noticed that his hands were warm. Slowly, using his index finger, he gently pushed between her lips, forcing the digit in. She looked up with apprehension, but didn’t attempt to move. She was scared, confused, but part of her wanted to see where this would go.

“Suck.” He commanded. Sansa found herself complying without hesitation. Sucking on the finger of the man who not a day ago tried to murder her brother. Her tongue brushed over his calloused skin, realizing that she didn’t mind the texture. He added another digit, his middle finger. Sansa swirled her tongue around his fingers, as if she was cleaning them, making sure to every centimeter of skin.

“Not bad. Quite the skilled little mouth you have” He praised. Sansa actually perked up at his words. This was wrong. She should be terrified of him, yet here she was, sucking on his fingers in a corner of a hallway.

Suddenly and harshly, he pushed his hand forward, driving his fingers into her throat. She gagged violently and tried to back away, but all she ran into was stone.

“Shhh shhh, you’re okay.” He cooed, holding his fingers in her throat. She gag and sputtered as tears formed in the corners of her ears, threatening to spill down her face. “A good queen must maintain composure in stressful situations, remember?”

He begin pistoning his fingers in and out of her mouth. She continued to gag on his fingers, but tried to control her breathing. Drool dripped down her chin and onto her dress. Eventually, he withdrew his fingers from her mouth, leaving a string of spit between her mouth and hand. She breathed a sigh of relief and gasped for air, panting heavily.

“Not bad at all Sansa'' he commended. He wiped his fingers on the side of her face. “But you still have a slot of work to do. On your knees.”

“W-what?” Sansa asked, still sucking in breath. Jaime gave her a hard look.

“A good shouldn’t be told something more than once.”

Sansa stared at him with trepidation, before sinking down to her knees. She sat on her thighs and looked up at the knight looming over her. Jaime wasn’t in his armor, sporting rather an expensive looking pair of trousers, and a tunic, Lannister colors of course.

He adjusted the waist of his trousers, shifting them down his hip along with his small clothes. Sansa’s eyes went wide as his semi-hard cock came into view. Just like the rest of him, his cock was pretty: pubic hair trimmed and maintained, balls symmetrical and large, and shaft long, and skin looking healthy.

Jaime grabbed the base of his shaft, and began to rub the tip of his cock on Sansa’s pretty face. He ran it over her cheeks, over her forehead, her nose; any and every inch of her face that he could. He payed special attention to her lips, smearing his cockhead on her closed, pouting mouth, glistening them with his pre-cum. She did her best not to flinch as he drew on her face with his cock, sitting their submissively, and obediently.

“I feel you can guess what I want you to do next.” Jaime said, still rubbing his cock over her lips. Gulping, Sansa slowly parted her lips, and opened her mouth. Not waiting a moment, Jaime placed his cockhead on her mouth, letting it sit on her tongue, instinctually, closed her lips around him. Sansa experimentally swiped her tongue against his glands, tasting him. Like his fingers, she decided she didn’t mind the taste of him. Jaime was content just letting his cock head sit in her mouth and allow the Stark girl to lavish his cock.

After a while, he began to slowly rock his hips, pushing more of his cock into her small mouth, as he grew harder. The back of Sansa’s head was against the corridor wall, so all she could do was sit there as Jaime pushed into her throat.

“HRURRRKK….” She gagged as he pushed past her tonsils. Her nostrils flared and her cheeks were growing red.

“Keep still girl. You’re doing well. Your mouth feels wonderful.” Jaime praised. Despite her throat burning, she swelled slightly at his praise. Jaime pushed forward more, sliding his now completely hard cock down her throat. Sansa gagged and slapped against Jaime’s toned thighs. “Oh knock that off” He chastised, sharply thrusting his hips forward, fully bottoming out his 9 inch dick into her esophagus, and causing her to wretch loudly around him. Jaime loved the way her throat spasmed and squeezed around him, inadvertently milking him as it tried to dislodge him.

Sansa squirmed and fruitless pushed against Jaime’s thighs. Her head was growing light from lack of air, seeing stars in her vision. Her arms grew weaker and weaker, before eventually falling to her side.

‘He’s trying to kill me! Oh gods oh gods oh gods’, She thought, or at least tried to think; her mind was going blank. Her eyes fluttered closed and she went completely limp, only held up by Jaime’s cock and the wall. Deciding to give the girl a break, he shifts his hips back, sliding his manhood from her throat. She fell against his thighs, unresponsive for a second, before springing back to life, gasping desperately for air.

“Not bad” Jaime said, grabbing Sansa by the top of her head and forcing her to look up at him. “But if you want to be a queen, you must be able to hold a man in your mouth longer than that.”

Once again, without much ceremony, he crammed his cock back down her throat.

‘GLAARCK….’ She gagged ones again as her nose was shoved to his pubic hair. Drool was pooling on her dress as it ran down her chin like a stream.

Jaime repeated this action several times: holding Sansa down on his cock, unmoving, until she was on the brink of unconsciousness, and then pushing her off to allow her to refill her lungs for a few seconds. To her credit, she was lasting longer and longer, even if minutely.

Once he got bored of punishing her throat, he pulled out and grabbed a a handful of Sansa’s red hair, which became disheveled over the course of her oral assault. Using her hair, he wrapped it around his shaft and began jerking himself off with it.

“You did good Sansa. I’m proud of you. Very good….for a Northerner.” He said as he stroked himself off with her hair. She was too light headed to respond intelligently, so all she did was nod numbly. “But there is one final lesson you must know about a queen’s mouth.”

Using his free hand, he grabbed Sansa by her cheeks, forcing her head up.

“A queen knows when to speak…..and when to keep their mouth shut. A queen knows when to be silent, and unheard, UNSEEN.” He said, voice suddenly serious. Even in her hazed state, Sansa got the double meaning of his words. “Do you understand?”

“Y-yes Ser. I understand.” She said meekly

“Good.” He said. He stroked himself faster, and with a grunt, he came directly on top of Sansa’s redhead. He shot 3 ropes zigzagging on her head. His cum dripped down her scalp, and onto her forehead and temple. When finished, he wiped his tip on her hair, and tucked himself back in his pants.

“Well, that was truly a progressive session” He said, clapping his hands together. “Give your condolences to your mother” He commented, before turning and walking down the empty corridor.

Sansa just kneeled there, come dripping down her head, unsure of what to do next.

A crown for a queen.
____________________________________________

Arya felt like crying.

First time in a long time.

Bran was hurt. He might die.

She sat in the Godswood, in front of the Heart Tree.

She was praying- well attempting to pray- like her father always told her to do when she felt distressed.

“The Old Gods will always provide”, he’d always tell her. That is she prayed hard enough, and kept to the path, they’d watch over her and her siblings. She didn’t feel very watched over at that moment. She imagined Bran didn’t feel very watched over laying in bed, fighting for his life. But she prayed nonetheless, speaking words to a tree with an ugly face carved in it.

“Ugly fucker, isn’t he?”

Arya whipped her head around, and saw the young prince Joffrey strolling up to her. She smiled slightly at his presence, standing to meet him.

“So this is how you Northerners pray? You come to the woods and kneel in the dirt.” He teased, but Arya was in no mood. Sensing this, he changed tactics. “I heard about your brother. Nasty bit of business, that fall.”

Arya gave a non committal sound and turned back to the Heart Tree. Not liking not being the center of his attention, Joffrey stepped forward to stand next to her. “Though praying to trees, no surprise something like this happened.”

Arya turned and frowned at him.

“Are you trying to be an ass?” She asked harshly. Joffrey just smirked and shrugged his shoulders.

“I’m just being honest.” He said. “I mean really. Trees and forest people? I know you Northerners are a primitive but your superstitions are the machinations of children.”

Arya felt her face growing red. Why was he talking like this, being purposely hurtful? Joffrey continued on with his ranting.

“The Sevens, blessed be thy names, are the gods of the civilized, the Andals. Not some Children of the Dirt.”

“Children of the FOREST.” She corrected

“Whatever.” Joffrey dismissed. “All I’m saying is, if you worshiped the right gods, maybe they wouldn’t have had to scoop your brother off the gro-“

Arya had heard enough.

She swung around, expecting to hit Joffrey with the back of her fist. However he caught it with ease, and twisted it behind her back.

“Let me go!” She shrieked as she struggled and bucked in his grasp. He held her firm, one arm behind her back, the other catching other her wrist to stop any further attacks

“Calm down” He said simply.

“Why? So you can just hurt me?” She yelled. “Was your night with me so unpleasant, that you’re trying to drive me away?”

Arya REALLY felt like crying now.

Joffrey pressed his chest against her back and leaned down to whisper in her ear

“I’m not saying this to hurt you stupid. I’m saying all this because I know you’re BETTER than this.” He explained as if talking to a child. Arya halted her struggling and looked over her shoulder at him.

“Better? Better than wh-“

Before age could finish her sentence, Joffrey spun her around and pulled her into a searing kiss. She squealed, before melting into it, hands going to his blonde hair, and sliding down her back to her bubble ass. After a few seconds, he pulled back.

“-BETTER than worshiping tree people and forest sprites. Better than praying in the dirt. Better than the North.”

Arya’s mouth formed a hardline, but she didn’t interrupt, and listened intently.

“The North, your family, is living in the past. Living like mongrels. But you, you see that don’t you. You see that there’s a future for you outside of this frozen wasteland. A future south, a future around the world. YOU can be so much better.”

Arya swallowed as she tried to think of a rebuttal. She wanted to disagree, to defend her home and the beliefs of her people.

But she couldn’t

He was right. She wanted more than the North. She wanted more than the superstitions hammered into her head by her father. She wanted more, she wanted something new.

She wanted Joffrey.

“You’re a bastard.” She said without much bite. Joffrey just smirked.

“And you wouldn’t want it any other way.”

He once again covered her mouth with his, devouring her, groping every inch of her fat ass. She moaned into his mouth, pushing her hips back into his large hands.

‘Gods, what is he doing to me?’

Arya hated and loved how Joffrey got into her mind and body. He was able to read her thoughts and make her body ache and squirm under his touch.

He disconnected his mouth from hers. She whimpered at the loss of contact with his lips and tried to follow his mouth, but he stopped her. He looked down at her half lidded eyes with intensity.

“Get that fucking dress up, NOW.” He ordered. Arya’s cunt dripped at his commanding tone. She figured he could tell her just about anything and she’d listen. Arya spun around, and hiked up her dress, bunching the fabric around her hips. Arya’s small clothes were more a formality when she wore dresses; her fat bottom swallowed up and stretched the fabric to its limit. She spread her legs shoulder width apart and bent over slightly, putting her hands on her knees, presenting herself.

Joffrey reigned down a smack to her right ass cheeks, making it quake and jiggle. Arya gasped out and moaned in pain and pleasure. She’d never minded pain, always partaking in activities in which she might hurt herself, but in this moment, Arya realized she actually LIKED the stinging and hotness spreading across her ass. Joffrey laid another smack, this time to her left cheek. He was having the time of his life playing with her large pale globes. He dug his fingers into her assflesh, kneading it and feeling it, much like their night they spent together in her bedroom. Except this time, he planned on going much farther than just feeling. His hands slid to the waist of her smallclothes, and with ease, he tore them apart, leaving them in tatters, and her cunt exposed to the cold air. She shivered a bit at the coldness, and in anticipation.

Joffrey began fumbling with his own trousers, freeing his cock from it’s confines. He let his hardening cock plop against her ass, and gave it a few slaps with it. Arya mewled and pressed back against him, grinding herself against his hardness.

“Excited for Southern cock, I see.” He teased. Arya didn’t fully want to give in to his taunts of the north, despite him being right; her juices ran down her leg at the feeling of him.

Joffrey grabbed Arya by her hips, and lined himself up with her entrance. In one fell swoop, he drove his hips forward and pulled her back, filling her completely, and tearing through her maidenhead.

Arya groaned and gritted her teeth as her ‘innocence’ was torn away. She tried to control her breathing as her cunt adjusted and shaped itself to his size. Joffrey on the other hand was in pure and complete bliss, praising the Seven for bringing him a woman with such a fiery spirit, and tight warm quim.

“Does it hurt?” Joffrey asked? Arya just groaned in response, earning her a sharp smack to the ass. “I asked you a question.”

“Yes….” She said after a moment.

“Do you want to stop?” He asked, letting concern spill into his voice. Arya turned her head and gave him an incredulous look.

“Fuck no!”

Joffrey just gave her a toothy grin, before pumping his hips, fucking her.

‘Gentle’ and ‘restraint’, weren’t words in Joffrey’s vocabulary, so he set a brutal pace, hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise, snapping his hips against her round ass, being swallowed by her cunt. Anyone who walked into the Godswood at that moment likely would be able to hear the slapping noises they were making from the entrance.

Arya took his brutal fucking with stride, throwing her hips back to meet his thrusts. The mix of pain and pleasure was intoxicating to her, and the longer he fucked her, less pain she felt, and the more the pleasure grew.

“Fuck...fuck...fuck” She moaned as he railed her. Joffrey let one of his hands thread itself through Arya’s brown hair, and pulled, forcing her head up, and back to arch into him. She now was looking straight at The Heart Tree, her family’s most sacred idol, as she was having her cunt drilled by the southern prince.

“Wonder what your tree god thinks, watching you get fucked” He groaned harshly into her ear. Arya shivered and moaned at his taunts. Part of her, a small part, wanted to defend her people’s religion, but that part was currently being drowned out by the part of her wanting to come around his hard cock.

“GODS” Joffrey said dramatically. “If you disapprove of me defiling a maiden in front of you, strike me down where I stand!” He boomed, giving Arya an extra hard thrust just for good measure. He stilled, enjoying the feeling of her clenching around him, as he waited for his smiting. When nothing happened, he gave a childlike laugh, and resumed ramming into her.

“See? Your silly northern gods are NOTHING.” He said harshly. Arya could do nothing but groan as she felt herself growing close to her climax. “Just silly superstitions. But you knew that. If you didn’t you wouldn’t be here giving yourself to me, like a good whore.”

Arya’s knees were growing weak, trembling as he fucked her faster and faster, almost as if his taunts were giving him more energy to destroy her cunt with. His words were getting to her as well. In her fuck filled haze, she found herself agreeing with Joffrey about the North, and their silly, inferior ways. The old gods, the cold, her family that never understood her, Joffrey’s words rang true in her ears, along with his moans and grunts.

“You’ll fit right in in King's Landing. Beautiful, sexy” He breathed out shakily. He was close to his limit too. “By the Seven I can’t wait to see you in a tight southern dress, just so I can tear it off!”

Joffrey landed another smack to her ass, and that was all it took to send her over the edge and take her peak. Her cunt tightened around him, and her legs stiffened and shook as her orgasm ripped through her.

“YESSSSSS….” She moaned as her cunt gushed. Joffrey followed soon behind her, roaring into her ear, and hilting himself deep in her. He shot one, two, three, and then 4 thick and heavy ropes of his fertile cum into her. Arya pushed and grinded her hips back, making sure to extract every last drop she could from him.

“That’s right. Take my seed.” He moaned. “Take all of me.”

Arya nearly came once again at his words, as he rocked his hips shallowly in her. Arya could’ve stayed like this forever, full of him, forgetting all her problems. Just her and him. Eventually, he pulled out, letting his cock flop down between her legs. Arya squeezed her cunt together, trying to keep his seed in her, not wanting to waste it. He turned her around, and pressed a kiss to her mouth, this one soft and passionate. After a while, he pulled back, and the two just looked at each other in comfortable silence.

“I can’t wait to take you to my home.” Joffrey said earnestly.

“I can’t wait to make it MY home.” She replied.

They stood there in each other's arms, in the Winterfell godswood, dreaming about being far, far away from.
____________________________________________________________________________

Clegane’s tent was farther than she thought it’d be.

Though technically a personal guard, and permitted to stay in the walls of Winterfell. The Mountain chose to stay in a personal tent outside the walls, close to, but not within the encampment of the Crown’s men. This actually worked in Catelyn’s favor, meaning she could move about without the greater risk of being seen by either her, or the King’s men.

She arrived at his tent, and proceeded to stand outside of it for 10 minutes.

She….was nervous, but not afraid. She couldn’t be afraid of him anymore, not after what he did for her son. He was there for her son…..and her husband wasn’t. Gregor Clegane, The Mountain, the man who forced himself on her and brought her to climax, the man who fucked her throat like she was some common whore, the man who had horror stories written about him -had saved her son.

“Are you going to stand out there all fucking night?”

His voice bombing through the night here made her jump. Clegane opened his tent flap, and was standing there looking at her expectantly. She looked at him, and then to her surroundings, making absolutely sure no one was there, before walking forward into his tent.

Unsurprisingly his large tent was lightly furnished. Just a large hay bed, along with a trunk for his belongings, a table and chair, and a fire pit in the middle.

“May I sit?” She asked, unsure of what to say. She was the lady of these lands, so she didn’t actually need his permission, but she still felt the need to seek it. The Mountain just grunted and gave a tight nod.

Instead of going to the chair, Catelyn moved to his bed, and took a seat. Clegane arched a large eyebrow at her.

“My son….Bran. He’s injured- injured horribly. But the maester thinks he can survive if they keep up his treatment.”

Catelyn was struggling to get the words out. Just talking about it was a challenge for her.

“ The Maester said….Maester Luwin Said had it been any, longer he would’ve died.” She explained, holding back her tears. Clegane didn’t respond. He just looked down at her and let her continue.

“You are the only reason my son is still alive” She said, voice just barely above a whisper. She was standing now, stepping closer to the humongous man so she was just mere inches away from him. “And for that….I'm forever thankful. Forever grateful to you.”

She placed her hand on his broad chest. She could feel his strong muscular under his leisure shirt. She nearly shivered at how it felt in her hand.

“And because I’m grateful, you can request anything of me. Ask, and I’ll make it so with all the powers I have as the Lady of The North.” She said breathlessly. “So Clegane….what is it that you want?”

“You know what I want, or you wouldn’t be here right now.” He said simply. Catelyn almost felt herself smile. He could be clever when he wanted.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” She said. Catelyn took a step back, so that The Mountain could see her fully. She shrugged off the long fur she was wearing to keep warm, revealing her nude form underneath. Clegane inclined his head upward, in silent approval.

“Well?” She asked teasingly. “Come and get your prize.”

A moment later, he was on her, lifting her by her waist, to press a hard kiss to her mouth. Catelyn wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed back fiercely. It dawned on her that this was the first time they kissed. He had bent her over and fucked her, and made her swallow his seed, but they never shared something as simple as a kiss. She thought that she could get used to it: the passion of his mouth on hers, the way his large tongue moved in her mouth. She hadn’t kissed Ned with this much passion in years, maybe even ever. She felt so young. All she felt over the last 2 days, was dread, fear, anger. She wanted to feel something else. She NEEDED to feel something else. She needed to feel Clegane again.

Catelyn pulled her mouth, breathing heavily.

“Oh gods Clegane, just fucking take me.” She demanded lewdly. “How do you want me?”

The large man thought for a moment, running his hands over Catelyn’s sizable ass as he contemplated. After a several seconds, he set Catelyn down, much to her internal protest - she liked the feeling of having him hold her up - and moved to his bed to lay down. He got himself comfortable, and pointed at his manhood straining in his pants.

“Ride” was all he said, and all Catelyn needed to hear. She moved to the foot of the bed, and began to seductively crawl towards him. She settled herself between his large thighs, and reached up to the waistband of his trousers. He’d already untied them, allowing her to pull them down his hips and large legs. She pulled them completely off, leaving his lower half exposed, while he worked at getting his shirt off.

‘Gods, he’s just so...much’, She thought, appreciating the whole size of him once again.

His cock was still only half hard, so Catelyn decided it was time to get him fully hard. She kneeled on all fours between his prone form, and placed a large open mouth kiss to his cockhead, and then another. She proceeded to make-out with his tip, wetting her lips on it, and slathering it with her tongue. She brought her hand up, to stroke him while continuing to drool and kiss all over his cock, lubing it up, and bringing him to his full, massive length, Once satisfied that he his cock was sufficiently covered in saliva, she stood up on his bed, and maneuvered herself over his cock.

‘I told him never again, and here I am about to impale myself on his beast...I suppose things change.’

Catelyn began to bend her knees, and sink down on his manhood. Clegane just watched, arms folded behind his head, as she lowered herself onto him, an inch at a time. It had been weeks since he took her in the Winterfell dungeon, and Catelyn almost forgot how massive he felt in her, stretching her walls to unfathomable lengths. She groaned as she sank a quarter way down his cock, which was over 6 inches.

“Fuuuuuckk….” She moaned. It hurt, but it hurt so GOOD. Having to deal with Ned’s….lacking in his manhood, Catelyn was never able to realize that she was an absolute size queen. As she got more and more of his cock in her, and her cunt dripped and gripped him, she couldn’t imagine having a cock any smaller inside of her.

Suddenly, Catelyn’s foot slips. Her foot slips from under her, making her lose her balance completely, and freefall onto his massive rod. The sudden intrusion of his full length caused her to scream out in a mixture of pain, and bliss. She felt him in her stomach. She could SEE him in her stomach, bulging out, making its presence known. She just sat there, on his cock for a while, walls clenching around him, in a haze. A sudden slap to her large tits, snapped her out of it.

“RIDE” He ordered once again. Collecting herself, Catelyn began rocking her hips on his dick. Sided to side, back and forth, feeling him grind against the walls of her cunt. Clegane’s large hands went to her tits, groping them as she grinded herself on him.

“Cleganes...Clegane...Clegane-” She moaned with her eyes closed. He gave a sharp upward thrust of his hips, causing her eyes to snap open and look at him.

“Gregor.” He grunted. “You will call me Gregor.”

“Gregor….gods” She moaned one again. Saying his given name felt weird on her tongue, but it was certainly something she could get used to.

Catelyn readjusted herself, so that her feet were flat against the bedding, and her hands could rest on Clegane’s rib cage. Slowly, she began to bounce her on his cock, ass jiggling everytime it came down and made contact with his thighs. Clegane let his hands slide to her hips so he could control and guide her motions, leaving her tits to swing and bounce in the air.

-SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP- filled the tent, as she began to bounce faster and faster on his cock, building to her imminent orgasm. Gregor was thrusting upwards, to meet her, forcing his cock ever so deep into her, deeper than she ever knew.

She was in heaven. Her son, Ned, her general unhappiness; all fell to the wayside as she rode and bounced on his cock. He was her respite. He was her escape.

“I want to feel your cum in me, please…” She moaned, legs growing weaker as she knew she was about to cum “My cunt is yours! Oh god Gregor, it’s all yours! GregorGregorGREGOR!”

Catelyn let out a howl resembling a cat as she came. Gregor followed right behind her, pulling her hips flush to his, as he began to cum inside of her. His load was huge, filling her womb completely in just one shot, and the other 2 shots causing her belly to bugle slightly as it fought for space. Her mouth opened in an ‘O’ as her screams fell silent, and was replaced by her whimpering and throaty mewling.

She fell forward, head landing on his chest as she finally came down from her high. She laid there, feeling more comfortable than she had in months. Gregor, to her surprise lightly stroked her hair as she laid on him.

She could’ve stayed like that for days.

But...she knew she had to go. She had to get back to her son. Her son lying in bed, fighting for his life. Begrudgingly, rolls off of Gregor, and stood, his cum dripping out of her, streaming down her leg.

“I have to go now.” She said hoarsely, throat sore from screaming. Clegane looked at her, and just nodded. “I-” She started. She was at a loss for words. What do you say to the monster that you found comfort in?

“I’ll come and see you again. Soon” She said simply. To her surprise, her genuine shock. He gave her a small smile.

“Ok.”

She looked at him, waiting for any more words, but there were none. There didn’t need to be.

“Ok” She repeated back, pulling on her furs. She gave him one last look, before exiting his tent, and heading back to the castle.

Chapter Text

After unforeseeable delays, The day had finally come; The King, with his newly appointed Hand, were to make the trek back to King’s Landing.

Arya made no attempts to hide her giddiness. This is what she had been waiting for, for weeks. She was of course sad about what happened to her brother, but he was the only thing that kept them from leaving 2 weeks ago. King Robert wouldn’t accept any more delays, and pushed ahead with the return. Arya was also saddened that her mother would stay behind. She could only imagine the burden on her shoulders. She went to bid her goodbye, and bid goodbye to Bran as well. When she arrived at his room, to her surprise, the Mountain was the guard on duty. The humongous man spared her a slight glance, and a stiff nod, but otherwise said nothing. Her mother was as expected; looking sorrowfully over Bran, though Arya noticed a slight glimmer in her eyes as she looked at The Mountain when he opened the bedroom door. Strange, she thought.

Her mother bid her a teary farewell, though she expected the tears were there before. She told her to mind her manners, and to be of service to the Lannisters if needed.

‘If only you knew the services I provide.’ Arya thought a bit lewdly, thinking of how she had sucked Joffrey’s cock, not 30 minutes before.

Joffrey. The Southern Prince she was completely smittens with.

Day 1:

The King’s caravan left in the early hours of the day, to make the most of the light. Her father hadn’t allowed Arya to ride her own horse on the journey, saying it ‘wasn’t safe for a young lady to be out in the open’. What bollocks; Arya was a great rider, and she wasn’t afraid of any one. Besides, no one would dare try something stupid while the Lannister men were around. Regardless, she was forced to ride in a carriage with her sister and Jeyene Poole. She had to suffer them prattling on about nothing, and Sansa saying how excited she is to spend time with Joffrey; Arya smirked slightly at that.

‘If only she knew.’

The caravan rode for about 10 hours before they stopped and made camp, days were growing shorter now that the summer was leaving. Arya was given her own large tent to sleep; Ned wanted her to share with Sansa, but the eldest Stark girl made such a stink of it, that he relented and gave each their own. Arya was secretly thankful to Sansa; separate tents meant privacy. Sure there were guards stationed around the perimeters of the encampment, but they were easy enough to avoid or send on their way, especially if Baratheon was your last name.

Joffrey snuck his way into her tent around midnight.

“Anyone see you?” Arya asked. Joffrey just scoffed.

“Your guardsmen are hardly world class. I could be as large as the Mountain and slip by them” He said. Arya just smirked at him. Joffrey was wearing his night attire: A simple, yet likely expensive red night shirt, and loose trousers. Arya was wearing her nightgown; she actually preferred to sleep in just her smallclothes in Winterfell, but her mother always told her it wasn’t ladylike

She beckoned him over to her bed. He walked over, sliding onto her bed and quickly pressing his mouth to hers. She melted into the kiss, allowing Joffrey to push her onto her back and cover her body with his. Arya let her hand slither between their bodies, grasping at his cloth covered cock, causing him to gasp.

“Well you may not be as tall or wide as the Mountain, but you’re plenty large.” She said lustily. Joffrey growled and recaptured Arya’s mouth with his. She massaged his manhood through his pants, feeling him grow in her hand.

“Get that fucking gown off” Joffrey panted, pulling his mouth back. He giave Arya space to strip, sliding the gown of her shoulders and shimmying out of it. She was stark naked under it.

“No smallclothes?” Joffrey asked, eyes taking in her body. “Aren’t you cold?”

“I’m used to it”, She said “Plus, it’d just be another thing for you to tear off of me.” She added slyly. Joffrey had no objections to that. He began undoing his pants, allowing his hard member to flop free. Arya reached out and took him in her hand, giving his cock a few fast strokes, making sure he was as hard as could be.

“On your stomach” He ordered. Arya rolled onto her front and shifted herself on her bed, stretching the length of it. Joffrey straddled her calves, reaching down to give her thighs a squeeze, massaging them. Arya hummed in content, and wiggled her ass a bit before looking over her shoulder with a smirk. Joffrey slid his hands up her thighs, to the globes of her ass. He sank his fingers into her ass flesh, feeling to form to his hand. Arya shivered as he began to need and work her cheeks. He gave her right ass cheek a light slap, and then did the same with the left.

“Not so loud Joffrey.” She chided.

“You love it.” He said with a grin. Arya just rolled her eyes. Joffrey slid up Arya’s body and positioned himself at Arya’s entrance, and pushed forward into her wet folds. She gasped as his cock slid into her; She loved the way he stretched her out, aching in all the right spots. Grabbing her hips, he began to fuck her in short, contollred thrusts. They couldn’t be too loud, lest they attract the attention of the guards at the perimeter.

Arya mewled and moaned as he gently fucked her, cunt dripping and clenching, pulling him in deeper. While she did admittedly prefer the rough, hard, slapping, biting types of fucks that she and Joffrey engaged in, this was also nice.

Intimate.

She felt like her sister, thinking of all the princes and heroes gently making love to them after saving them from barbarians. Joffrey could encapsulate both when he wanted; the ravishing wildling, and the love making prince.

Joffrey leaned down, pressing his chest to Arya’s back, and then turned her head towards him so he could press a kiss to her mouth as he continued to fuck into her. He began to pick up the pace, thrusting his hips faster, thighs slapping against Arya’s plump ass. She began to moan louder now, whines and breathy gasps.

“Lady Arya, are you still awake?”

Joffrey’s hips came to a complete stop and both of them looked to the tent entrance in surprise.

It was Jory. Captain of the Stark guardsmen.

Neither of them moved. Arya looked at Joffrey with a panic stricken face, and looked at her in annoyance. She couldn’t risk not answering, that might cause Jory to come in just to check on her.

“Y-yes Jory. I am. Is something the matter?” She asked. She looked back at Joffrey, motioning him to get off and OUT of her, but he didn’t move. He had a strange look on his face.

“I was just coming to check on how you were. I know this is the furthest you’ve been from Winterfell, and wanted to make sure you were adjusting alright.” Jory explained. Oh Jory, the ever present guard.

A wicked idea shot through Joffrey’s head, and he slowly began thrusting his hips again. Arya’s eyes went wide and she gasped at his sudden movement. She looked back at him, glaring daggers at him.

“Lady Arya?” Jory asked, a bit of concern slipping into his voice.

“I-’I’m fine Jory. PLEASE.” Arya said quickly, nor knowing if that please was for Jory or Joffrey. Joffrey fucked her faster, diggin one hand into her hip, and the other in her hair, forcing her head up and her too look directly ahead. Arya let out a breathy moan, louder than she wanted. Her hands shot to her mouth to keep any more from escaping, but she knew Jory heard it.

“Are you sure? Your voice sounds a bit strained. I can get a nurse for you if you’d like.”

‘Oh Gods, just what I need. More people to see me come undone.’ She thought in a panic as her body betrayed her to Joffrey’s ministrations. She needed to get Jory away.

“Jory, I’m using my chamber pot, so if you wouldn’t mind, I need some privacy.” Arya blurted out, face burning.

She could tell by Jory’s sputtering, that her excuse worked. “Oh! I- uh, my lady I’m sorry to intrude! There’s….no need to tell your father about-”

“Yes, yes, now leave me be!”

With that, she heard Jory’s footsteps marching away, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She wrenched her head from Joffrey’s grip, and looked back at him; he casually continued to fuck her, with a shit eating grin on his face.

“Why would you do that?” She whispered harshly. Joffrey, in his princely audacity, just shrugged his shoulders.

“Thought it’d be funny. And it was.” He said smugly, rolling his hips. Arya did her best to bite back a moan, and shoot him a death glare. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
“You’re gonna pay for that Baratheon.” She said hotly. He just continued to smile at her.

“You love it.” He declared, giving her ass a loud slap.

“Joffrey!”
____________________________________________________________________________

Day 9:

The Queen’s carriage broke down, AGAIN.

This now made the 3rd time, but this time, the damage was severe: one of the axises was cracked, and a wheel needed to be replaced. It lost them a day of travel. The King and Queen had a very loud and public argument about it.

“I TOLD YOU WE SHOULDN'T HAVE BROUGHT THAT BLASTED THING”

“WOULD YOU HAVE YOUR CHILDREN AND YOUR WIFE WALKING IN THE DIRT LIKE SOME PEASANTS”

It went on like that for a while, until Ser Jaime dragged his sister off before she said something that would really bring forth the king’s ire.

The king stormed off, dragging Ned and a few other nobles along to go hunting. They ended up killing a rather large moose, which brightened the king’s mood considerably. He decided that they’d make the best of the scenario. The party was just south of Moat Cailin, so the weather wasn’t as dreadful. Robert had his butchers skin and prep the moose for the cooks, and the cooks were instructed to slow roast the moose for supper. He also had his men commandeer some tables from a local village and farm, just enough so the nobles had a place to eat, while the soldiers and servants ate at their respective camps. Right there, in the middle of a field, King Robert threw a feast, celebrating nothing in particular.

There were two sections of tables; one for the ‘adults’, the king, queen, noble head of houses and others who might be privy to important information from the king, and then there was the table for their children and entourage. When supper was called, Joffrey sat, on one side of him was his brother Tommen, and on the other, sat Arya. Sansa was rather annoyed with this setup.

“Arya? Why are you sitting next to Joffrey.” She whined, walking to the table with Jeyne in tow. “I’m sure the prince would rather sit next to me.” She finished, looking at Joffrey with a smile. The prince put on his best fake smile back, and Arya rolled her eyes.

“I figured you’d want to sit across from the prince, so you could look at him more clearly.” Arya replied, raising an eyebrow. She watched her sister’s face grow red.

“Yes. Don’t want to have to turn my head to look at you” Joffrey added smoothly, and Sansa looked as if she was about to melt. She quickly sat down, with a goofy smile on her face. Arya had to bite back a laugh at how easy it was to manipulate her sister.

Once everyone was settled in, the courses were served. Sansa was determined to talk Joffrey’s ear off, but his southern manners kept him from tearing his hair out like he clearly wanted; that and his hand rubbing Arya’s thigh under the table cloth. Arya let her hand slide down to his knee, gently squeezing it. She then began to slowly drag it up the length of his leg, before letting it rest on his hip for a moment. He looked over at her, slightly puzzled by her actions, but Arya looked straight ahead, as if she didn’t notice. Ever so slowly, Arya crept her hands inward, over his crotch, lightly rubbing her hand over him. Sansa was busy chattering with Jeyne, so Joffrey took the opportunity to lean over and whisper to Arya.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He said urgently. She didn’t even turn her head to look at him.

“Oh nothing. Nothing at all.” She replied evenly. He frowned at her slightly, but made no effort to stop her roaming hands.

Arya decided to wait until he took a sip of wine, to delve her hand past his waistband, and grab his cock.

Joffrey nearly choked on his drink as her finger wrapped around his member.

“Joffrey, are you alright?” Asked Sansa in a worry. Joffrey looked around and noticed that Tommen, Jeyene and a few others were looking his way. He composed himself the best he could, with Arya slowly stroking him.

“Yes, yes. I’m fine.” He said in a hurry. Everyone went back to their meal, and Joffrey looked over at Arya, who’s expression hadn’t changed except for the slight hint of a smirk on her face.

With his cock being stroked to its full length, Arya maneuvered it and her hand, so that it was sticking out of his waistband, but still hidden by the tablecloth. Joffrey looks around, seeing if anyone has noticed. Tommen is picking at his food, and Sansa and Jeyne are chatting., occasionally glancing his way and addressing him. Joffrey is barely present, giving in to the feeling of Arya stroking him off. She began to pick up the pace, stroking his cock faster, and more animated, twisting her wrist in a corkscrew as she stroked him, rubbing the flat of her palm against his cockhead, smearing pre-cum all over it. With her other hand, she ate and drank, as if nothing was happening. Joffrey’s face became hot, and a blush creeped up his chest.

“Joffrey, are you sure you’re ok? Your fave is a bit red.” Sansa said. Joffrey was losing his composure, coming undone in Arya’s hands- or rather hand.

“Yes” He grunted out. “I’m perfectly hng-fine.” Sansa didn’t look too convinced, but didn’t want to push the issue.
Just then, in the infinite humor of the gods, King Rob walked up behind Sansa and Jeyene

‘Oh, fuck me.’ Joffrey thought.

“Ladies,” He said warmly, addressing Sansa, Arya and Jeyne. “Enjoying the meal?”

“Oh yes. It’s very good.” Said Sansa.

“Yes, Very good meat.” Arya added, smiling, continuing to stroke Joffrey’s cock as she addressed the king of the seven kingdoms.

The King then looked to Joffrey, and frowned.

“Joffrey! What’s the matter boy? You haven’t touched your moose.” King Robert huffed.

By now, Joffrey was a mess, face red, eyes unfocused, propping himself up on the table with his elbows.

“Just-just don’t have much of an appetite father.” He croaked. The king’s frown just deepened, and he leaned forward placing his hands on the table.

“Well you better get an appetite. Don’t go wasting that moose that I worked hard to kill.” He barked out, before walking away, grumbling about ungrateful kids. Sansa and Jeyne went back to their conversation, and Joffrey shot a sly glare at Arya, who was now smirking without even trying to hide it.

She began stroking him even faster now, intending to bring him to climax. Joffrey knew he couldn’t hold off his impending orgasm, but he wasn’t going to let her get one up on him completely. Quickly, he grabbed her now empty wine goblet. She looked at him in confusion, hand still moving. Joffrey brought the cup under the table, with one hand, and with the other, he grabbed her wrist, and angled his cock downward. With a silent groan, he shot his load, directly into the goblet. He filled the cup up nearly to the brim, before bringing it back up, and presenting it to Arya. Her eyes went wide at the display, looking between the cum filled goblet, and Joffrey’s face. He was looking at her with challenge in his eyes. She looked around, making sure no one would notice, she removed her hand from his lap, and took the goblet from Joffrey. With only a moment of hesitation, she brought the goblet to her lips, and slowly tilted her head back. Joffrey watch, enamored, as she drank his cum, letting it slide down her throat as she tilted her head further and further back, eyes closed in concentration. Joffrey looked, and noticed that Sansa was looking at her sister in confusion, and slight disgust.

Arya finished the goblet, bringing her head back down, breathing heavily. She ran her tongue around the rim of the cup, making sure she didn’t miss a drop. Joffrey nearly came again right there. Once she was sure it was completely empty, she gave a little burp.

“Oh Arya, REALLY? You can’t even drink wine without acting like a pig?” Her sister chastised. Arya just shrugged her shoulders.

‘If only you knew.’ Joffrey thought.

“Well, I’m positively stuffed.” Arya said dramatically. “I think I’ll’ head back to my tent.” She finished standing. She walked away from the table, sparing a glance over her shoulder at Joffrey, who gulped.

“I think I’ll go and practice with my sword.” Joffrey said quickly.

“Oh, I could come with you and wat-” Started Sansa.

“No!” Joffrey interrupted. “I mean, I’ll likely be training late. Wouldn’t be gentlemanly of me to have you up all night watching me.”

Sansa frowned slightly, bud nodded nonetheless.

“Well, I suppose I’ll see you in the mor-”

Before she could finish, Joffrey was already on his feet, hot on the trail of Arya, vowing swift revenge.
___________________________________________

Day 17:

Arya and Joffrey’s game of pouncing on each other at the most inopportune times went on over the next several days.

They were really quite creative with their one-upmanship.

Joffrey caught Arya off guard when she was bathing. Dunked her head under water as he took her from behind. By the end, she ended up needing another bath.

Arya caught Joffrey by surprise by the stables as he was talking to his father. Swallowing his cock, with only the stall door keeping his father from seeing. The king got angry at Joffrey’s inability to maintain eye contact while speaking.

Back and forth, tit for tat, seeing how far they could push each other and the risk.

On this particular day, the caravan had just arrived at the Inn at the Crossroads, a popular rest spot for travelers; It was a needed break from tents.

Joffrey was forced by his father to spend the early portion of the day with him. Something about learning to be a man. In reality, it was Joffrey watching his father be an oaf, and stumble through meetings with other nobles. He cared little for these matters, but suffered through them, as it was his duty as prince. When the meetings finally were over, and Joffrey was left to his day, he somehow managed to get cornered by Sansa, who attached himself to his hip. He was internally screaming, being forced to endure her constant chittering. He needed to slip away before he drove his sword through her; that probably would make the rest of the travels awkward. Luckily, he happened to have a skin of wine on him. He kept pushing the skin to her, having her drink more and more. Eventually, she was red faced, and drunk enough where he was able to slip away. He was sure she’d be fine. Or not; he didn’t particularly care either way.

He went looking for Arya. He hadn’t seen her all day. He walked around the outskirts of the Inn, looking for her; he knew she always preferred secluded areas. He heard noise coming from near the river bank. He followed the noise, and was welcomed to the sight of his Arya.

What was less welcome, was the sight of the portly commoner with her.

They were play fighting, acting as if sticks were swords. She was laughing.

Joffrey was always quick to anger. He had a temper, something he inherited from his parents. But he saw red faster than he ever thought was possible. He marched over to them, making his presence known.

“What is going on here.” He roared. Arya, whose back was to Joffrey, jumped at the suddenness of his voice and turned around. The chubby commoner, who was still swinging his stick, struck Arya in the back of her shoulder, causing her to yelp.

“Oh! Mycah!”

“Sorry M’lady” He says quickly, dropping the stick.

Turning back to Joffrey, Arya smiles at him. Joffrey does not smile back.

“You. Who are you?” He said, staring hatefully at the peasant.

“Mycah, m’lord.” He said feebly.

“He’s the butcher’s boy.” Arya interjected. “You were busy all morning, and I got bored. We were just having a bit of fun.” Arya said, looking at Joffrey’s angry face.

“A bit of fun.” Joffrey repeated disdainfully, still staring at Mycah. “You know you just struck a lady. A noble lady. I could have you drawn and quartered for that.”

Mycah’s eyes went wide, and his skinned paled.
“M’lord. It was an accident! I swear we was just messing about!”

Arya stepped toward Joffrey, eyes flashing with anger.

“Joffrey! What do you think you’re doing. He’s my friend. He-”

Arya was cut off, by Joffrey’s hand shooting to her throat, grabbing it and squeezing.

Her eyes went wide, and on instinct her hands went to his wrist. Joffrey spun her around, pressing her back to his chest, while still gripping her throat tightly.

“You know butcher’s boy-” Joffrey said with a suddenly calm voice. “What you did, it’s not how you treat a proper lady. THIS is how you treat a lady.”

Joffrey applied a bit more pressure into his hand. He leaned forward and whispered low into Arya’s ear “Do you trust me?”

She couldn’t respond, but she stopped clawing at his wrist, letting them fall to the side, and letting Joffrey squeezer her throat unabated.

Mycah made to move, to get out of whatever THIS was.

“STAY, right where you are, butcher’s boy.” Joffrey ordered. Mycah froze on the spot.

Arya’s vision began to fade as Joffrey continued to cut off blood to her brain. Her eyes fluttered closed, and her limbs became weak. She didn’t know what was going on, but she trusted Joffrey not to hurt her. Well, hurt her permanently. After several more seconds, she went limp, held up only by his hand and body.

“M-m’lord! Her eyes...they’ve closed! She’ll die!’ Mycah exclaimed in a panic. Joffrey gingerly looked at Arya’s face, which was slack in unconsciousness.

“Hmmm, I suppose you’re right.” He said simply. Joffrey let go of Arya, allowing her to fall forward onto the grass in a heap. She laid there for several seconds, unmoving, before suddenly gasping for air in a coughing fit. She slowly moved herself to her hands and knees, breathing heavily as her surroundings came back to her. Standing behind her, Joffrey casually undid his trousers, fishing out his cock, then kneeled down behind Arya.

“As I was saying, This is how you properly treat a lady. Watch closely now, butcher’s boy. You might learn something.” Joffrey continued. He pushed Arya’s dress over her hips.

No small clothes. Just how he liked her.

Without warning, he lined his cock up with her entrance, and thrust forward HARD, filling her up in one move.

Her head shot up, and she moaned loudly, as his cock brought her back to the present. Joffrey grabbed her hips tightly and began to pound into her relentlessly. Mycah, still just a few meters away, watched in a mixture of horror and fascination at the lewd display in front of him.

“See, a lady must be treated with delicacy and care.” Joffrey grunted as he fucked her. He gave her right ass cheek a hard slap, causing her to moan out loudly. “You understand me, peasant?”

“Y-yes sir.” Mycah stammered, eyes transfixed on the display.

Joffrey could make out the tent forming in Mycah’s dirty pants. He wasn’t surprised. This was probably his first time seeing a woman in any form of undress, let alone getting fucked

“Oh gods...oh gods...Joffrey please” Arya moaned, thrusting back against Joffrey’s hard pumps. Her hands dug into the grass and dirt. “Please…” She begged wantonly.

“Do you want to touch her Mycah?” Joffrey suddenly askes.

“M’lord?”

“Do you want to touch her?” Joffrey repeated, pulling Arya up by her shoulders, and sliding her dress off them to reveal her small bouncing breasts.

Mycah swallowed, and said “Yes m’lord.”

Arya was too lost in her own pleasure to formulate a response to everything, but she looked over her shoulder at Joffrey wairily. He gave her his ‘trust me’ look, and pressed a kiss to her mouth.

Slowly, an unsteady feet, Mycah walked over to the pair. He got to arms length, and looked at Joffrey, unsure. Joffrey just nodded his head.

“Go on. Touch.”

Slowly, Mycah reached his arm out, eyes wide with anticipation.

That was when Joffrey pulled out his short sword, and slashed Mycah across his throat.

The poor butcher’s boy barely had time to register what happened, before he fell forward, dead. Arya yelled out, and pulled herself off Joffrey. She quickly pulled on her dress back in place. She looked at Mycah’s body, whose blood was staining the grass around him. She then looked at Joffrey, who was breathing heavily, eyes wild, gripping his sword handle hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

Finally, Arya spoke.

“Joffrey…” she said carefully. “What did you do?”

“I-....I don’t know.” He said truthfully. He let his sword drop to the ground, as he looked at Mycah dead body.

“Joffrey, you killed him.” Arya said simply. There wasn’t judgement in her no voice, just concern.

“I just…..He was close to you. Too close to you. He touched you.” Joffrey said, voice tight.

“We were just playing a game” Arya responded, stepping closer to Joffrey.

“It doesn’t matter! He’s a peasant. He shouldn’t be anywhere near you!” Joffrey suddenly shouted. Arya doesn’t respond, and just looks at him. Joffrey looked at his feet, almost like a child who knew he messed up.

“Do you hate me now?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper. He felt Arya’s hand go to his face.

“Oh Joffrey no.” She said reassuringly. “I could never hate you.”

Joffrey leans into her touch.

“But you need to THINK before you do things like this. What if someone stumbled by. Would you have slashed their throats too?” She asked, tone softly chastising. Joffrey has the grace to look mildly ashamed.

“I’m yours Joffrey. Remember?” She said sweetly.

“Mine.” Joffrey responded after a minute. He once again looked at Mycah’s cold, colorless body on the ground. “What are we gonna do about him?”

Arya glanced over at Mycah, and then around, face contemplative.

She walked over to the stick she previously had, and without warning, turned and struck Joffrey in the head with it. He recoiled back in pain.

“Ow! Are you bloody mad.” He yelled, hands going up to his head. He felt a trickle of blood run down his temple.

“I’m not mad. Mycah is. We don’t know what came over him. He just suddenly attacked, and you had to defend yourself.” Arya said simply. Joffrey looked at her confused for a moment, before he got her meaning.

Conniving. Deceitful

Joffrey was completely in love.

Chapter Text

Sansa was a nervous mess.

Today marked the day that the King and his caravan would leave Winterfell, and make its way back to King’s Landing.

She thought she’d be ever so excited for this day, but...simply things had changed. What she saw Jaime and Cersei Lannister doing, what they did to her brother - she just didn’t know what to do. Both of them acted as if nothing happened, just going about their lives, laughing and drinking. And ser Jaime...his lessons were becoming more and more intense. He’d corner her in hallways for “surprise lessons”: shove his tongue down her throat, grope her over her dress, make her lick his manhood.

She wanted to tell someone, to let her father know what was happening, but that would ruin everything. She had a once in a lifetime opportunity, she was to be wed to Joffrey, prince of the Seven Kingdoms. All the other noble ladies of this land would give anything to be in her place. She loved her brother, she really did, but some things were more important.
___________________________________________________________________________

Day 1

The Caravan left early in the morning, earlier than Sansa would’ve wanted. She didn’t understand why they needed to wake so early to travel, it would take them several weeks to get to King’s Landing regardless. At Least she could ride comfortably. Her father had them ride in a carriage. She wanted her OWN carriage, but her father said she had to share with Arya. Luckily for her Arya didn’t speak much.

They traveled for about 10 hours. Sansa was admittedly a bit unnerved. She was used to it getting dark early, especially since winter was on the way, but she was always used to being within the secure walls of Winterfell. She knew she was safe - there were hundreds of soldiers and they kept the camp well enough lit, but this was the furthest she’d been from home. Hells she rarely ever ventured into Winter town unless escorted by Robb or Theon. She decided to calm her nerves by talking to Jeyne after supper. They giggled about boys, and how great of a queen Sansa would be. After an hour or two, Sansa decided to head back to her tent, and do some reading before she went to bed. Her tent was only a few yards away from Jeyne’s so she didn’t figure she needed an escort.

She was wrong.

As she walked, a pair of hands came behind her, one wrapping itself over her mouth, the other going around her waist and lifting her up. Sansa’s eyes went wide and she screamed, but the hand muffled any noise coming from her. She kicked her feet and thrashed as she was pulled quickly to a darker, more secluded part of the camp. Once her captor, whomever it was judged they were out of sight from anyone, she was set down, hand still covering her mouth.

“Don’t do something silly like screaming.”

Wait-

The hand was removed from her mouth, and Sansa quickly spun around to see the smirking face of Jaime Lannister.

“S-ser Jaime? Why did you-”

“A lesson my sweet girl. A lesson.” He interrupted.

“A lesson?” She questioned, eying him warily.

“Yes. A queen must be ready for anything.” He explained. “What if I had been some bandit. I could’ve had you over my horse by now, on my way to my hideout to ravish you for days.”

Sansa blushed at his vulgar words and looked down.

“Not your fault dear. The disposition to being kidnapped runs in your family.”

Sansa just bit her lip at the veiled insult of her late aunt Lyanna. She looked around nervously, seeing if anyone could see them.

“Is -is that all Ser.” She tried sheepishly, hoping he’d take some form of pity on her for the night. Unfortunately, he had no intention of doing so.

“Of course not. I have another lesson for you. Well, more of an inspection really.” He said. Sansa just gave him a confused look.

“An inspection? Inspection of what?”

He didn’t respond, just flashing her a tight lipped smile. Without another word, he pushed her furs off of her shoulders. She stiffened, unsure of what he was doing, but didn’t attempt to move otherwise. That was until he grabbed the shoulders of her dress, and pulled them down.

“S-ser!” She exclaimed, trying to pull away from his grasp. He just tightened his grip on her upper arms.

“Stay still.” He said simply. She continued to struggle in his grasp.

“B-but”.

“STILL.”

His tone left no room for argument or humor in his voice. Sansa immediately stilled, aside from nervous fidgeting. Satisfied that she wasn’t going to try and scamper off on him, he eased his grip on her arms, and continued peeling her dress down her torso, until the fabric settled under her ribcage.

“As I was saying,” He continued casually. “I need to inspect you. Your breasts specifically.”

“What? You surely must jest.” She said through a nervous laugh.

“I’m deathly serious I’m afraid. A queen's breasts are a very vital part to their image. They must be full, and pronounced. Able to feed many heirs if needed. Take my sister for example. She has a magnificent pair.”

Sansa cringed a bit at how casually he praised his sister’s breasts, but he didn’t seem to care.

“Straighten your back” Jaime ordered. “A queen must have good posture.”

Sansa straightened her back, and inadvertently jutted out her chest. She was still wearing her small clothes, which Jaime decided to discard next. He grabbed the fabric and tugged downwards, causing Sansa’s breast to bounce free. She shivered, both from the night air, and sheer emotion of having her breasts exposed to a man for the first time.

“Hm. Not bad at first glance.” He said. He slowly removed his gloves, before gently running his hands on the underside of her tits. She jumped slightly at his touch, turning her head and biting her lip. She was blushing from the top of her head, down to her cleavage. He lightly bounced her breasts in his hands, weighing them. Sansa was a skinny girl, but she admittedly had a prominent bust. Not too much to not fit her frame, but large enough to take notice. He moved up to her pink nipples, and lightly flicked each one with his index fingers.

“Hard?” He questioned teasingly.

“I-it’s cold.” Sansa responded, knowing that wasn’t the full truth. Jaime didn’t seem to believe her anyway, just flashing her a smirk before gripping them with his fingers and tugging downwards hard.

“AH!” Sansa screamed out. He tugged her tits again, pulling them in opposite directions. Sansa gritted her teeth, trying to keep her voice from escaping. Jaime continued to harshly pull on her nipples for a few more seconds before letting them go.

“Seem durable enough. You need to be able to endure nursing children. Good queens don’t use wet nurses.” He lectured. She was breathing heavily and looking at the ground, breast stinging and tingling from his onslaught.

WHAP!

Jaime smacked her right tit. She jumped and looked up at Jaime, who had an annoyed look on his face.

“Sansa, are you even paying attention? I don’t do this for my health.” He chastised, before reigning a downward slap to her left tit.

“I am! Sorry ser!” She apologized meekly. He gave her right tit another slap, before sharply nodding his head.

“Overall, your breasts have the making of a queen. Better than most Northern women, that’s for sure.” Jaime stated. Despite herself and her stinging tits, Sansa smiled a bit, swelling a bit at his praise.

“Thank you ser.” She thanked.

“Think nothing of it. Now, down onto your knees if you will.” He said.

“Wait, what?” She said, smile dropping. Jaime placed his hand on her bare shoulders and pushed. She sank down to her knees without much resistance.

“Practice my dear, practice.” He said as he began to undo his breeches.

“S-ser I believe I’ve had enough practice with th-MPFH!”

She was effectively silenced by Jaime shoving his hardening cock into her mouth. She would’ve sighed if her mouth wasn’t full. He began to rock his hips and as he taught her, she began hollowing out her cheeks, sucking to meet his thrusts. She didn’t gag nearly as much or as violently after the first few times, as he began to push into her throat.

“Gluurck…...Glurck…....Glurcc”

“Mmmmm. You really are a natural at this.” He said, snaking his hand into her hair and massaging her scalp. She just hummed a small ‘thank you’ around him and continued to suck and bob her head along his length. Jaime suddenly pushed all the way into her throat, and held himself there as he did several times before. Unlike the first time where she sputtered and tried to fight against him, she learned that that only wasted much needed energy. Her hands gripped his thighs and her throat flexed around him, but she otherwise didn’t move, just allowing herself to be held, throat impaled on his cock.

Eventually he seemed to get bored, and pulled her off of his length. Immediately her hand went to his shaft to stroke him, as he taught her.
“Don’t forget the balls.” He lightly reprimanded. “Like I showed you.”

Sansa craned her neck to bring her mouth to his ballsack, and began to lick them. As she did, she continued to give him a messy, spit covered hand job. She really was a natural. She swirled her tongue around his sack, making sure to cover every inch of skin. She popped a testicle into her mouth and gave it a hard suck. Then she repeated the action to the other. She was actually getting lost in the moment of pleasing him with her mouth. She wanted to do a good job, despite the less than normal circumstances of it all.

“That’s it.” Jaime groaned. “You’ll make a great little queen. Joffrey will be happy to have you on your knees.”

She hummed around his nutsack, excited at the prospect of making Joffrey happy, despite the degrading scenario. She felt his muscles tense, knowing that was the sign of his imminent release. Popping his balls out of her mouth, she looked up at him.

“Ser….can you not...finish in my hair again? Please?” She asked, as she continued to stroke his cock. He looked contemplative for a moment, before nodding. Sansa smiled. That was until Jaime pushed her onto her back. She was caught by surprise, barely registering what was happening. Jaime squatted over her now prone body. He took over stroking his cock, aiming his cock head at her exposed chest. After a few fast strokes, he groaned, and he came, shooting several ropes of cum over her breasts, some landing on her lower neck and chin. She shuddered, feeling the contrast of his warm cum, and the cold night air.

Once he was finished and sure his balls were empty, he grabbed Sansa by her arm, pulling her into a seated position. Quickly, he pulled her small clothes back into place, and refitted her dress on her shoulders. Sansa frowned at the feeling of the fabric of her clothes meeting his release.

“Don’t wipe that off until morning.” He ordered. “The semen stimulates growth, and encourages good health overall.”

Sansa just nodded dumbly as she was pulled to her feet.

“Now, I think that’s enough lessons for tonight. Off to bed with you. Beauty rest is important after all.”

____________________________________________________________________________

Day 9:

The Queen didn’t seem very happy.

Their carriage broke down again.

Sansa didn’t fully understand the technical talk, but it was bad enough to halt them fully for the day. The King and Queen began arguing loudly in the middle of camp.

“I TOLD YOU WE SHOULDN'T HAVE BROUGHT THAT BLASTED THING”
“WOULD YOU HAVE YOUR CHILDREN AND YOUR WIFE WALKING IN THE DIRT LIKE SOME PEASANTS”

Sansa was a bit concerned by this. Did kings and queens talk to each other like this? This was nothing like how her parents spoke to each other, even when mad. She thought King Robert and Cersei loved each other. This didn’t very well look like love to her.

Eventually, Jaime stepped in and separated the two. Sansa noticed how he placed a comforting hand on the small of Cersei’s back. She found herself almost finding it romantic, even though she knew it was wrong and taboo, but Jaime showed Cersei the affection that the king didn’t. King Robert stormed off, taking her father and several other nobles with him. They weren’t in anyplace spectacular, just south Moat Cailin. There wasn’t much to do or look at, but at least the weather was a bit nicer. She returned to her tent and decided to do some reading; some romantic poems that she enjoyed. Gallant knights saving princesses and living happily ever after. She envisioned Joffrey doing that, saving her from the cold and dreary of Winterfell, and taking her to King’s Landing. She hoped she would be a good queen to him. That the training was all worth it. That the secret she held was all worth it.

She was pulled from her thoughts by the voice of the Queen.

“Sansa.” Her voice called out coolly behind her. Sansa turned around. The Queen was standing at the entrance of her tent. She was wearing a golden and red robe of some kind.

“Your grace.” Sansa said, standing out of habit.

“Oh no need for that.” Cersei said, waving a hand. “We’ll be family soon enough, won’t we? Cersei is fine.

“Cersei...ok.”

“I was wondering if you might accompany me.” The Queen asked with a light smile on her face. “Since we seem to be stuck in the middle of nowhere for the moment, and the men are out doing whatever they do, perhaps you can keep me company.”

In all honesty, Sansa wanted to say no, but something told her that very much like her brother, she wouldn’t take no for an answer. She knew what the queen was capable of, so she didn’t want anger, or further annoy her. Besides, what’s the worst Cersei could do herself?

That’s what she thought until she walked out of her tent, and saw a dozen plus of the guards with her. All Lannister men.

“W-who are they?” Sansa asked, trying to hide her fear.

“Oh them? They’re just to make sure us ladies remain safe and uninterrupted” Cersei explained off-handedly. “Now come on, follow me.”

Sansa had to will her feet to move. The guards flanked them as they walked, to where Sansa wasn’t very sure. They were walking away from the camp center, which did nothing to ease Sansa’s anxiety.

“So, you’ve been spending time with my brother?” Cersei stated suddenly. Sansa looked at her, eyes wide like a doe.

“I’m sorry, your grace?”

“Cersei” The Queen corrected. “And I said you’ve been spending time with my brother.”

This time it wasn’t a question.

“Erm...Yes. He’s been teaching me how to be a good queen.” Sansa explained abjectly.

“Yes, he’s told me as much. Tell me, how are said lessons going?” Cersei asked, a mysterious smile gracing her lips. Sansa tried to suppress a blush as she thought back to the ‘lesson’ she had with him a sennight ago. She wasn’t sure how specific Jaime was with his sister - though she imagined he didn’t keep very much from her - but she gave a non committal “It’s going ok.”

“Hm. Well I wouldn’t be a very good future mother-in-law if I didn’t aid my dear brother in making you the perfect queen for my sweet Joffrey. Alright, this is far enough.”

The guards stopped. Sansa looked around, and realized that they were in an open grassy field, within eyesight of the main camp. The guards men then spread out, encircling the two women, creating a perimeter of sorts.

“What are they doing?” Sansa aked, very confused. She looked over at Cersei, and to her shock, the Queen was disrobing. She let her robe fall to the ground, and under it, the Queen was only in a pair of tight, underwear, dyed in Lannister red, and breast wraps wrapped tightly around her large breasts.

“C-Cersei! What are you doing?” Sansa exclaimed, looking around. The men watched them, stone faced. Cersei seemed completely unbothered.

“A Queen must stay in top physical condition.” Cersei said simply, as she began to casually stretch her arms and legs. “Today, you can join me in my exercises. Remove your dress so we may get started.”

“I-I-I…” Sansa sputtered.

“Is something wrong Sansa? You can’t very well effectively exercise in that stuffy dress.” Cersei said, raising a blonde eyebrow. “Oh, did you need help getting out of it?”

“No, that’s not-”

Before she could finish her sentence, Cersei waved her hand and 2 guards strode up to Sansa. One moved behind her, ungracefully and roughly pulling the laces of her dress open, while the other grabbed the necklike of it, and roughly began to pull it off her body. He got it pulled down to her waist, and then the guard behind her placed his hands under her armpits and lifted her clear off the ground, allowing the dress to be pulled down her legs and off her feet. Stripped down to her smallclothes, the guards returned to their posts in the circle. Sansa did her best to cover herself with her small hands as she looked around, face beet red. She was shaking.

“Oh do calm down, Sansa. No one can see us.” Cersei said, as she bent over at the waist to stretch her legs, no doubt giving the guards behind her an uninhibited view of her pale backside.

“THEY can see us!” Sansa cried out, still trying to cover herself. Cersei just scoffed.

“You’ll have to get used to them watching over you at your most intimate and vulnerable times if you are to be Queen.” Cersei explained, returning to her full height. She strode over to the shaking girl and placed a gentle hand on her. “They are my men, and soon to be yours. You need not worry about them. Watch. Guards, take 3 steps back,”

The guards obeyed without hesitation, stepping back 3 paces.

“Now turn around.”

They obeyed.

“Close your eyes, and hop on one foot.”

They followed her instructions to the t.

“Now return to your starting positions.”

The guards went back to their circle formation, facing the women.

“See?” Cersei asked. Sansa calmed down, just a bit. It was impressive to see these men follow her words without even a second thought. But this was all still so unorthodox. Sansa was raised on modesty, reticence. This flew in the face of all of that. Sensing Sansa’s lingering hesitation, Cersei decided to change her method. She moved behind Sansa, placing her hands on her waist, but leaving a foot or so between their bodies. Sansa jumped a little at her touch and looked over her shoulder.

“Eyes forward Sansa.” Cersei commanded. Sansa gulped, but obeyed, looking forward at the soldiers surrounding them. “We’ll start easy. Just some squats. Hands on your head.”

Once again, Sansa obeyed, entranced by Cersei’s commanding tone. Using her feet, Cersei kicked Sansa’s legs shoulder width apart. With her hands still on Sansa’s hips, she guided her down to the ground, in a squatting position - slowly down, then slowly back up again.

“See, that wasn’t so hard. Again.”

Cersei repeated the action with Sansa, squatting down until their asses hovered only slightly above the ground, then back up again. They continued the action several more times. While Sansa was a fit looking girl, she honestly never did any extraneous exercises. After only a couple squats, her thighs were burning. Furthermore, the guardsmen, they were looking at her. All looking at her. She felt self conscious under their gaze.

“C-can we stop.” She asked bashfully.

“Why? We’ve only just gotten started.”

“The men….they’re staring.”

“Of course they are. They have a beautiful women in their underwear in front of them”

Sansa blushed even redder as Cersei led her into another squat.

“Let me let you in on a secret.” Cersei said, leaning forward to whisper into Sansa’s ear. “You think I don’t see their eyes on me. Their real feelings under their stone faces? They would tear our smallclothes and rape us right here in this field if they could.”

Sansa’s eyes went wide with horror at the thought.

“But they can't,” Cersei continued. “Because I am the queen. And they know if they even thought of trying to touch me, my husband, and my family would wipe out their bloodlines. That’s the power of being a queen. Being untouchable to every other man. Once you realize that, these men, their eyes - they might as well be wooden mannequins.”

Sansa didn’t know why, but Cersei’s words actually soothed her. To be so confident and unafraid. Could she really be like that herself?

Cersei let go of Sansa’s hips and stepped back. “Stay like that, and do ten more.” She ordered. Sansa sheepishly nodded her head, and continued squatting. She wasn’t particularly graceful or balanced, nearly falling on her bottom several times, but she got through them, working up a light sheen of sweat.

She still felt the eyes of the guards on her, and despite her remaining reservations, she almost felt the power that Cersei described. The men stood there unmoving, despite the lewd display in front of them.

As she finished her set, a servant girl came running over from the camp. The soldiers moved and made an entrance for her.

“Your grace.” She began “The men have returned. They brought a moose.”

“Hm. Looks like our session is over for the moment” Cersei said, walking over to her robe and pulling it back on. “We must do this again sometime.”

Without another word, Cersei waved her hand, and the soldiers filed in behind her as she walked back to the camp, leaving a sweaty, stripped Sansa standing in the field.
____________________________________________________________________________

Day 17:

Sansa was relieved that they made it Crossroads inn, she was tiring of sleeping in tents. Now she’d have somewhere with 4 walls to lay her head.

The last several days had been calmer than the ones prior, mostly due to Jaime and Cersei being too occupied with official matters to interact with Sansa. She took it as a reprieve, her body and mind were over stimulated by the two. She always was afraid that she’d bump into them again, and they’d have something else planned for her; luckily for her, that hadn’t been the case.

With her anxieties receded for the moment, she thought she’d seek out Joffrey and spend some time with him, she hadn’t spent nearly as much as she wanted to. But the prince always seemed to make himself sparse.

She seemed to always miss him.

Luckily this day she was able to catch him. She had known that he went with father for matters of the crown, so she waited patiently for them to return, and when he and his father did, she was there by his side in an instant.

“Joffrey!” She said excitedly. He jumped a little, obviously not expecting her.

“Oh….Sansa.” He said strangely. Sansa just figured he was tired from his morning.

“Joffrey. I thought we could spend the day together.” She said, looping her arms around one of his. He looked at his arm, then at her. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again, before sighing.

‘He must be really tired.’ Sansa thought. ‘My company is just what he needed.’

She walked with him, and talked. Well, she did most of the talking - he kind of just nodded his head occasionally. She didn’t mind though, she liked talking. She talked for close to a half hour while they walked; Joffrey walked fast, she honestly had trouble keeping up with him. Suddenly he stops, and he turns to her smile on his face, the first one she’s seen. He grabs a skin of wine from his waist, and offers it to her.

“A drink?” He asked. How chivalrous of him, she thought. To offer his lady a drink, She happily took it and took a sip.

It was strong. Stronger than she was used to. She offered it back to him, but she insisted she take another sip, to really mull over the taste, and she did. They walked for a bit more, Sansa continuing to talk about how excited she was to go to King’s Landing. Eventually Joffrey stopped again, and offered her another drink. She looked at the skin a bit nervously.

“I probably shouldn’t have anymore.” She said. “Father only lets us have one cup at feasts.”

Joffrey just flashed her a charming smile and said, “My princess can drink as much as she likes.”

Sansa’s heart swelled, being referred to as a princess. She took the skin once more, and took a long swig. This pattern continued for a while. They’d walk, and he’d offer her wine. It was starting to catch up with her. Her face became red, her steps crooked, and her vision blurred. She lost count on how many drinks of wine she took, but it was obviously to many.

“J-joffrey….” She slurred slightly. “I think I drank too much.”

He didn’t respond, just continuing to walk, distance growing between them. She couldn’t keep up in her state.

“Joffrey, wait u-OOF!”

Sansa tripped over her dress, and landed on her hands and knees on the ground. She looked up, and could no longer see Joffrey. She called out to him, but nothing. She pushed herself to her feet, and dusted off her dress.

‘Where did he go?’

She stumbled around for a bit, but had no luck in finding him. She decided her best move was to go back to the main road and inn. Maybe he returned there. She hobbled and stumbled her way back, earning strange and amused looks from workers and soldiers she passed. She didn’t see him on the outside, so she decided to check inside. She entered the in; men were drinking, people were selling their wares, and still not a sight of Joffrey. She looked around the room, and in the far corner, she saw a strange looking man: he had a shaved head, and was wearing an orange tunic. He was playing with a spoon, yet had no meal in front of him. He looked over at her, and smiled. She didn’t know what it was, perhaps her wine hazed mind, but she decided to go over to him, and inquire about Joffrey. She stumbled over to him, nearly tripping over the uneven floor.

“Can I help you with something young lady?” The man asked politely.

“Have you ‘hic’ seen Joffrey?” She asked.

“I know several Joffreys. You might need to be a bit more specific.” The man said.

“He’s the prince. Blonde, handsome. Such a man.” Sansa swooned.

“Hmm, Yes, I do think I saw someone like that actually.” The man stated. “He went upstairs, I believe. Probably in the farthest room”

Sansa smiled and began to make her way over to the stairs.

“Sansa, before you go-.” The man said, getting her attention “They’re going to have fun destroying you.”

Sansa frowned and gave the man a confused look. That was oddly ominesce. She decided to ignore it, and continue to the stairs. She hadn’t even thought of the fact that she never actually told the man her name.

Sansa climbed the stairs to the second floor, and walked to the farthest room as instructed. She knocked on the door.

“Joffrey? Joffrey are you in there?” She called to the other side. She heard shuffling around, before the door swung open, and standing there was Jaime Lannister. Jaime only cracked the door slightly, to block Sansa’s view into the room.

“Sansa? To what do I owe the pleasure?” Jaime asked coolly.

“S-ser Jaime? I wasn’t expecting you. I was just looking for Jof- hic - Joffrey.” Sansa rambled out. Jaime squinted his eyes at her, examining her face, and then laughed.

“Are you drunk?”

Her face was already red, so he couldn’t see her face blush red.

“I...just had a bit of whine.” She said, looking at the ground. Jaime got quiet for a moment, then a large smile crossed his face. One that made Sansa nervous.

“Well why don’t you have another with me and my dear sister?” Jaime insisted. He opened the door fully, revealing Cersei on the bed. Her hair was a bit disheveled, and her lipstick was smudged; Sansa could only imagine what they were doing. Jaime grabbed Sansa by the forearm, and pulled her into the room, closing the door quickly behind him. Cersei gave Jaime a concerned look, but something in his eyes told her to relax and trust him. Sansa took a seat on a chair beside the bed, and Jaime went over to the table that was against the wall, which had several pitchers and bottles of wine on it. The siblings liked to party. Jaime poured 3 goblets of wine, and handed one to Cersei and Sansa.

“I-I really shouldn't,” Sansa tried.

“Nonsense” Cersei interjected, taking a sip of her own wine. “You’re in safe company Sansa. Indulge a bit.”

Jaime brought his hand to the bottom of Sansa’s goblet, and pushed it to her lips, tipping it upwards. Hesitantly, Sansa drank. This wine was somehow even stronger than Joffrey’s. When she finished her goblet, Jaime poured her another.

“I really really shloudnt” She slurred. She tried to stand, but her legs betrayed her, and she stumbled forward, only to be caught by Jaime.

“There there, Sansa. We got you.” He soothed. He sat her down on the bed, and once again pushed the goblet in her hands to her lips. She felt Cersei shift behind her as she drank.

“Jaime, grab one of the bottles of Dornish wines and bring it over here.”

Jaime obeyed, handing his sister the bottle. Sansa shifted close to Sansa, pressing her chest against her back while still holding the bottle in front of her.

“Do try this Sansa. It’s to die for.” The Queen said.

“I -hic- really cam’t” Sansa slurred, head feeling as if it weighed a ton. “I tihnk I need to-”

Sansa was cut off by Cersei grabbing her by her hair, and pulling, tip her head backwards. Cersei then pressed the open bottle to her lips, tipping it upwards. The wine rushed into Sansa’s mouth faster than she could drink it. She coughed and sputtered as the wine was poured down her throat. Much of it spilled out the side of her mouth, down her chin and on her dress. A bit came rushing out of her nose. Cersei emptied about half the bottle before letting Sansa go, allowing her to lean forward again. She coughed and gagged, for air.

“Cersei, you got wine all over her dress.” Jaime said as sat on the bed.

“Hm. That’ll never do. We should remove it. Hate for it to be ruined.” The queen concurred, as she began to unlace the back of Sansa’s dress. Sansa barely was registering what was happening, but before she knew it, she was on her back on the bed, stripped completely nude. Cersei had the girl settled between her legs as she rested her back against the bed’s headboard. Jaime was at the foot of the bed, causally pulling his clothes off.

“Wuh are u naked?” Sansa garbled. “Wuh am I naked? I think I gotta go.”

Sansa feebly tried to weekly get up, but Cersei easily held her down.

“You’re fine Sansa. Here, have another drink.”

Cersei grabbed the half empty bottle of Dornish wine, and began to pour it all over Sansa’s face, not even pretending to try and get it in her mouth. Sansa closed her eyes and tried to ineptly to avoid the downpour of red liquid.

“Don’t drown the girl, Cersei.” Jaime lightly admonished as he began to crawl up the bed, covering Sansa’s nude body with his.

“Just having a bit of fun, dear brother.” Cersei responded. “She has a nice pair of tits on her doesn’t she.” Cersei said, casually groping Sansa’s left breast, flicking and twisting her nipple. Sansa bucked and moaned under her hands.

“Yes, they are quite lovely.” Jaime agreed, bringing his hand up to play with Sansa’s right breast, mirroring his twin’s actions.

“Better than mine?”

“Never. You have the best tits in all the Seven Kingdoms”

“Mhm, good answer.” Cersei said with a smile. She casually slapped Sansa’s tit, causing the girl the squeak. Jaime did the same to Sansa’s other tit. The sibling began to reign slaps on Sansa’s exposed breasts as if they were playthings, turning them as red as her face. Sansa bit her lip and tried to endure the onslaught, twisting and bucking against them.

“Nghhhh” She groaned softly. She once again tried to sit up, but Jaime’s weight on her kept her from going anywhere. She wouldn’t have gotten very far anyway; she was much too drunk to walk properly at that point.

“Enough games,” Cersei said suddenly. “I want to see you fuck this little red headed cunt.”

Jaime had no objections. He spread Sansa eagle, pushing her legs outward, and upwards, enough that Cersei could grab her calves, and hold them up. Jaime stroked his cock, bringing it to full mast. He slapped it against Sansa’s slit a few times, causing the girl to moan.

“W-wait.” Sansa tried drunkenly.

“The time for waiting is over Sansa.” Cersei said. The Queen then nodded, and Jaime lined himself up, and began to slowly push into Sansa. Sansa’s eyes went wide as she felt herself stretched open for the first time.

“Noooooonhgnnnh.” She groaned, as she struggled weekly. Jaime just kept pressing his hips forward, spearing her with his cock. Eventually the tip of his cock reached her maidenhead, and he gave a hard thrust, tearing through it. Sansa let out a scream, and bucked her hips upwards in pain, inadvertently sheathing his cock further in her.

“IthurtsIthurts” Sansa mumbled out, a tear running down her face. The wine dulled the pain, but she could still feel the stinging.

“Shhh, Sansa. A little bit of pain is all about being a queen. You’re taking his cock so well. You’ll be such a good queen.” Cersei cooed. Sansa looked up at her with teary, but hopeful eyes.

“R-really?” She asked innocently. Cersei nodded.

Jaime began moving his hips, properly fucking Sansa now. He started off slow, not wanting to completely break the girl. He was a well endowed man, and she was a maiden, so some degree of gentleness was necessary, at least to start. Sansa groaned and yelped as he fucked her. The stimulation of his thrusts plus the warmth of her drunkenness was causing her body to act in ways it’s never before.

“How does he feel-” Cersei breathed into her ear. “How does he feel inside of you?”

“I feel...I feel so full...oh gods.” Sansa gasped out. Jaime began picking up the pace, the wet slapping of their crotches filling the room. Sansa felt herself growing wet between her legs. Septa Mordane told her about this, the slickness of a woman. The pain was receding, and a strong, pleasurable feeling was building in her stomach. Her awkward groans and yelps became moans and mewls.

“Flip her over.” Cersei ordered Jaime. She let go of Sansa’s legs, and Jaime gripped her hips and flipped her to her stomach. He grabbed her hips pulling her to her knees, as in the air. He re-entered her swiftly, causing her to moan out loudly.

“I think she likes it.” Cersei teased, looking the girl in her wild eyes.

“Yes...YES! It feels- I feel...” Sansa babled out incoherently as Jaime took her from behind. Cersei decided to put Sansa’s mouth to better use - Shei grabbed the bottom of her dress and pulled it over her waist, revealing she was bottomless underneath. She then grabbed Sansa’s red hair, and pushed her face into her cunt. Sansa was too surprised, and out of her senses to effectively pleasure the Queen with her mouth; that didn’t bother Cersei at all, who seemed more interested in grinding her snatch into the girls mouth and nose in a show of dominance.

“Looks like you Stark women can be of some use after all.” She grunted. Jaime paid his sister no mind, focusing on his own pleasure as he fucked the Stark girl with a brutal, fast pace. Sansa’s virignal tightness made it inevitable that he’d cum soon. He gave her right ass cheek a hard smack, causing Sansa to tighten even more around him.

“S-somfinshappenin” Sansa said, mouth still full of Cersei’s cunt. The tension and pleasure she was feeling in her stomach was coming to a head. She shuddered and let out a guttural moan as her first ever orgasm rocked through her body. Her whole body shook, and her cunt clenched and quivered. The sensation was so intense, so raw - her drunken mind was going blank, and she saw stars. The tightening of Sansa’s cunt was all that was needed to send Jaime over his own peak. He sheathed cock fully in her, His tip pushing hard against her cervix as he shot his load, shooting it directly into her womb. He pumped his hips shallowly, filling her with one, two, and then three powerful shots. Cersei found her own orgasm grinding against Sansa’s face. As she came, she glistened the poor girl's face with her juices, giving her red face a fine sheen.

Sansa went limp between them, breathing shallowly. Jaime pulled out of her, taking a look at his handiwork. His cum gushed out of her hole, dripping down to the bed.

“Mmmmmmmmhhh” Sansa moaned, face now buried in the bed sheets. Cersei swung her legs over the edge of the bed, and shakily walked over to the table of wine. She grabbed the remaining bottle of spiced Dornish wine.

“Spread her open.” She told Jaime. Jaime raised a confused eyebrow, but obeyed nonetheless, grabbing Sansa’s ass cheeks, and pulling them apart, revealing her puckered asshole.

“Wuh are yuhdoin?” Sansa mumbled, trying to look over her shoulder.

“Just giving you another drink.” Cersei answered sinisterly.

Walking back to the bed, and leaning over Sansa, Cersei uncorked the wine. She then proceeded to upturn it, pressing the opening against Sansa’s tight hole. Sansa weakly tried to struggle, but she was too exhausted to move effectively. Cersei pushed, pushing through the muscled ring over her asshole. She pushed until the neck of the bottle slid firmly into Sansa. Jaime watched with sick interest as the wine began to drain into Sansa’s bowels. Sansa moaned weekly as the wine filled her ass, no doubt getting her even drunker. She tried her best to hold on, but eventually her vision faded, and her consciousness was lost.

____________________________________________________________________________
“Hm….Do you think we went too far this time?” Jaime asked.

“I don’t think we went far enough. You should've skull fucked the whore. Taken her ass.” Cersei responded.

“I do love it when you talk romantic.”

The sibling sat on the bed, with the passed out, cum-filled Stark girl lying face down between them, bottle sticking out of her ass.

“Think she’ll remember any of this?” Jaime asked, a bit of concern in his voice. Cersei just scoffed.

“She ingested enough wine at both ends to even shame my husband. She won’t remember a thing.” Cersei answered. “We get her cleaned up, dressed, and some moon tea in her, and no one will know the wiser.”

“Hm.” Jaime answered noncommittally. “How far do you want to take this, Cersei? We can’t go back from this now.”

“We can’t go back from a lot of things. So let’s take this as far as we can, dear brother. As far as we can.”

Chapter Text

They were leaving. They were really leaving.

It was the day, the day that the King was to return to King’s Landing. The day he would take half her family with him as he went. The day Ned would leave, and abandon his gravely injured son.

Catelyn knew this day was inevitable, but that didn’t make it any easier. Her daughter came to see her before they set off. They were sad to leave her, but she could also see that they were excited to go. She supposed she couldn’t blame them. They were young girls, about to see the world for the first time. She gave them teary goodbyes, and what bits of advice she could.

Then Ned came in.

He walked into the room, looking at Bran in bed, then at her. He stood there, thinking of what words to say to her. She didn’t care what he had to say, she didn’t want to hear his words, his excuses.

“It is my duty”

“It’s best for the realm”

“Rob needs me”

All empty words to her. He was leaving her once again. He tried to give her a kiss on her cheek, but she moved away from him. Ned frowned, hurt evident on his face, but just sighed and moved to his son, pressing a kiss on his unconscious head.

He moved to the door, and sparing his wife one final glance, left.

He was leaving more than he could ever know.

A wave of deep melancholy washed over Catelyn. This last fortnight had an air of constant dread.

Luckily, she had something to help alleviate it.
___________________________________________________________________________

Day 1:

“GLURCKGACK...GLACK”

“Hm,” Gregor grunted, the only showing of pleasure he let escape his mouth. Catelyn’s back was pressed against the footboard of her and Ned’s bed - she was naked, kneeling on the hard stone floor as The Mountain essentially skull fucked her. Her mouth was stretched to its limit as it accommodated his size, and her throat bulged vulgarly as he slid his cock in and out of it. Her eyes were rolled into her head, well past the point of being starved for oxygen or consciousness.

This was her treatment.

Her medicine for melancholy.

To be manhandled, degraded, and utterly abused by Gregor Clegane. She’d gone and seen him several times since her son’s ‘accident’, and every time was the same. He’d throw her around, completely dominate her, use her, and she’d allow it. Hells, she craved it. He was never gentle, never any less intense. She had no misplaced thoughts that he cared about her pleasure, nor her safety for that matter whenever he violently took her, whenever she gave herself to him - that was perfectly fine with Catelyn. The violent man was able to draw pleasure from her that she didn’t even know existed. Something deep down, primal.

Back in present, Gregor slowly pulled his cock from the confines of Catelyn’s tight throat. It left her mouth with a slight *pop*, and drool and throat slime ran down Catelyn’s chin and face, into a small pool forming on the floor. She took a deep breath on instinct, breathing heavily as her mind still sat in a haze. In no position to move herself, Gregor grabbed her roughly under her arms, lifted, and threw her on the bed face first.

“Ass up.” He commanded. She doesn’t move, barely aware of where she was, He landed a hard smack to her ass, causing her to yelp out in pain, and sick pleasure.

“I said stick that ass in the air, cunt.” He growled. She obeyed, propping herself up on her elbows and knees, head down submissively. She wiggled her ass invitingly - Gregor needed no invitation though. He lined his thick member up with her slit, and drove forward savagely, stretching and filling her.

She could take him more easily now. It was still a feat in itself, but her body was changing, adapting to take his massive cock. Her cunt stretched wider, and got wetter and wetter as he fucked her. That’s not to say she wasn’t without her scars though; right under rib cage, was slight, persistent, bruising and swelling, indicating where Gregor’s cock would protrude as he crammed his huge rod in her body. But it was worth it, to have him upon her, in her, ravaging her. The sounds of their skin slapping, and her primal moans filled the room, as her treatment began.

The medicine for her melancholy.
____________________________________________________________________________

Day 5-9:

The next few days had a certain routine to them. Catelyn would spend all day watching over Bran.

And Gregor would fuck her.

He didn’t make it known when. There was no set schedule. He’d visit her, sometimes at night, sometimes during the day, take her to some back corner of the castle, and fuck the sense and sadness out of her. Others came to see her of course. Robb and Theon would come to try and comfort her when they could. She could barely look at Robb sometimes. Reminded her of Ned. Maester Luwin would also come see her, to check the health of Bran, but also to try and rouse her out of her bedside chair. With Ned gone, someone needed to continue with the business of the hold. Luwin only had the power to do so much, and Robb, while willing, was only knowledgeable of so much information. They needed Catelyn, and she knew it. She dreaded the idea of leaving Bran’s side; what if something happened while she was away? She’d be a hypocrite like her husband, but she understood it was her duty as the lady of Winterfell, to at least try to handle the affairs.

This was something that Gregor didn’t understand. Or if he did, just didn’t care.

He was a man of drive and intent, and when he wanted her, he wanted her. At first she tried to tell him that her duty came first, that she was a lady. Unsurprisingly, that rarely worked, and typically ended with him grabbing her by the hair, and dragging her to a secluded spot so he could ravage her. She could hardly go on to appointments with her cunt full of his seed. So she turned to her previous tactic, of outright trying to avoid the man; she felt silly doing so after all she let him do to her, but she really didn’t see any other way - and to her credit, it seemed to work. She was able to get through a few days of official business without him taking her. It would be a lie to say she didn’t ache for him those days; she’d grown accustomed to the relief he brought her in such a short time.

Once the immediate, pressing issues of the hold were dealt with, she planned on transferring all the other small matters to Luwin, so she could have a few days respite - to look over Bran again. To be with Gregor. She went to him, to tell him that he’d be able to have her again soon. Gregor had moved into one of the now many vacant rooms of the Castle, making things easier and more comfortable than sneaking off to his tent at night.

Catelyn thought she’d surprise him.

She was in for a surprise herself.

As she got closer to his quarters, she heard the unmistakable sound of flesh slapping together. Her feet stilled, and her eyes went wide. She willed herself to keep going. She reached for the door, hand shaking as she did. She pushed the door open, just a crack, and there Sandor was in bed, laying on his back, with another woman impaled on his cock. His hands gripped her hips, as he bounced her on his rod like his own personal cock sleeve. Catelyn recognized the woman. It was the whore from town, Ygritte.

Catelyn’s heart clenched painfully, and her fists were balled tightly. How dare he?

HOW DARE HE?

In her own home. It was Ned all over again. Seduced by some big titted whore. It could not stand. It would not. Catelyn pushed the door open fully, stepping through. She slammed the door loudly behind her, making her presence known. Gregor craned his head slightly, nor even bothering to stop bouncing Ygritte on his length.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She asked, voice shaking with anger.

“What does it look like?” He said simply, continuing to casually fuck Ygritte.

“Stop it this instant, or I’ll have both your heads on pikes.” Catelyn said viciously. It was a bluff. She knew it, and Gregor likely knew it. But the man ceased Ygritte’s bouncing regardless, and pushed her off his member. The young wilding moaned as his cock left her, leaving he cunt gaping. She flipped on the bed, and craned her head to look at Catelyn.

“Oh, it’s you-“ Ygritte said airily, mind still in a haze from Gregory’s rough treatment of her body. “What are ye, doin ere?”

“This is MY home.” Catelyn seethed. Ygritte just gave her a goofy smile.

“Really? Kinda big for me taste.”

Catelyn ignored her, turning her attention back to Gregor. “How-How could you? Bring this WHORE into my home? How could you do this to me?” She found herself asking desperately. Her emotions were running wild, and she tried to keep her voice steady and firm as she spoke. But then Gregor let out a bark of laughter - at her. Her face went redder, from fury and embarrassment

“Do to you?” He said, voice incredulous. “I am not your HUSBAND. I made no vow to you, and owe you nothing.”

She opened her mouth, ready to bite back, ready to rip his head off, but no words could be formed. Because he was right, and she knew it. He wasn’t her husband. He was her illicit, deranged affair. There were no words between them, no promises. He went to her when she wanted to fuck, and she went to him when she wanted to fuck - tools for each other to use. Still. Even with the logic of it, she didn’t feel any better. To have this woman in her home, pleasing the man she was intimate with not days ago. Ygritte seemed to have no interest in the conversation being had, her presence there could’ve honestly put Catelyn’s life in jeopardy if she spoke of what she just heard, but the fire kissed wilding seemed more interested in gingerly licking Gregor’s manhood as the two spoke.

Catelyn looked at the ground, trying to get a hold on her emotions. Meekly, quietly, she asked, “Am….Am I not enough.”

Gregor just snorted.

“You were busy.” He said simply. “Now stay or get out. I’m going to fuck this whore.”

Gregor grabbed Ygritte and flipped her onto her stomach, facing Catelyn. He positioned himself behind her, and gracelessly rammed his cock into her cunt.

“YEEEEEESHH!” Ygritte moaned as Gregor began to steadily fuck her again. Catelyn looked in horror before she turned foot and nearly ran out the room, before tears could run down her face. She was embarrassed. She was angry. She was ashamed. She felt like a complete fool. Thinking that a bastard of a man like Gregor Clegane could have any semblance of decency. Any semblance of heart. She felt like a fool for thinking she shared some bond with him, one that would keep him faithful to her, not that she had any right to expect that.

Further, she felt insecure. Less. Catelyn knew that she was a beautiful woman, curvaceous, tall, fair complexion. But that Wilding...she had to face the fact that Ygritte was the younger woman: breast perky, energetic, no burden of a family or marriage.

How could Catelyn compete?

Once again, a whore was chosen over her.

No.

No, by the gods, that would not stand. She wouldn’t have some harlot picked over her, not again.

She got to Bran’s room, and took her usual seat by his bed, collecting herself. She sat there, watching over her son, and planned.
____________________________________________________________________________

Day 14:
It was another several days before Catelyn decided to go see Gregor again. She had a plan, and she intended to stick to it. She had to endure seeing him around the castle, with his little wildling whore. Sometimes she would pass by his quarters, and hear them rutting like animals. It made the fire in her burn even more.

It took Catelyn a few days, but she finally found what she was looking for. An old dress, a gift from the Dornish following the victory of Robert’s Rebellion. A southern style dress, not at all suitable for the cold weather of Winterfell, but Catelyn didn’t care about that. The dress was enticing: slim fitting, colorful, with a keyhole to show off a woman’s cleavage. It was admittedly a bit tight, but squeezing in it and looking at herself in the mirror, she felt 10 years younger. Sexy. A thousand times more elegant than some whore and her rags. Catelyn went about her day wearing the dress, catching the eye of many servants, soldiers and castle workers. She guessed they wouldn’t have dared to look at her so openly if Ned was there, and in that vein, she was thankful that they were gone. The attention felt good. Made her feel wanted. She even caught Theon eyes wandering down to her chest and curves

Only detractors were Luwin, who thought she’d get sick if she didn’t cover up properly, and Robb, who nearly had a conniption when he saw how she was dressed. She simply told him that he didn’t understand fashion. Her goal wasn’t to impress any of these people however; she knew who she wanted to see her.

Gregor often trained in the western courtyard of Winterfell. These days, Ygritte would watch him, admiring his muscles and form. Catelyn walked through casually, as if it just happened to be the best past to her destination. She turned her head slightly, and saw Gregor’s eyes on her.

‘That’s right. Look. This is what a lady looks like. Not some whore.’

It continued like this for the rest of the day. Catelyn would occasionally make rounds throughout the castle, looking for Gregor, and just walk by, making sure to keep her back straight to accentuate her chest, to put a little extra sway in her hips - things that would catch the dark eyes of the mountain of a man. The pattern went on into the evening. Catelyn took her supper in Bran’s room as she usually did, and walked, hoping to catch Gregor once again. This time however, she couldn’t seem to find him in his usual spots. Despite his size, The Mountain could surprisingly disappear easily.

Catelyn rounded the corner of a corridor, and to her surprise, Ygritte was standing there, seemingly waiting for her.

“M’lady.” Ygritte said, playful sarcasm evident in her voice. Catelyn frowned a bit, but realized that if Ygritte was here, she wasn’t with Gregor, and she took some small comfort in that.

“What do you want?” Catelyn asked shortly.

“Gregor, he wants to see you.” Ygritte answered. Catelyn visibly perked up. Her chest swelled at the thought of Gregor asking for her, wanting her. Maybe he missed her, maybe he wasn’t satisfied with the younger wildling.

“And he sent you?” Catelyn questioned. Ygritte just shrugged, and then suddenly turned and began walking down the hall. After a second, Catelyn began to follow behind quickly. They walked in silence, besides Ygritte humming a happy tune. Ygritte’s constantly pleasant demeanor confused Catelyn, especially given she thought she made it clear that she despised the young woman; she knew it was petty, but she did. Catelyn was competitive - and the wildling had something that was Catelyn’s

They arrived at one to the guestrooms, one toward one of the further edges of the main castle. Ygritte pushed the door open, on the bed, sat a shirtless Gregor, resting his elbow on the knees, looking at the women as they entered the room.

“Gregor.” Catelyn said properly, as if greeting a dignitary. In all honesty she was happy to see him, but she couldn’t let him know that, not yet at least.

“You’re dressed different.” He said simply. Catelyn looked down at her dress, hoping it was having its desired effect.

“Yes, just an old thing I put on.” She said, trying to sound nonchalant. Gregor just frowned. He stood from the bed, and started walking toward Catelyn. She had to keep herself from taking a step back.

“You’re dressed like a WHORE.” He practically growled in his baritone voice. Catelyn’s mouth dropped open, and her face burned red. That was not the reaction she expected. That was not the reaction she wanted.

“I beg your pardon?!” She asked, trying to hold on to her dignity. Gregor just sneered at her.

“I said you look like a whore.” He repeated, taking another step closer, crowding her space. Catelyn craned her neck upwards to look at him. “Walking around, letting all those other men, those LESSER men, see you.”

Catelyn didn’t know what to say to that. It was true, her appearance certainly caught the eyes of many, but that was the point. She was trying to be alluring. Even a simple man like Gregor should’ve been able to see that.

Then it dawned on her-

He did see that...he was just angry that every other man saw that as well. A small smile graced the Lady’s face. She should’ve suspected that Gregor would be a possessive man. Heat pooled in her stomach at the thought of him being possessive of her. But she wasn’t going to let him off that easily. He’s been shacked up with a whore for the last several days.

“I thought you liked whores.” She said innocently, turning her head slightly in Ygritte’s direction. The wild woman just gave them a toothy smile. “Besides, you said it yourself, we made no vows to each other.

“Pick your next words carefully.” Gregor gritted through his teeth.

“Or what?” Catelyn replied, tempting fate.

Instead of saying anything, Gregor grabbed the front of her dress, and pulled, tearing it from her body effortlessly. Catelyn gasped at the sudden feeling of cold air on her body; she hadn’t worn any small clothes under the dress. It added to the appeal. He grabbed her harshly by the hair, making her moan out.

“If you want to act like a whore, I will treat you like one.” He promised. Catelyn gulped and looked up at Gregor with lustful nervousness. This is what she wanted, this is what she needed. Just then, she remembered that Ygritte was still in the room, watching from the back.

“S-send her away.” Catelyn demanded, though it didn't come off as one. More like a feeble request.

“No. I don’t think I will.”

Gregor dragged Catelyn by her hair, and tossed her on the large bed. She landed on her front ungracefully, and she felt the bed sag as Gregor but his massive weight on it.

“Over here, now.” Gregor commanded Ygritte. She giddy walked over to the bed, stripping her dress as she walked, and lied down next to him. With Catelyn on one side, and Ygritte on the other, Gregor’s large frame was sandwiched between the two fiery red-heads.

“Remove my breeches.” He ordered. He didn’t specify who the command was for, so the two women worked in unspoken unison to undo his pants, and slide them down his hips, and tree trunk like legs. His half hard cock laid against his thigh and Ygritte took the initiative to bring him to full mast. Ygritte brought her head to his lap, and opened her mouth wide to take the head of his cock into her mouth. She began to bob her head, cramming more and more of his rod into her mouth. Catelyn scowled; she wasn’t about to be shown up by this little whore. Catelyn maneuvered herself so that she was laying between Gregor’s legs, face level with his fist sized balls. She began to lap at them, lavishing them with her tongue as Ygritte continued to suck his cock. It didn’t take long at all for Gregor to harden to his full, monstrous length. Ygritte took it as a challenge, and began to force his length down her throat.

“MROOOOORP…” She gagged as she snake down his length, lodging half of him in her throat. She pulled back, and repeated the action, again and again.
‘Look at her. The whore can’t even take him down properly.’ Catelyn thought. She felt a wave of misplaced superiority wash over her at the fact that had repeatedly taken his full length into her gullet. Ygritte’s piddly efforts would never do, she decided. Catelyn detached herself from Gregor’s sack, and moved so that she was on her knees, facing Ygritte. The wildling woman looked up at Catelyn the best she could with a mouth full of cock, confusion and interest in her eyes; Gregor just raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Catelyn roughly entangled both of her hands into Ygritte’s wild hair, grabbing it by the root, and forced her head downward, HARD.

“HRUUGHRRK…” Ygritte gagged and sputtered loudly as the remaining half of Gregor’s cock was forced down her throat. Her neck bulged, and spit and drool ran down her chin. With her grip on Ygritte’s scalp, Catelyn dragged the poor girl back up Gregor’s length, about halfway, before slamming her back down, nose buried in his pubic hair. Catelyn repeated the motion again and again, setting a brutal pace, using the other woman’s throat to please Gregor. She had a wild look in her eyes and a cruel smile on her face as she did it, feeling as if she was putting the woman in her proper place.

Little did she know that Ygritte was absolutely enjoying the abuse. Her cunt dripped as Catelyn skullfucked her onto Gregor’s cock. Reminded her of how the boys used to treat her back north of the wall - good times.

Catelyn pushed Ygritte’s face all the way down, and held her there. Naturally Ygritte’s body shook and struggled at the lack of air, but after a minute, her struggling ceased, and her body went limp, jaw relaxed, eyes fluttering closed.

As fun as this all was, Catelyn couldn’t very well kill the girl, so she reluctantly dragged her back up Gregror’s rod, pulling her completely off. It took a moment for Ygritte’s sense to return to her, but soon she was gasping for air and coughing. Catelyn was satisfied with herself, thinking she took the wilding down a peg, but that was until Ygritte flashed her a goofy, lustful smile.

“Seems tha lady likes to a lil play rough.” Ygritte laughed, wiping excess drool from her mouth.

“Tits!” Gregor barked, hands rested behind his head. Ygritte immediately got into action, wrapping her tits around Gregor cock, moving them up and down, to pleasure him. Once again not wanting to lose ground to Ygritte, Catelyn pressed her breast against Ygritte's, sandwiching Gregor's cock. They moved their breasts in awkward unison, no synchronization, but both working to please Gregor with their tits. He didn’t seem to be complaining. The two worked their breasts on his cock, still slick with Ygritte’s spit. Catelyn craned her head forward to press her mouth against the side of Gregor’s cock; Ygritte followed suit, giving it an opened mouth kiss. This went on for a while, occasionally Ygritte’s and Catelyn’s lips and tongue would scrape against each other, much to Catelyn’s embarrassment, and Ygritte's amusement.

“Enough.” Gregor said. The two women scooted away, giving Gregor space. The large man sat up, and looked at Catelyn. “On your back.”

Catelyn’s cunt quivered, and her heart clenched that he was picking her over the whore. She adjusted herself so that she was lying on her back as Gregor loomed over her. Ygritte fully got off the bed, instead kneeling beside it, looking over the edge of the bed, entranced. Catelyn spread her legs wide, as wide as they could go to accommodate The Mountain. He aligned his cock with her slit, and pushed forward hard. She moaned out loudly as he filled her, stretching her cunt and bulging her stomach.

She missed this.

Sure, it had only been a few days, but she was addicted to how he could make her feel. Make her come.

Leaning down and planting his hands on each side of her head, he began to drive his hips forward hard, fucking her. She reach up holding onto his back for dear life as he ravaged her, fucking her with deep long strokes.

“OhGodsOhGodsOhGods…” She moaned as her entire body rocked, tits bouncing with each hard thrust of his hips. She brought her legs up, trying her best to lock her legs over his hips.

Ygritte leaned forward from her kneeling position, mouth right next to Catelyn’s ear.

“Ya take him so well. Like ya were made fer him. Made to be fucked.” She whispered lustily. Catelyn just moaned in response. She didn’t really want the wildling talking to her, but she couldn’t help but be turned on by her words.

“He’s changed me. Changed me body. Me cunt, I don’ think I can take nother’ man after him. Won’ be the same.” Ygritte breathed into her ear.

Catelyn’s started feeling the familiar build in her stomach that she’s grown to love. Her cunt clenched, as she felt her inevitable orgasm coming. Gregor’s hips snapped against hers, as he fucked her faster with short, wild thrusts, the sound of flesh and the bed creaking filling the room.

“He’s gonna fill ya up.” Ygritte whispered with a giddy smile. “He’s gonna fill ya full.”

“Gregor...oh gods Gregor!” Catelyn moaned as her cunt began to spasm.

Gregor grunted, and hilted himself on her count and womb completely. His cock swelled, and spewed rope after rope of his potent seed onto her. Catelyn shivered through her orgasm, loving how his warm cum felt in her. Loving how he always came as deep as he could in her. It was wrong, but it was intoxicating.

Gregor rolled off of Catelyn, leaving her legs splayed open as his seed dropped from her open cunt.

“Me turn?” Ygritte asked hopefully.

Gregor just smirked slightly.

“Yes. Your turn.”
———————————————-
Day: 27

The arrangement between Catelyn, Ygritte and Gregor was not one that Catelyn would’ve preferred, but she could live with it. Actually, having the other woman in the bedroom proved to give her more time to rest between sessions - Gregor was after all an insatiable man. In a way, she had found balance between Bran, her duties as lady of Winterfell, and Gregor. She wouldn’t go so far to say she was content, but this was an improvement. Catelyn even gave Ygritte a job as a servant in the castle. She didn’t actually work any, but it lowered suspicions of who she was and why she could roam the castle and get access to Catelyn’s bedroom.

Things were in what some would say peace in Winterfell. She’d spend her days with Bran, and her nights with Ygritte and Gregor. She’d hardly thought of Ned in a fortnight. Things were going ok.

That was until the fire.

She heard the dogs barking from Bran’s room. She always hated the racket they could make. She went to close the windows when she saw it. The flame licking at the sky, within the walls. She could already see men rushing towards it, seeing what they could do to stop it.

She turned back around, and in the middle of the room was a man.

A man she’d never seen before, in a grey hooded tunic. He looked at her with his pale face and sunken in eyes.

“You’re not supposed to be here.” He croaked. “Nobody’s supposed to be here.”

The man then looked at Bran.

“It’s a mercy. He’s dead already.”

Then she saw it, heard it.

His dagger.

An elegant one, with a long blade and beautiful handle.

‘No’

“No!” She yelled as the man strode toward Bran. She tried to block his path, but he batted her away with a strike to the face. The man grabbed her hair, spun her around and tried to bring the blade to her throat. Catelyn desperately brought her hands up, gripping the blade to keep it from moving. Her hands ran crimson as she struggled to keep the man at bay. The assassin was older, didn't look particularly healthy or strong...but he was strong enough. Stronger than her. She couldn’t keep the blade from her throat for long, so she did the only thing she could think of - she bit. Right on the fat of the thumb; she tasted flesh and blood in her mouth. The assassin screamed in pain before throwing Catelyn to the ground. She hit the stone floor hard, putting her into a daze. She looked up, and the man was advancing toward Bran menacingly.

No.

This couldn’t happen. After all Bran survived, this couldn’t happen.

And it didn’t.

There was a mountain in the way.

Gregor. He was there. Entering the room shortly after Catelyn had hit the floor. The assassin turned to Gregor, eyes growing wide with fear at the size of him. Gregor reached out his hand with lighting speed, gripping the man by his face, hand completely covering his features. He then lifted the man clear off the ground. The assassin let out a muffled scream, kicking his feet and slashing at Gregor’s wrist desperately - the dagger had no chance of getting through the gauntlet.

Gregor tightened his hand, squeezing. The assassin screamed even louder, as the sound of bone breaking was heard. Suddenly, the man’s skull gave way, collapsing inward upon itself with a loud crack and crunching noise. He went limp, besides some twitching and spasming, and Gregor’s hand was covered in blood and brain matter. He dropped the assassin, letting him hit the floor with a loud thud.

Catelyn just stared. Stared at her savior. Stared at Gregor.

“Can you stand?” Gregor asked suddenly. Catelyn just nodded her head. “Then stand.”

She shakily got to her feet, hands searing in pain, head throbbing. Gregor stepped forward and looked at the mangled face of the man he just killed.

“Recognize him?”

Catelyn just shook her head.

“Hm. Go get your house guards to come clean this up.” He said, turning to leave the room.

“W-wait!” Catelyn called out. She didn’t want him to go. Gregor looked over his shoulder, waiting for her to speak.

“You….saved my son’s life….you saved him again.” She said strangely. Gregor didn’t respond to her stating the obvious.

“You…. what do you want of me? You can have anything. Anything you ever wanted. Please tell me.” She begged. This man was the only reason her son was alive. The only reason she was alive. She owed him so much. She wanted to give him so much.

Gregor just looked at her, face passive as stone.

“No more Moon Tea.” He said simply.

“Of course! Of course. No more Moon Tea. You can have me Gregor. All of me.” She said earnestly, tears streaming down her face.

Gregor grunted, and left the room.

She was giving herself all to Gregor. Her body, her womb. It was all his.

All his.

Chapter Text

King’s Landing.

The Home of the Kings of Westeros for hundreds of years. The land that the Targaryens decided to represent their power, their hold over the lands.

Arya expected a bit bigger honestly.

After 34 days of traveling, the King and his caravan arrived at the gates of King’s Landing. They rode through the center, with many eyes upon them, the dirty and unwashed of the city. Sansa looked as if she was going to be sick at the smell that overcame them. Arya didn’t mind it though. This wasn’t Winterfell. This was the center of Westeros for better or for worse.

Their arrival process was a bit hectic when they returned to the castle. Servants quickly led the girls to their new quarters, rooms right next to each other. Sansa got the bigger one, but Arya didn’t care about that. Arya’s room had a great view of the keep in all its horrible glory. Things looked so lively, real, visceral; huge department from the cold, frigid walls of Winterfell.

Weather was also certainly different. It was so warm, Arya was actually sweating while wearing her clothes from home. The Queen was kind enough to provide the Stark girls with some Southern style dresses. She saw a dark orange dress that she thought would suffice, and slipped into it. The material was much thinner, more breathable. She decided against small clothes under and her nipples were visible under the material; she didn’t mind though. The dress was naturally a bit tight around her lower half; Her proportions were a bit hard to tailor for without properly measuring her. The material hugged the curve of her hips and ass tightly, showing off her form. She couldn't complain though as she was much more comfortable than her old stuffy dress she arrived in. She wished the Queen had a pair of breeches made as well, but she figured she could make do.

She heard her door creek open, and Joffrey strolled in. She turned to him and smiled.

“You know it’s rude to enter a room without knocking.” She said playfully as he crossed the room to her. “I could’ve been in a state of undress.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” The prince all but purred as he wrapped his arms around her waist. He was past the pretense of playing coy, immediately letting his hands slide to her backside, as he began to rub and paw at her ass. Arya made a content sounding hum in her throat as he kneed her over her dress. She widened her stance a little, just enough for Joffrey’s thigh to slip between her legs and press against her core.

“How are you taking to King’s Landing? The Red Keep?” Joffrey asked casually as he continued to grope and rub against her.

“We’ve only just got here.” She answered just as casually as she ground her hips forward to feel more pressure of his thigh between her legs. “I don’t even know my way around.

“Well then, I can be your guide then.” He crooned. He lifted a hand and let it fall back down on Arya’s ass in a snack, causing her to gasp out. He leaned in close so he could put his mouth directly by her ear “I’ll show you all the glory of the South. And I can’t wait to fuck you over ever inch of the Keep.”

“Promises, promises.” Arya breathed out. Before they could get any more intimate, there was a knock at the door. Joffrey frowned and his blonde eyebrows knitted together. Reluctantly, he let go of Arya and collected himself before whoever was at the door entered. In walked the Queen, who arched an eyebrow at seeing the two of them.

“Joffrey. I’ve been looking for you. A guard said you came this way.” Cersei explained, eyes bouncing lightly between the two.

“I was just making sure Arya was settled.” Joffrey lied effortlessly. “She is to be my future sister-in-law after all.”

Arya doubted Cersei believed him, but the Queen didn’t voice it if she didn’t.

“My son, ever chivalrous.” Cersei said with a smile. She then turned her eyes to look at Arya. “And I see you saw my gift. I hope it’s not too tight at the bottom.”

Arya frowned slightly at Cersei’s covertly mocking tone, but answered nevertheless. “It’s fine. Thank you.”

“Glad to hear it. Now Joffrey, your father wants you to show Sansa around the Keep. He says it’ll be good for you to get to know her.”

Joffrey openly frowned at that, and Arya had to bite her cheek to keep from laughing. She supposed it was flattering that he didn’t want to spend time with Sansa.

“Must we do this now. We’ve been on the road all morning and-”

“You KNOW how your father gets.” Cersei warned simply, silencing Joffrey’s excuses. The prince cast his eyes downward in annoyance. “Arya, you’re of course free to join along if you want.”

“No, no. I’ll find my own way.” Arya said, a bit annoyed at being an afterthought. She was used to it, she supposed. Cersei gave her a tight lipped smile before turning her attention back to her son.

“Don’t be long.” She said simply, before turning and exiting the room. Joffrey looked at Arya to gauge her reaction.

“I have to go.” He sighed. “Duties of a prince.”

Arya rolled her eyes at that. “Right, duties to my sister.” She said disdainfully. Arya knew that their ‘relationship’ was something they had to keep secret. She knew that Sansa would take Joffrey’s attention away at times. She still didn’t have to like it.

“Arya-”

“Go Joffrey. Don’t keep your father or my sister waiting. I’ll find my own entertainment.”

Joffrey frowned at her curtness, but decided not to push the issue. He walked to the door and opened it. Before he stepped out of the room, he turned back to Arya.

“I’ll come find you later. And we will not be interrupted.”

Promises, promises.
____________________________________________________________________________

Arya made good on her word, and went to explore the castle herself. She was in awe at the sheer size of it. Winterfell was big, but it was dwarfed by this. There were so many passages, gardens, rooms of various uses - she imagined only a fraction of them were in use. Eventually her wandering led her outside, near the main stable of the keep. She always did love horses. She saw one, a black mare, that caught her attention. She walked over and gently placed her hand on the Horse’s nose.

“What are you doin’ ere?” A voice came behind her. Arya jumped and spun around. Standing there, a few feet away was a dirty looking boy, about her age. He was carrying a length of rope, and horseshoes in his hand. He must’ve been a stable boy.

“I’m just having a look.” She answered. “I’m Arya.”

“You’re not supposed to be ere’.” The stable boy said nastily. “No place fer a girl. If yer a whore, Flea Bottom is the opposite way.”

Arya arched an eyebrow at the rude stable boy. Despite his words, he shamelessly let his eyes roam over her body.
“If I was a whore, I would’ve said that. My name is Arya. Arya STARK.”

The stable boy scrunched his face as if thinking. Then his eyes went wide, and he dropped the supplies in his hand.

“Y-y-yer a Stark?” He stuttered out.

“That’s what I said.”

“F-forgive me m’lady. I didn’ know you was a lady. I thought-”

“I was a whore?” She answered for him. The stable boy cast his eyes downward, all the previous bravado in him gone. Arya smiled to herself, and an idea formed in her head - a little nasty idea. “Do I look like a whore?”

The stable boy’s head snapped up, and his eyes grew wide with confusion.

“I-uh, I-” He stammered unintelligibly.

“I suppose I might, dressed like this and all.” She said, To exemplify her point, she spun around slowly, giving him plenty of time to view her ample backside. His face reddened and as he continued to stammer. “Relax. I’m just joking with you. What’s your name?”

“My name? P-Paul.”

“Well P-Paul.” She teased. “I’m just looking at all the lovely horses. What can you tell me about this one?”

Arya’s friendly demeanor seemed to have relaxed Paul a bit. He walked forward so that he was side by side with Arya. “This one? Young mare, only four or so. Belongs to one of the lords who resides in the city.”

Arya allowed him to talk, explaining the horses and other things, relaxing considerably at Arya’s welcoming personality. Occasionally, Paul would slyly take glances at her form - well he thought he was being sly anyway. It was alright though, as it was all part of the game she decided that she’d play.

A little nasty game.
_________________________________________________________________________

Catelyn’s hands had mostly healed. They ached, and she’d have nasty scars, but they were getting better.

Someone had tried to kill her son.

And once again, Gregor Clegane, her Mountain, had saved his life.

“Does HE have to be here?” Her son Robb questioned. Catelyn had asked Robb, Luwin, Theon, and Rodrik, the Master-at-arms, to meet her in the Godswood. Naturally, she brought along Gregor; she rarely went anywhere without him these days.

“Robb, he is the only reason Bran is alive, twice over. Show him some respect and appreciation.” She chastised. Robb frowned, and eyed the humongous man, who just gave him a blank stare in return. Robb looked as if he wanted to argue further, but decided against it.

“My Lady,” Luwin decided to jump in. “What is all this about?”

Catelyn steeled herself “What I am about to tell you must remain between us.” She began. Theon and Robb looked at each other, and Luwin and Rodrik had stern looks on their faces. “I don’t think Bran fell from that tower that day. I believe he was thrown.”

Looks of shock spread all across the men’s faces.

“The boy was always sure footed before.” Luwin acknowledged.

“Someone tried to kill him twice.” Catelyn continued. “But why? Who would kill an innocent child?”

“Maybe he saw something he wasn’t supposed to.” Robb hypothesized.

“Something like what?” Theon asked.

“I don’t know.” Catelyn admitted.

“Do you think...Mother, do you think the Lannisters could’ve had something to do with it?” Robb asked.

“Did you notice the dagger the killer used?” Rodrik added. “It’s too fine a weapon for such a man. The blade is Valeryian steel, the handle dragonbone. Someone gave it to him.”

Catelyn didn’t answer immediately. It was something she considered - of course it was. The Lannisters and Starks weren’t friends. In fact the Lannisters could hardly be considered friends of any other family in Westeros. But it just wouldn’t make sense. If the Lannisters tried to kill her boy, why would Gregor save him, not once but twice. Catelyn looked at Gregor in her periphery, to see if Robb’s word’s had affected him. Stoic as he ever was. Robb openly glared at the large man, accusation in the air. Luckily, Luwin was the one to break the silence.

“One must be careful with such accusations, Robb.” He said. Robb frowned but didn’t push the issue. He was perhaps considering the same thing as Catelyn. “Lord Stark must be told of this.”

“I don’t trust a Raven to carry these words.” Catelyn said.

“I’ll ride to King’s Landing.” Robb offered.

“No. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell...I will go myself.”

“Mother, you can’t!”

“I must.”

“I’ll send Hal with a squad of Guardsmen to escort ya” Rodrik insisted.

“Too large of a party will draw unwanted attention.” Catelyn countered. “Gregor will accompany me.”

“You think he won’t draw attention?” Robb scoffed. Catelyn gave him a pointed look. “Mother, why not have Rodrik accompany you?”

“Rodrik should stay here and aid you in running Winterfell.” She argued. Truthfully she wanted Gregor with her because she couldn’t imagine being away from him for that long. He was her addiction. Further, and more strategically, she didn’t trust Gregor to be alone at Winterfell with Robb. She wasn’t concerned about his safety, rather her son’s if he did something rash, or pressed the man.

“A covered carriage would obscure their identities. And I do believe Gregor has proved himself to be very capable.” Luwin acquiesced.

“What about Bran?” Robb asked his mother. She sighed sadly.

“I’ve prayed to the Sevens for over a month. He’s in their hands now.” She said solemnly.

Robb looked at Theon, who just gave him a shrug. He scowled deeply, but gave a stiff nod.

“Good. Good.” Catelyn said. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to pray.”
All the men except Gregor filtered out of the Godswood, leaving the two alone.

“Gregor?” Catelyn asked quietly.

“Hm?” The large man grunted.

“Did the Lannisters try to kill my son?” She found herself asking.

“Am I seer?” He asked, voice stony. “I know only what I see and hear.”

“Do you THINK, they did?”

“Hm. Nothing to gain. Lannisters are smart. Do things to their advantage. No advantage in killing your boy.”

Catelyn didn’t know if she was satisfied with that answer, but it did make sense. She didn’t know the Lannisters to act rashly. They were cold and calculating.

“Gregor...if it did come to the Lannisters, would you stand with them?”

Gregor looked contemplative...at least as contemplative as his hard face could look. Catelyn didn’t know what she asked. She didn’t want his answer. She didn’t want to address the fact that he was the vassal of a rival house.

“I stand with you.” He said simply. Catelyn’s head whipped around to look at him. She searched his face, for any signs of deception, a lie. All she saw was Gregor.

“Oh….oh Gregor.” She breathed, heart pounding in her chest. She felt young again, sent back to the days when Brandon was courting her. She hadn’t felt this with Ned, ever. She closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around his huge body. She looked up at him, hopping, begging for a kiss. Instead, Gregor placed his large hands on her shoulders, and pushed her to her knees.

“Yes...yes of course.” She said near deliriously. “Of course Gregor.”

Her hands quickly went to his breeches, feverishly attempting to undo them. She wanted to please him. She needed to. He was hers, and she was his.

She undid his pants, and immediately went to guiding his massive member into her mouth. She’d show him how thankful she was to have him. He planted his large hand on her head, and took control of her movements as he always did, bobbing her head on his cock like he own personal fuck hole. As he looked down at her swallowing his rod, he thought that the Lannisters had rubbed off on him, taught him well.

When he needed to, he lied like the best of them.
____________________________________________________________________________

Arya spent a few hours with Paul before she decided to go explore the castle some more. She decided to walk through some of the back halls - they were a great way to get about the castle when you want minimal detection, something that would come in handy to Arya. She honestly was losing track of where she’d been and where she hadn’t. It was as if the Keep had a never ending number of stairs, towers and hallways. Arya made her way to the Kitchen of the keep. The kitchens were actually a misnomer, as the King converted the building to food storage and apartments for court nobles and guests.

As she explored the building, she suddenly heard footsteps behind her. She spun around quickly, and hand covered her mouth. She was startled for a moment, until she realized looking into the deep green eyes of Joffrey. He gave her a self satisfied grin.

“You should be careful walking around alone. It’s a good way to get ravaged.” The prince crooned.

“Oh?” Arya responded innocently. “One would think a lady would be safe within the walls of the Red Keep.”

“Men can only be tempted so much, even those of the higher variety.”

For emphasis, Joffrey snaked his hands to the flesh of Arya’s ass, digging his fingers into it. Arya let out a low moan, and kissed him hard. They stood there, kissing and writhing against each other for a few minutes before Arya decided to take them somewhere where they weren’t likely to be interrupted. She grabbed his hand, and led him to a nearby room. She opened it, and as she guessed, it was dry food storage, full of sacks of grain, flour, and other assorted goods. The two reconnected at the mouth, and groped and grinded against each other.

“Gods, I missed you today.” Joffrey said, pulling his mouth back. “If I spent any more time with your sister, I would’ve fell on my sword.”

“Heh, well allow me to fall on yours for you.” Arya responded cheekily. She suddenly pushed the prince backwards hard. He landed back on the pile of grain stacked behind him. Arya quickly fell to her knees between his legs, and reached for the waist of his trousers; Joffrey lifted his hips to allow them to be pulled off of him. Arya immediately brought her mouth to Joffrey’s soft cock cock, suckling on it, and lightly bobbing her head - she could taste the day on him. He began to rapidly harden in her mouth, so she picked up the pace. She added her hand to stroke him as she sucked him off. Joffrey’s hand threaded through her, but he didn’t force her or control her motions; Arya had gotten rather good at using her mouth over the 2 months they’ve known each other. He just massaged her scalp as she brought him to full mast.

Feeling that he was as rigid as he was going to get, she slowly drew back from his hard rod, releasing him from her mouth with a pop. She wiped a bit of spit from her mouth in a very unlady-like fashion, and stood. She looked down at Joffrey’s cock pointed in the air, all red and weeping, impatient.

“Come on Arya.” Joffrey practically begged. “Get on with it.”

She supposed he suffered enough having to deal with her sister all day, so she decided to get on with the main course. She spun around, and lifted the bottom of her dress over her waist, revealing her plump, pale ass to Joffrey. She slowly began to lower herself over Joffrey, his cock head kissing her lower lips. She sank down, taking him inch by inch, loving the familiar burn of his girth stretching her passage. When his cock completely filled her, Arya began to rotate, and gyrate her hips on him. Joffrey bit back a groan, and grabbed Arya’s hips, hard enough to leave bruises. Arya took that as a sign to really start, and she began to bounce herself on his cock, ass jiggling every time it came into contact with his thighs and crotch.

“Dear Seven, I could watch this ass all day.” Joffrey grunted. He thrusted his hips upwards, bouncing Arya even harder and deeper onto his cock.

“Ah...hgh...hgh..hgnnn..” were the noises forced from Arya with each one of Joffrey’s sharp thrusts. He was fucking her deep, kissing her cervix every time he filled her. Joffrey gave her right ass cheek a hard slap, leaving a red hand print. Joffrey loved how it showed on her pale northern skin, leaving his mark of the South. He repeated the action on her left cheek, causing her to moan loudly, and her cunt to clench and gush around him.

The sounds of their flesh meeting filled the room, and no doubt echoed in the halls as they fucked for close to a half hour. By the time Joffrey spilled his seed within her, Arya's ass was red as her sister’s hair, hand prints and smack marks crisscrossing over her pale globes.

Exhausted, they laid on the pile of grain like a small makeshift bed, with Arya resting on top of Joffrey

“Heavens, do you not want me to sit right for a fortnight.” Arta commented about her sore, searing bottom.

“You know you loved it.” He said with a smirk, giving her ass another smack to prove his point. Arya bit back a moan, not wanting to prove him right on principle. “What did you get up to all day any way while I was forced to suffer through your sister’s never ending prattling.”

Arya smirked.

“I explored as much of the Keep as I could, impossible to do in one day of course. This place is massive.” She answered.

“Yes, if the Targaryens were good for anything, they certainly knew how to make a castle.”

“I also spent some time at the stables. Beautiful horses you have at your behest.” She praised. Joffrey gave almost a proud grunt. “Paul showed me and told me much about them.”

Joffrey tensed under her, and gave her a confused, pointed look.”

“Who exactly is Paul?”

“Don’t you know? A stable boy.”

“Why would I know the name of some stable boy?” Joffrey asked, anger filling his voice. Arya was purposely riling him up. She always liked to walk the line of danger.

“Well he’s a nice boy. Strong, though I guess that makes sense for a stable boy. WE talked for a while. I was actually with him before I came he- GACK!”

Joffrey’s hand closed around Arya’s throat harshly, and he spun them around so that he was looming over her. His face was red, and screwed in fury.

“Am I some joke to you!” He barked angrily, spittle hitting Arya's face. “You think I’m going to share you with some filthy stable boy?!”

Despite being choked, Arya’s smile never left her face.

“Not….sharing me..” She croaked out. “We share….him..”

Joffrey’s anger transformed into confusion, and he eased his grip on Arya’s throat. She coughed and gasped, trying to catch her breath.

“What are you playing at Arya?”

“Just a game Joffrey….. One I think you’ll enjoy.”
___________________________________________________________________________

Gregor and Catelyn rode for King’s Landing a day after the discussion in the Godswood.

They rode in a wagon with a single driver, inconspicuous as to not draw attention. It big enough to fit Gregor’s large frame, and he was hunched over with his legs tucked for most of it. It would take them about a fortnight to reach King’s Landing, and honestly Catelyn wasn’t sure what she’d do when she got there. She hadn’t been to the city in years - maybe that was advantageous, less likely people would recognize her. Though she supposed no one would mistake the Mountain for anyone else.

Then there was of course her husband.

Catelyn was Ned’s wife in title only. As far as she was concerned, he abandoned her, abandoned their son when they both needed him the most to go and play helper to his drunken lecher of a friend, and the so-called king. He took her daughter to the South, where she couldn’t look over them, and guide them through the harsh realities of being ladies in this world. He hadn’t even sent a raven. Still though, she felt she owed him to at least inform him of Bran, and all that was happening. Maybe he’d actually make himself useful. Maybe not. It didn’t matter much now.

Catelyn was pulled from her thoughts by the feeling of Gregor’s large hand on her thigh. She looked at him, and he began to try to slide the bottom of Catelyn’s dress up her leg.

“Gregor, the driver is right outside!” She said shrilly. Despite her words, she didn’t actually try to stop his hands, or say no, for whatever good that would do. Gregor added his other hand, grabbing the fabric of her dress, and pushing it up. Catelyn lifted her butt to allow the material to be pushed to her hips. Her protests never did last very long.

“Turn around. Bend over.” Gregor ordered. After a second of hesitation, Catelyn obeyed, maneuvering herself so that her knees were on the floor of the carriage, while her upper body rested on the seat. She felt the wagon shake as Gregor moved behind her. She held her dress up over her waist, ass out and waiting.

*WHAP*

Gregor’s manhood flopped onto her as and lower back; she shuddered at the heat of it.

Outside the wagon, the driver was considering himself lucky. Driving for Lady Stark. Up until then, he had only worked on supply transports. It was an honor. He wasn’t to sure what business the lady was on, or what she brought that huge fella with her, but it wasn’t his place to ask questions.

SQUEAK

SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK.

An insistent, rhythmic squeaking from the carriage; it was shaking, enough for the driver to notice, and be thrown slightly off balance.

“My Lady?” He asked with concern. “Are you alright back there?”

Alright probably wasn’t the right word. Catelyn was having her cunt reamed by Gregor’s monsterous cock. Her face was pushed into the cushion of the seats to stifle her moans as The Mountain relentlessly fucked into her. Gregor slowed his hips ever so slightly, and grabbed Cat by her fire kissed hair and lifted.

“Answer him.” Gregor ordered simply. Catelyn was in pleasured daze, but managed to find her voice and sense enough to answer the driver.

“Y-yes!” She said, louder than she meant. “Everything is fine-”

With her answer out, Gregor pushed her face back into the seat, and went back to driving into her madly.

The driver just shrugged, and focused on the road. The terrain was rough, and perhaps one of the axis was loose. He’d have to check later.

They stopped at an inn just as the Sun began to set. It was a small inn, with only two rooms.

The driver dismounted from the carriage and checked in with the inkeep, as Catelyn and Gregor stepped out. More accurately, Catelyn stumbled out. Her legs were shaking. In fact, if not for Gregor’s tight grip on the back of her dress, she would’ve likely fell flat on her face.

The driver looked at the state of the lady with worry.

“Lady Stark, are you alright? You look a bit flushed.”

Flushed was an understatement. Catelyn was sweating. Her hair was a mess from Gregor pulling it like a rag doll. Her lips were swollen and red -make up smeared on her lips and face, her pupils dilated and unfocused. Catelyn was thankful the smell of the countryside overpowered everything, because she and no doubt she reeked of sex and cum.

“I’m fine.” She lied hoarsely. “I just get sick when traveling by carriage.”

“I’m sorry my lady. Would it help if I rode slower?”

“That won’t be necessary. Just ride as you are, and focus on the road.”

“Yes, your grace.”

The driver went back to locking down the carriage and Catelyn breathed a sigh of relief at his lack of suspicion. Gregor gripped the back of her dress tighter, indicating that he wanted to go inside. Catelyn sighed, and nodded, walking toward the in.

12 more days on the road. Catelyn wondered if she would get to King’s Landing in one piece.
___________________________________________________________________________

Arya visited Paul and the stables numerous times over the next sennight. She always waited until the head of the stable went on a task, or delegated the stable to Paul for the day.

She was having a bit of fun with the boy. A game of teasing. Arya would’ve had to been struck dumb and blind to not see how the stable boy looked at her. He wasn’t too bad looking himself if she was being honest; he had a gruff look to him and was a bit stout, but was strong, as one would be doing manual labor all day. He was tanner, like all Southerners seemed to be, but he almost had a bronze color to him from being outside all day.. Arya would wear her new dresses when she went and saw. She’d stand close, closer than she needed to when they spoke. Paul’s eyes would sheepishly run over her body, drinking in the curve of her ass and hips, and Arya would play ignorant and accentuate her form, popping her hips out, bending over unnecessarily, anything to get his blood pumping.

By the third day of her game, Paul was no longer trying to hide his stares. He’d openly rake his eyes over her as they spent time together. He’d ask her to grab things on shelves, or under tables, just to watch her backside. Arya didn’t mind. It was all a part of her fun.

It was on the fifth day that he openly touched her.

They were standing in front of a newly purchased breeding horse, discussing it, when Paul put his hand on her ass. Arya looked at him, surprised by his boldness, but said nothing - in fact she smiled a bit. Paul’s rough hands pawed and kneaded her ass as they talked, squeezing so that his finger dug into the fabric and flesh. The rest of the say was much of the same, the talking or doing activities with him feeling her up like he owned her. Sometimes he’d give her smacks to the bottom, which Arya feigned like they hurt, when really it sent a bolt of pleasure through her body. When he tried to snake his hand up her dress, and cup her cunt, she decided he had enough fun for the day, much to his visible annoyance. Through it all, Arya acted as if nothing was strange and said nothing about it.

On the seventh day, Paul seemed to have enough of her teasing. She went to visit him as she’d done, and greeted him kindly, but he just scowled at her.

“You think you’re clever, don’t ya?” He said in disdain. Arya didn’t have to pretend to be confused, arching an eyebrow at him.

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“You coming here, dressed and movin’ like a whore. You think you can just tease me? Leave me to fist my cock at night?”

Arya gave a faux gasp at his vulgarity. Paul moved toward her, crowding her space and making her back into the stall doors.

“You think just cause’ yer a lady, I won’t bend you over and fuck ya?”

Before she could say anything, the stable boy roughly grabbed the shoulders of her dress, and pulled hard, ripping it. Arya’s upper body and tits were exposed to the air. Paul’s hand went to her small breasts, roughly grabbing them, pushing them together, and rubbing his calloused fingers over her nipples.

“Bit small for my taste, but yer ass makes up fer it.” He said lewdly. Arya was a bit annoyed about the comment, but she let him have his fun. After mauling her tits for a little while longer, he removed his hands, and stepped back, looking her over in open lust.

“Strip, slut.” He ordered. Arya was not the least bit intimidated by the stable boy, but he seemed to have it in his mind that he was going to ravage her, so she played to it, putting on her best scared look as she slid her dress down her body. “No smallcolthes? I knew you were a whore. Just beggin’ for it.”

When Arya was fully free of her dress, and standing naked as the horses, Paul roughly grabbed her by the arm, and dragged her across the room to one of the work tables. He threw her forward, so that she was bent over at the waist, with her chest laying on the table. From behind her, he pinned her to the table with a hand on the back of her neck, and kicked her legs apart. With his free hand, he undid his trousers, and fished his cock out. Arya looked back behind her the best she could. His cock was about 6 inches, and on the thicker side. It wasn’t a bad cock she had to guess, but nowhere near Joffrey’s magnificent thing. Still though, she played to him.

“W-wait. Don’t...don’t stick it in me like that! You’re so big! You’ll split me in half.” She lied effortlessly. Her words spurred him on.

“That’s right! Imma split your noble cunt in half.” He barked, giving her ass a hard slap, causing Arya to moan out a bit. “Want it to go in easier? Then suck it.”

Paul let go of Arya’s neck, and gave her the space to stand, but not enough to escape, not that she had any plans to. Arya turned around, and sank to her knees in front of Paul, looking up at him with the best doe eyes she could muster. He grabbed her by her hair, and pulled her face to his cock. Arya opened her mouth, and took him in. Paul pushed the entire length of his cock into her mouth, pushing into her throat, but just barely. She had sucked Joffrey’s cock more times than she could remember at this point, so the stable boy’s length wasn’t going to make her gag. Paul began to hump into her mouth, obviously being the first type of sexual gratification the boy had ever experienced. His knees were shaking after mere seconds.

“You like that? Gag on it!” He said, voice cracking from pleasure. Arya almost rolled her eyes but allowed him to fuck her mouth.
Then she heard the stable door creak.

Arya smiled internally.

It was time.

BITE

Arya bit him. Hard. Not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough that Paul yelled out in pain loudly, and pushed Arya back, freeing himself from her mouth. His hand went to his crotch, as his face was screwed in pain.

“You dumb cunt! You-”

Paul’s next words were cut off by Joffrey’s dagger piercing his lung. Paul had placed his back to the door, and hadn’t noticed the prince sneak in ever so quietly. Pau tried to run, but Arya stuck out her foot and tripped him. He fell to the ground, on his hands and knees. He tried to scream out, but the lung was deflating, making it come out as a garbled, blood filled moan. Joffrey walked over to Arya, and offered her his hand. Arya took it and got back to her feet.

“You okay?” Joffrey asked with a smile on his face.

“Never better.” Arya replied, returning his smile.

Their game.

See, while Arya spent time with Paul, working the stable boy’s young hormones up, Joffrey was there, watching the whole time, out of view in the shadows. He watched as his Arya teased the boy, and he honestly felt bad for the stable boy, lusting after something he could never have. That wasn’t a life to live.

So he killed him. That was the game. The sick little game Arya created for her and Joffrey. She always was a violent child

Joffrey watched with satisfaction as the color left him, and his crawls slowed to a halt. Watching the life drain from home was almost as good as sex.

Almost.

Joffrey pressed a hard kiss to Arya’s mouth, and grinded against her.

“Gods, I want you so bad.” Arya moaned.

“You have me.”

Arya bent back over the table as Joffrey dropped his pants, and drove his superior cock into her dripping cunt. Violence always did get her wet.

“Fuuuuck!” Arya moaned out as Joffrey fucked her with a brutal pace.

The last thing Paul knew in the living world was the sound of Arya cumming around Prince Joffrey’s cock.

Chapter Text

The Tourney of the Hand had the Keep buzzing.

The King found it fit to honor the naming of Ned Stark as Hand of the King, with an extravagant tourney. The king always did love his tournaments. 

Arya had never been to a tourney. Her father was hesitant to hold any in the North given what happened with his sister at the last one of note. 

She was absolutely giddy with excitement. The prospect of seeing all the weaponry, fighting, and knights - she was like her sister when she read her silly poems. The tourney was less than a sennight out, and the contestants were filling into the city. Most stayed at accommodation within the castle itself, gods knew it had enough rooms to keep them. The King had taken Joffrey’s free time, introducing him to the various knights and lords who arrived. It was a redundancy, as Joffrey had already met most of them at his name day a year ago, but the King had a short memory and it could not be helped. 

That left Arya to her own devices, moving around the castle and seeing who she could bump in to. Her father of course wanted her to stay far away from the combatants of the tourney, but he should’ve known by now that that was a fool's request. This was what Arya craved.

She would see who she could run into, watch them train, trying to absorb what she could. She always watched the guards and her brothers train back home - it was a great way to learn in lieu of actually being allowed to pick up a sword.

She tried to talk to a few of the men training. Some were polite, and talked to her a bit. She could tell they were a bit off put by her specific questioning about techniques and thought she was speaking just from ignorance. They humored her. She hated being humored.

Others just ignored her, mumbling things about the training ground being a sacred place for men, not women. Arya rolled her eyes, thinking that her mother would love hearing this. 

The rest weren’t interested in humoring her nor dismissing her. They looked at her with open lust and attempted to sway her into coming somewhere more private with them. Arya might have respected their attempts more if they just outwardly came out and said they wanted to fuck her. Their attempts at being suave were laughable. Eventually she wandered away from the main courtyard into one of the sub yards towards the back of the keep. There were scant contestants there, only banners of lowly houses, most of whom Arya had never heard of.

All except one. A large green banner with a golden rose on it.

The sigil of the Tyrells.

The Tyrells were the second most powerful house in all of Westeros as far as wealth and army size went, second only to the Lannisters. Arya always wanted to visit the Reach. She heard the weather was lovely there. They got sun for more than 6 hours a day!

The banner was propped up next to a door of a stone building. Arya looked to see if the coast was clear, before entering. The building looked to be a general guest house, nothing fancy, but everything needed for someone to stay comfortably temporarily. Someone was clearly occupying the room, as there was food and wine on the table. Not only that, on the bed was a sheathed sword, and the most beautiful set of armor Arya had ever seen. It was made of silver, but it was dyed a pale green. The jewels adorning it and the gold accents made it look like flowers on a green plain. Arya rubbed her fingers against it, feeling it’s smoothness and hardness. 

Besides the armor, leaning against one of the posts of the bed was a sheathed sword. The scabbard looked to be fine leather, and had the Tyrell sigil stitched into it. Arya picked it up - it was heavier than she thought, but not too heavy. Heavier than the downsized practice sword her brothers snuck and made for her.

She unsheathed the blade halfway. The steel glimmered, and she could see her reflection in it. In the center of the rain gard was a large emerald, sparkling green. Arya smiled at the sight of it. The swords she knew back home were so plain and dull. This...this was a work of art.

“What are you doing?”

Arya jumped, nearly dropping the sword onto the ground. She spun around to see none other than Ser Loras Tyrell staring at her. Well she didn’t KNOW it was Ser Loras Tyrell, she’d never met the man before, but she heard about him. Ser Loras was known to be the most beautiful man in all the Seven Kingdoms; not handsome but BEAUTIFUL. He had long curly brown hair that fell past his neck, slightly longer than her fathers. His were said to be enchanting, deep pools of light brown with stars in them. His facial features were almost feminine in nature, yet it was impossible to mistake him for a woman - he was all man. He was wearing an expensive looking light grey tunic with a maroon patterned shirt underneath.”. He looked at her expectantly, waiting for an answer to his question. Arya hadn’t realized she had just been dumbly staring, admiring the beautiful man.

“I was just-” She began, but he held up his hand, halting her words.

“You were snooping where you shouldn’t be.” He said a matter of factedly. She couldn’t deny him there. “I swear, I tell my squire to make sure the room was secure before he left, and the help simply waltzes in here.

‘The help?’ Arya thought confused. She looked down at herself and realized that she was wearing one of the less flashy dresses Cersei had gifted her. It was light grey and shoulderless, simply wrapping around the back of her neck to stay up, and a wrap around her waist. She did almost look like a servant, she realized.

“What’s your name?” Loras asked.

“Arya.” She answered truthfully. She didn’t give her last name. She wanted to let Ser Loras believe she was a servant - to see where this went.

“Come here Arya.” He said, pointing to the spot directly in front of him. Loras’ soft, yet commanding voice shot a surprising bolt of excitement through her. She placed the sword back against the bed, and did as she was told. As she walked closer, she realized how tall Loras was, near a foot taller than her. It wasn’t hard to be taller than Arya, she was a short girl afterall, inheriting neither her father nor mother’s height. She craned her head slightly to look at him, waiting.

Loras looked at her curiously. Arya noted that he didn’t seem mad that she intruded on his space and touched his belongings; he just looked her over repeatedly.

Suddenly, he reached out, grabbing her by the chin - not hard, but firm enough where he had control over her head. He turned her head left, and then right, examining her like she was a horse of some sort. 

“Where are you from girl?” He asked.

“The North.” Arya answered again honestly.

“Ha!” Loras laughed to himself. “I knew it. Knew it the moment that dreadful accent of yours left your lips. I hardly can believe we speak the same language.”

His words were unnecessarily rude, but that only sent another bolt of excitement through her. His hand moved from her jaw, trailing up her cheek, and into her hair. He moved his hand to the back of he head, taking grip of one of her twin braids, once again gentle, but firm. He gave it a tug, indicating he wanted her to look up at him more.

“Tell me, is it customary for smallfolk in the North to completely forgo noble titles?” He asked, giving her braid another tug. Arya hissed in pain and pleasure, and tried to shake her head.

“No my lord.” She answered, leaning into her guise as a servant. Loras’ mouth formed a thin line, as he brought his free hand level with Arya’s face. He swung his hand, slapping her against her right cheek. It wasn’t too hard, about as hard as her mother did whenever Arya did something particularly unladylike, but it was enough to turn her head to the side, and leave a light stinging.

“I worked hard for my knightley status, so kindly refer to me as Ser.” Loras reprimanded.

“Yes ser.” Arya corrected, realizing she liked the prospect of calling him ser. 

“Good.” He said, giving her face another light slap for good measure. 

Arya’s cunt was nearly dripping at this point. Ser Loras spoke so lightly, so delicately, yet he radiated Southern regalness and domination. Joffrey but with chivalry. 

Arya thought of Joffrey a moment, how he might react if he saw her like this now. She knew he was horribly possessive, a trait she loved about him, but at the moment she didn’t really care.

Ser Loras examined her face where he had slapped her, a red outline clear.

“You Northern women are pale.” He pointed out, rubbing his hand against her cheek. “You color so easily.” 

“Yes ser.” Arya responded automatically. Loras let go of Arya’s hair, and began to slowly circle her, looking her up and down.

“We have many Northerners come to the Reach during the spring and summer, looking for work in fields and nobles' homes and such.” He informed her. “Not a particularly bright or useful demographic. Always need to be told things twice. Low intellect I imagine. They can’t help it though - the genes of the First Men run through you.”

Loras spoke as if talking about an invalid child who needed to be cared for at all times. Ser Loras was known for his chivalry and knightly skills, but he was a Southron through and through. He was always told by his grandmother how his ancestors helped bring order and knightly culture to Westeros - helped civilize the land. It was ingrained in him from youth that the Northmen were remnants of the savage past, and should be considered such.

He stopped circling her, positioning herself behind her. Arya attempted to turn her head, but Loras placed a hand on the back of her neck. Arya got the message, and looked forward, keeping herself still. He stepped closer, his chest only an inch or so from her back.

“I must say, I’ve never seen a Northerner up close before.” He admitted. “Tell me, are your women all as...well proportioned as you?”

His free hand went to her ass, digging his finger into its bubbly thickness over her dress. Arya let out a mix of a gasp and a moan, arching her back, pressing more of her ass into his palm and long fingers. After a moment, he removed his hand, much to Arya’s displeasure. The lack of contact was brief however, as his hand swung down, smacking her ass, causing her to jump to her toes.

“I asked you a question.” Loras said in a stern, reprimanding voice. “Do other Northern women have fat arses like yours?”

He gave her ass another spank before she could answer, this time to the other cheek. She moaned out at the pleasurable stinging, her ass jiggling under her dress.

“I-I don’t know ser?” She answered. Loras soothingly ran his hand over Arya’s ass before wrapping his other arm around her torso, and pulling her flush against him, her bottom pressed firmly against his crotch. 

“Now, no need to be modest.” He stated. He rolled his hips against her, causing her to moan out again. She pressed back on him, feeling the outline of his cock through his trousers. She couldn’t see it, but by the way it pushed against her, she just knew it was beautiful like the rest of him. 

“...I’ve been told it’s my best quality.” Arya gasped out lustfully.

“Certainly isn’t your intellect.” Loras commented, grinding against her, and palming all over her backside with the hand not holding her. “Suppose you had to make up for your Northern heritage somehow. Guess that makes you something unique. I like unique things.”

Arya just moaned, pressing her thighs together. She thought she was liable to cum right there on the spot if he kept talking to her like that.

“My ass is the jewel of the North.” Arya said playfully

“Only thing of worth up there.”

Loras gave her ass another hard smack, enjoying how it moved and molded around, before letting Arya go, and stepping back. Arya looked at him in dismay, wanting him to continue. She opened her mouth to say something, but he silenced her.

“Bend over the desk.” He ordered plainly. “And lift your dress.”

Arya nearly tumbled overself trying to obey. She cleared the desk, and bent forward, pressing her chest and forehead against the wood. Slowly, she grabbed the material of her dress, pulling the fabric upwards over her calves, thighs, and finally her ass.

She heard Loras take a hiss of breath, and she smiled to herself. She gave it an enticing little wiggle for the knight.

“No smallclothes?” He pointed out.

“I’m still getting used to the Southern heat ser.”

* Smack!*

Arya bit her lip and moaned as he slapped her bare ass hard. The proof of her arousal dripped down her legs.

“I think you’re lying.” Loras said.

* SMACK!*

“I just think you’re a Northern girl who has a cunt instead of a brain.”

* SMACK! SMACK !*

Arya was near delirious at his point from her arousal

 “Y-yes!” She moaned. “I’m just a useless Northern whore! This ass is all I’m worth!”

Loras ran a soothing hand over her red cheeks, admiring his handy work. He really did like how clear his handprint was on her pale skin.

“See. Honesty bring it’s own rewards.” Loras crooned. The knight grabbed the back of her neck, pinning her to the desk. With his other hand, he began to work at his breeches. 

Arya’s heart beated in anticipation, and her cunt burned with need. She was lost in the sensation and degradation, wanting, NEEDING relief. And Loras was about to give it to her.

“See you’re making yourself comfortable.” She heard someone say.

That someone being Joffrey.

___________________________________________________________________________

Joffrey absolutely hated being dragged around by his father. It wasn’t even mid-day, and his father was drunk, trying to stumble through conversations with lords and knights from around Westeros. He did love his tourneys.

Joffrey had better things to do than shadow his father. 

Fucking Arya was one of them naturally-

-but another was to see Ser Loras again.

Joffrey had met the knight at his name day the previous year. A fun affair Joffrey had to admit. Someone had gotten accidentally decapitated during the melee, something Joffrey had never seen before.

His uncle Jaime competed in the tourney, and many thought he was going to win. Joffrey thought so as well. Afterall, his uncle was legendary in tourneys - he won his first melee at 13, and first tourney joust at 15. However Loras was also a prodigy in tourneys, participating in them since he was 11 as a squire. Still, Jaime, the older and more experienced jouster was thought to have the victory solidified. Thus it came as a shock to everyone when Ser Loras unhorsed his uncle in rather quick fashion. Joffrey guessed it was because his uncle Jaime ultimately underestimated the young Tyrell. 

Bets were made on the tourney - it seemed most bet on Jaime except his father, and even then that seemed to be more to disliking the man than belief in Tyrell’s skill. The King won a valyrian steel dagger from Littlefinger. He was too busy gloating about it to give his champion a proper congratulations, so Joffrey did in his stead. 

The young men found to have gotten along well. Loras stayed in Kings Landing for several more days after his victory, and the two men formed a bond of sorts.They were close in age, and heirs of the most powerful houses in Westeros. Joffrey didn’t have many he would refer to as ‘friends’. Sure there were sons of bannermen and guards, and the sons of nobles who were sycophants of his father’s court. Their son’s were sycophants too as it seemed, trying to curry favor with Joffrey, to be at his side when he became King. 

Tyrell experienced much of the same. While leagues more sociable and polite than Joffrey he found that most were interested in what he could give them, or outright envied him.

In a sense, their loneliness brought them together.

Once Loras left to return to the Reach, he and Joffrey stayed in contact through ravens.Ser Loras did return a few months later, but he could not spend too much time with Joffrey, as he had appointments with Joffrey’s uncle Renly as it seemed. Still, the short time they spent Joffrey enjoyed. He was hardly sentimental, but Joffrey looked forward to the times they spent together.

The Tourney of the Hand presented an opportunity for Joffrey to both enjoy violence and his friends' company. Unfortunately his boor of a father had decided to occupy his time with drivel, so he couldn’t personally welcome Loras into the keep. Once Joffrey was free of the burden of being dragged around by his father, Joffrey went off to look for his friend. He knew that Loras had a thing about staying in the Red Keep for Tourneys - something about keeping his strategies confidential. Other lords and knights were giddy to stay in the home of the king - Joffrey figured it was mind games of some sort, he could appreciate that.

Last year he stayed in a small stone house built in the secondary courtyard, away from the center and attention. Joffrey thought it was hardly sufficient for a man of Loras’ standing, but he made it his home while in the city. 

Joffrey made his way to his dwelling, hoping to catch his friend before he went about training. 

He did certainly catch his friend.

“I think you’re lying.” 

*SMACK!*

That was Loras’ voice alright, but clearly he wasn’t alone.

“I just think you’re a Northern girl who has a cunt instead of a brain.”

*SMACK! SMACK!*

Whoever it was, Loras was giving her what for. He was glas Loras seemed to have the same taste for domination as he did. Another thing they had in common.

 “Y-yes! II’m just a useless Northern whore! This ass is all I’m worth!”

Now, Joffrey did not expect to hear another familiar voice coming from the House. 

The voice of Arya. HIS Arya. She sounded like she was enjoying herself. Sounded like she did when she was with him.

One might think that this would send the very temperamental Joffrey into a blind rage - he’s done so for far less. 

But something about this was different. Joffrey was possessive. He was territorial. Yet he did not feel the same burning rage as he did when the butcher boy, or the stable hand had the audacity to look the direction of Arya. 

In fact, hearing Loras with Arya...well it was having the opposite reaction. A fire burned in him, but a fire of intrigue, and lust. 

Loras WAS his friend after all. What harm would it be to share his toy from the North.

Still, HE did find Arya first, and as he heard it Loras was moments away from splitting her in half. That wouldn’t do at all...not yet at least. 

Joffrey decided to make his presence known. He opened the door to the small house, to see the admittedly very enticing image of Loras with Arya folded over his table, dress hiked over her bare hips, ass wobbling for him.

“See you’re making yourself comfortable.” He said, catching their attention. Arya’s head snapped up from the desk at the sound of his voice. Her eyes were wide, cleary surprised to see him, but her pupils were blown out, and her nostrils flaring like she was in heat. Her face was unsure, clearly not knowing how Joffrey was going to react to the sight. Joffrey in fact paid her little mind, instead focusing on Loras, his friend he had missed. Loras gave him a toothy smile, still pinning Arya to the desk.

“Joffrey!” He said jovially. “I would embrace you, but as you can see I’m a tad occupied with this fat bottomed Northerner. Greet your prince.”

Loras gave Arya’s ass a hard smack, causing her to moan out.

“H-hello your grace.” She gasped out. Joffrey raised an amused eyebrow at her. Wanton thing he thought. But he noticed something else as well.

“As you can see her manners are lacking, as tends to be the case with Northerners.” Loras said, giving her ass another smack. Joffrey did love how it rippled, even when it wasn’t his own hand. Loras began to work at his pants, fully intending to continue his conquest.

“Loras, where did you find her?” Joffrey asked, playing coy.

“She wandered in here.” Loras answered. “Touching things Northerner smallfolk shouldn’t touch. Just doing my duty as a man of the Reach and showing her civility.”

Arya moaned at that.

“Well, you’re half right.” Joffrey said, amused smirk on his face. “She is a North girl who is all trouble.”

Loras gave him a strange look, straightening his back.

“And where am I wrong?” The Tyrell asked.

“She’s not smallfolk.” Joffrey answered. “Right now, you have the daughter of the Hand bent over your desk.”

Loras went still, and stared at Joffrey, who just stared back with a small smile. Arya was a tad annoyed that she wasn’t getting filled with cock at the moment.

“Ha! You almost had me going there Joff!” Loras laughed, but not sounding all too confident. Joffrey didn’t say a word, his smile just growing larger. Loras’s face fell, and he looked down at the girl who’s ass was red with his handprints.

“Ser.” She spoke, putting her normal highborn inflection on. “I think you should let me up at this point.”

Loras’ eyes went wide as the realization hit him. He immediately released her and stepped back. Arya stood back up straight, and looked over her shoulder at her abused bottom.

“You really did a number on me.” She said in a faux pouty voice.

“M-my lady!” Loras rambled out. “Please forgive me, I didn’t-” 

“Oh calm down.” Arya laughed. “I’m a Northern girl. We’re made tough.”

Arya let her dress fall back down her legs, and smoothed it out. She walked to the door, stopping only to give Joffrey a glance. She searched his eyes to try and see what he was thinking, but he just smiled down at her. She was confused, and terribly horny, but nevertheless, she understood that he was waiting for her to go. 

“Your grace.” She said formally

“Lady Stark.” He answered just as formally.

Arya took her leave, leaving Joffrey to watch her hips sway as she walked away, and a very confused and uncomfortable Loras standing there with the most awkward erection of his life.

___________________________________________________________________________

Joffrey took Loras to his chambers and sat him on his balcony looking over the city, so that they could talk and catch up. Loras of course was not in much of a talking mood, still perplexed at what had just happened moments prior.

“Oh will you wipe that look off your face?” Joffrey sighed. “You’ve look as if you have a scepter up your ass.”

Loras gave him a funny look, not understanding how Joffrey didn’t see the daftness of the situation that just happened.

“I’m sorry that my discomfort displeases you.” Loras said snippily. Joffrey thought the man could be so dramatic. “I’m just worried that Eddard Stark will burst in at any moment to geld me.”

“I doubt that will happen.” Joffrey said, rolling his eyes. He poured his friend a goblet of wine to try and calm him down, but the Knight ignored it.

“Oh? After all I said, the Stark girl is probably crying to her father about how I nearly defiled her.”

“Hm, and here I thought knights had to be observant.”

“Piss off.”

“Loras, really?” Joffrey said, getting annoyed. “Did she look displeased? Did she sound displeased? Did she FEEL displeased?

Loras opened his mouth to speak, but closed it as he didn’t actually have a good response. Joffrey was right. The girl, although under false pretenses seemed to respond to his harsh words and touches positively. Still though, he was a gentleman above all else.

“I would not have treated her so...firmly if I knew she was high-born. Northerner” Loras said formally. 

“Yes, Arya does like to play these little games.” Joffrey said with a smile. Loras quirked a well-groomed eyebrow at him.

“Games?” Loras repeated. Joffrey didn’t answer, just letting his smirk explain all that was needed. “You’ve been with her.” Loras said in realization.

“Repeatedly, and vigorously.” Joffrey answered. 

Suddenly Loras turned in his chair, face serious.

“I did not know you two had been intimate.” Loras said seriously. “I would have NEVER spoken but a kind word to her and kissed her hand had I known. I consider you among my friends - I would not dishonor you or her knowingly.”

Joffrey just stared at the Tyrell with raised eyebrows for a moment.

Then he started laughing. Rather hard actually. 

Loras frowned at him. He was being completely sincere. That’s what Joffrey found so funny.

“Holy Hells man, you’re entirely too chivalrous for your own good.” Joffrey said, trying to catch his breath. “Do I even look as if I’m the slightest bit upset.”

“...No, I suppose you don’t.” Loras conceded.

“I consider you amongst my friends as well.” Joffrey admitted. “Perhaps my only real friend.” He added quietly. 

Loras gave him a smile. He knew how much the young man hated sentimentality. 

“-And Arya...she’s something special. Not superstitious and conservative like those other Northerners. She’s a lady of the south, born in the wrong place.”

Loras snorted humorously at that.

“Laugh if you want.” Joffrey continued. “You’ve only taken a glimpse at her. I’ve tasted her, devoured her.”

Loras swallowed a bit. He had to admit, he was left at the edge of pleasure, curious at to what might have happened if Joffrey didn’t walk upon them. 

“Her fat wobbly ass, the best in all of Westeros, her tolerance - her willingness for subjugation, degradation, submission.” Joffrey purred out. “The fire in her belly and her eyes, there’s really no one like her.”

“You’re just gloating at this point.” Loras sighed. He moved to stand, but Joffrey grabbed his forearm. He looked at the younger blonde with a raised brow.

“Tell me friend...would you like to taste her too?”

____________________________________________________________________________

The Targareyns certainly had style, Arya had to admit.

The bath houses of the Red Keep. Well bath house now, singular. There used to be several that were scattered throughout the castle, but as the reign of the Targaryens deteriorated, and power transitioned after the war, they all fell into disrepair except for one. Evidently Cersei demanded her husband keep one operational so that she could use it from time to time. 

It was a large room, with smooth stone floors, walls carved with depictions of dragons and the Targaryen history. Nothing at all this interesting in Winterfell. In the center there was a large pool, filled with hot water that was piped in from outside the Keep, and heated by servants before reaching the pool.

Arya peeled her dress off. She hadn’t  realized how much she had been sweating. She lowered herself in the pool, enjoying the heat of it... but it was nothing compared to the heat between her legs.

Not but a few hours ago, she was utterly dominated by Ser Loras Tyrell, the flower of the Reach, and a true Southron. Her heritage, her home, her very being disparaged, and the whole time, her cunt was dripping.  

And Joffrey-

Joffrey saw them, saw them together, and his reaction was...confusing. He didn’t fly into a rage as one might’ve thought. He just stood there, smiling, looking as confident and prideful as ever. She didn’t know what to think.

What she did know is the two Southrons were going to be the death of her. The slow, pleasurable death of her. Maybe Starks riding south was a curse afterall. She didn’t mind though - dying in one’s bed of old age seemed so boring to her. 

Arya closed her eyes and let a hand wander between her legs - she was left rather unfinished earlier, a true tragedy. She slipped two fingers within herself, thinking of how Loras had spanked her, manhandled her, put her in her place. She thought of Joffrey watching, encouraging the Reachman to be rougher, to degrade her more. They’d switch places, taking turns lording over, and controlling her. Such imagination. 

“Mind if we join you?”

Arya’s eyes snapped open, looking towards the door. She was so entranced in her fantasy, she didn’t notice the door open and close, and Ser Loras and Joffrey standing in front of her.

She looked between them. They both had small smiles on their faces. Ones that looked sinister. Ones that intrigued her.

“I’m surprised Northerners bathe.” Loras said, looking down at her. There it was, that same degrading tone shot a bolt of excitement through her.

“On occasion Ser.” Arya said, a slight smirk on her face. She waded in the bath, waiting for them to make the next move.

It was Jofffrey who spoke next, walking around the edge of the large pool until he was close to her. 

“I think you owe Ser Loras an apology, Arya” He said smoothly.

“And why is that?” Arya asked, casually watching herself.

“For dishonesty of course.” He answered. “You led the poor Ser astray, lied about your identity.”

Arya moved closer to the edge, closer to Joffrey.

“I didn’t lie about anything.” Arya commented. “I never said I was smallfolk. He just assumed I was.”

Arya Loras a smirk. He looked a bit contrite at that, given how that was technically true. Joffrey’s eyes narrowed at Arya, but his smile grew wider. She was playing coy. Well that would never do.

Joffrey reached out his hand, and grabbed a handful of Arya’s bwet brown hair and pulled. Arya hissed in pain and pleasure at the sensation, bracing her hands on the edge of the bath. If she wanted to, she could’ve easily pushed back and pulled Joffrey into the water, but she liked the feeling of his thigh grip in her hair.

“I said, you owe Ser Loras an apology.” Joffrey repeated, harder this time. He pulled back with a grip on her hair, indicating for her to get out of the bath. She climbed from the water, neck crooking as Joffrey maintained a grip on her hair like a leash, and led her to Loras. 

The knight watched as Joffrey brought the wet, naked Stark to her, like a beautiful, depraved gift. Joffrey brought her right before him, before using his other hand to push down on her shoulder, pushing her down to her knees. 

Arya sat on her thighs with her hands in her lap, and looked up at the Tyrell with wild, lusty eyes.

“Well?” Joffrey asked expectantly, standing at her side.

“I’m sorry Ser for deceiving you.” Arya said. 

“That sound very convincing to you?” Joffrey asked Loras.

“Hardly.” Loras answered, before suddenly slapping Arya across the face. She gasped out and bit her lip, turning her head back to look up at him. “You can surely do better than that.”

Arya swallowed, and spoke once more. “I am sorry for deceiving you ser.” She said, with more emphasis in her voice.

“See, I’m just still not convinced.” Loras stated.

“Me either.” Joffrey concurred. 

Loras pressed his head to the top of Arya’s head, craning her head up more to look at him.

“Perhaps you need to SHOW just how sorry you are.” Loras purred. Keeping his hand on her head, he used his other to work at his breeches. Arya’s eyes looked over to Joffrey, to see his reaction. There was nothing but excitement and intrigue on the prince’s face.

When Loras untied his breeches. Arya brought his hand up to the waist.

“Allow me Ser.” She whispered. Loras didn’t stop her, so she moved forward, pulling his pants down his hips. Slowly, his brown pubic hairs came into view, followed by his impressive cock. 

‘Gods, It’s perfect.’ Arya thought. Like everything else on the Tyrell knight, his cock was very pretty. Symmetrical, blemish free, and large, even Joffrey seemed impressed by the sight of it, though he’d never admit that.. He was slightly larger than the prince, his cock nearly a foot long - that made sense, Ser Loras being older and larger of the two. It was already half hard when Arya brought her small hand to him, and began to stroke him. He hissed out in pleasure, as she pumped his cock. As he swelled in her hand, her fingers barely touched as they circled around his girth, stroking him from base to tip.

“You’re meant to be apologizing?” Joffrey said breathlessly. “Not fucking toying with him.”

Arya stared into Ser Loras’s large brown eyes, before leaning her head forward and pressing an open mouth kiss against his tip. Her tongue swiped against his slit. She began to pepper open mouth kisses along the length of his cock, wanting to cover every inch of his perfection.

“Hmm. I guess you Northerners are good for something.” Loras groaned, massaging her scalp as she lavished his shaft, with her tongue and lips.

“Stop toying with him Arya.” Joffrey ordered, his own arousal evident by the bugle in his trousers. He wanted to see her SWALLOW him. 

Gingerly, Arya licked her way back to Loras’ tip before pressing it against her lips. Slowly she opened her mouth in a wide ‘o’ engulfing his cock. His hand on her head turned into a tight grip as she sank her mouth down on him.

“Yesssss” Loras hissed, Pulling her forward to slide his cock into her tight throat. She gagged slightly around his girth, but simply folded her hands back into her lap, and allowed him to take the reins. 

Loras bobbed her head up and down on his cock at a firm, but rhythmic pace. He was more controlled than Joffrey, likely had more experience. He was less interested in making her swallow the full length of his cock every time, but rather maintain a constant level of pleasure. He instructed Arya on how to pleasure him more as she sucked him.

“Hollow your cheeks when you pull back.” He instructed. “Tighten your throat, hum around me.”

Arya obeyed his instructions, earning groans of approval from the Tyrell. She glanced over to Joffrey, who had his pants down his hips, and was firmly stroking his cock at the sight. She pulled back off of Loras’s cock with a wet pop, and turned to Joffrey. Meeting eyes, the prince stepped closer, and brought his hands to the side of her head, pulling her mouth onto his length. In contrast to Loras, Joffrey was wild and savage as usual, fucking into her thought, causing her to gag and drool all around him.

“HRUCK...HRGGK..GLUURCK...GLACK..” Arya gagged and sputtered, head moving rapidly on the prince. Loras grabbed one of her hands, and brought it back to his cock to stroke it with. The pair passed her mouth between them for the next several minutes, Arya almost having whiplash at their techniques as she went back and forth between their cocks. 

She was right- those two would be the death of her. There were certainly worse ways to go.

Eventually, she was stood back up, Joffrey roughly grabbing Arya under her arms, and pushing her toward Loras. Her wet chest smacked against his tunic. His hands immediately went to her ass, smacking both cheeks with open palms. He was quickly becoming addicted to her bottom, kneading and pulling at it. Arya moaned wantonly, and grinded against him. Loras helped her by pressing his thigh between her legs, her cunt rubbing back and forth against the fabric of his pants.

“You may be a lady, but look at you.” Loras barked, giving her ass another particularly hard slap. “You’re just a Northern whore!”

“Yes!” Arya moaned. She grinded against his leg faster, breath ragged. “I’m just a Northern whore.”

Loras brought a hand to Arya’s throat and squeezed. Arya let out a gurgled moan, and held onto Loras’s bicep for dear life. She didn’t think she could last much longer, the release that alluded her earlier was upon her.

Suddenly, Joffrey came up from behind, and yanked her from Loras’ grip. Arya didn’t have time to be annoyed, because she was quickly bent at the hips, and Joffrey’s cock drove into her. Her eyes widened, and she moaned out loudly, pressing her hands to the ground as she was folded in half and driven into.

Joffrey had a firm grip on her hips, and rode her hard. He looked at Loras, who despite being aroused, had an annoyed look on his face. This was the second time he was left unsatisfied by Arya. Joffrey smiled wide with teeth. Joffrey liked Loras, but HE was still the only prince in the room, and princes got preferential treatment. 

Plus, he found Arya first.

“This what you want, Loras?” He teased, as he snapped his hips forward rapidly. Arya was past words, just moaning and mewling with her head down. “You want to be where I am, fucking into this Northern cunt?”

Loras turned red in the face a bit.

“You know I do.” He answered honestly through gritted teeth. Joffrey laughed, and gave Arya’s bubbly ass a hard smack at his response

“Then, I guess it’d be in your best interest to win the tourney of the Hand. To the winner, goes the spoils.”

Chapter Text

Sansa had to admit she never expected King’s Landing to SMELL so badly. She was nearly sick when it first hit her. Arya told her to quit being a baby. Father told her it was just the result of having so many people in one place.

Chapter Text

In all honesty, Catelyn hadn’t even realized they had arrived in the capital. Gregor made sure of that. She spent so much of the two week trip to King’s Landing with her face pushed against the seat of the carriage, in Gregor’s crotch, or in post orgasmic stupor that time didn’t really pass for her. 

Their driver had been given instructions to take them just outside the Old Gate on the Northwestern section of the city wall. It was a popular and convenient gate for merchants and travelers on foot and horseback. Catelyn hoped to not raise too much attention by entering the city through there, though Gregor’s size was hard to miss.

“We’re just outside the gate.” Their driver stopped his cart off the road a bit and dismounted his seat. He went around and opened the door for his passengers.. Gregor’s large frame exited first, shaking the whole carriage as stepped down from it. 

Catelyn stepped out next, thought stepped was a generous word. She nearly fell forward as she tried to exit the carriage on shaky legs. Gregor decided to ride the poor woman hard on the last few hours of their trek, bouncing her on his cock like a rag doll until she passed out, and then well after that as well. She looked a right mess, hair matted down with sweat, face flushed red, legs shaking like a newborn calf, dress hanging off of one shoulder, and currently a mouth packed full of Gregor’s come. She had her riding hood up so the driver couldn’t immediately see her cheeks puffed out as it held Gregor’s seed. Their driver looked at them, and Catelyn turned her head away from him.

“Is the lady alright?” He asked.

“Sick from the trip.” Gregor answered simply. The driver seemed satisfied by the answer, and went to check the wheels of the carriage. 

“I am not sure what happened. Seems the roads were rougher than usual. My wheels and axis looked like they’ve gone through the Seven Hells.” The driver commented. Gregor almost laughed - in the closest way the man could come to it, which wasn’t much more than a tick of his bushy brow. As the driver was distracted, he looked down at the still fuck-dazed Catelyn as she stood their near swaying with her mouth still full of his seed. Bringing his hand up to her chin, he tilted her head up and made her look at him. She looked at him in slight confusion until he mouthed the word ‘open’. Catelyn’s eyes widened, and she quickly looked back at the driver who was still inspecting his carriage, before turning back to Gregor. Catelyn nodded, opening her mouth to show him the ocean of come that resided there. She knew what he wanted - even in such compromising and exposed situations she was well past the point of denying him anything. Her tongue swam around in the white sea like fish, playing and sloshing his release around in her mouth. After a minute, she closed her lips once more, and worked her throat, swallowing with great effort. It took a few gulps, but she was eventually able to get his thick seed down. She opened her mouth, sticking her tongue out to show that her task was completed.

She turned around and made herself presentable just as the driver stood back up and looked at them.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take you into the city my lady. It would be no problem.” The driver offered.

“No.” Catelyn said hoarsely, throat still slightly coated with remnants of her meal. “That won’t be necessary. Ser Gregor here can escort me the rest of the way." Almost as to exemplify the point, Gregor brought his hand down to Catelyn’s ass and squeezed, fingers sinking into the flesh through her dress. Their bodies blocked the action, and Catelyn gave nothing away besides a subtle flaring of her nostrils 

The driver eyed The Mountain warily, but nodded. “When you are ready to make the return trip, I will be waiting in Eel’s Alley.”

The driver bid them a farewell, and the pair began their walk to the city gates and to meet her husband.

Her Husband

Catelyn thought it was funny to still consider him that in her mind, especially after spending the last few months as Gregor’s plaything. She didn’t feel much but resentment for Ned these days - resentment for not being there for Bran, resentment for leaving, resentment for taking her daughters away to the capital - resentment for many unspoken things over the years of their marriage. Still, she felt she still owed him, to at least discuss the attempt on their son’s life. To maybe convince him to take action for a change and not just go on about honor and not just trail behind his drunken friend he called king.

The thoughts were pushed back in her mind as they approached the Old Gate. She and Gregor were with a group of people also going towards the gate. The plan was to blend in with the crowd - they were just travelers like anyone else, though Gregor’s size and generally unpleasant demeanor made sure they were given a wide breadth. As they approached the gate and the Citywatch guardsmen came into clear view, Catelyn saw one of the guards look at them - they were hard to miss - and lean to his comrade and say something.

‘Shit.’ Catelyn thought as the guard motioned for them to come over. Catelyn looked up at Gregor, who just returned her gaze, stone faced. Not wanting to risk compromising themselves further, they walked to the guard. He reached into his waist, and pulled out a sealed scroll.

“My Lady.” The guard greeted, extending the scroll out to Catelyn. “We’ve been ordered to escort you into the city.”

“Escort me?” Catelyn questioned. “On whose authority?” 

He showed her a ribbon. Catelyn felt her breath catch in her throat. The seal was a mockingbird, in grey wax. Petyr.

“We were told to look out for a woman matching your description.” The guard explained. He looked at Gregor a bit warily and added “As well as her travel companion.”

Gregor stared the guard down, but said nothing. Catelyn wondered how Petyr could have heard of her arriving to the capital so soon - how he knew at all.

“Do you know who I am?” Catelyn asked the guard. The guard shook his head.

“Nay. Just to look for a regal looking woman with fire-kissed hair, and a very large guard.”

And here Catelyn thought they were being inconspicuous. This wasn’t what she had planned, but then again her plan was rough as it were. She was to arrive in the city, and find SOME means of contacting Ned. She didn’t have a set time or location. It had been a long time since she had seen Petyr. They were childhood friends, her father’s ward. He had wanted more - to be her husband, which was something she couldn’t give him even if it were up to her. She remembered when he had tried to kiss her during the celebration of her betrothal to Brandon Stark. She pushed him away, and despite herself laughed. She didn’t mean to honestly - it just escaped.

She remembered his duel with Brandon - the horrid affair. Petyr was still just a boy, and Brandon a full grown man. The fight was over before it began. By the end, Petyr was left bloodied and humiliated. That was the last time she saw him. She cared for Petyr, she really did…like a brother.

With no other course of action to be taken, Catelyn acquiesced. They led them to the city walls, and Catelyn was given a horse. There weren’t any horses that would reasonably handle Gregor’s stature, but he didn’t seem to complain about walking beside her. She followed her escort cautiously. She didn’t know what was waiting for her with Petyr. Would Ned be there? Would this be another act of the conspirators that were targeting her family. She’d find out soon enough.

___________________________________________________________________________

A Whore house. 

Petyr led them to a whore house. 

Catelyn would have been more outraged if she wasn’t a bundle of nerves at what waited for them inside. Having Gregor there was of course reassuring, but King’s Landing was a dangerous place for all. 

They entered the establishment, climbing the stairs to the third floor. They entered a large room furnished with several couches, a bed, and a table covered with platters of meats, fruits and cheeses. Sitting on a long lounger, along with two topless women, was Petyr. He lifted his head and smiled as he saw Catelyn, only for it to momentarily drop at the sight of The Mountain. He waved a hand, dismissing the whores and stood, walking toward Catelyn with open arms.

“Cat.” He greeted familiarly.

“Cat?” Catelyn seethed.” Don’t you Cat me you cretin!”

She threw the scroll at him, it just whizzing past his head.

“How dare you bring me here, like I’m some back alley whore!” 

Petyr shamelessly eyed Catelyn up and down, taking in her rather scandalous attire for a northern lady, and the irony that she had been fucking Gregor the past few months weren’t lost on her either, but still she was a lady.

“Still as fiery as ever. I apologize for the locale.” Petyr said, sounding contrite. “You know I wouldn’t purposely try to offend you. No one will come looking for you here, isn’t that what you wanted?”

Catelyn frowned and glanced at Gregor, who simply returned her glance stoically. Petyr looked between two, intrigued. 

“How did you know I was in the city?” Catelyn asked, turning back to Petyr.”

“A dear friend told me.”

Petyr pointed behind them, and in the shadow of the door stood a Spider - Lord Varys.

The bald, plump man glided into the room wrapped in his purple robes, peculiar smile on his face.

“Lady Stark.” He greeted.

“Lord Varys?”

“To see you again after so many years, is a blessing.” He said elegantly. He turned and looked at Gregor, hairless eyebrows moving up a tick. “And you Ser Clegane, your presence always fills a room.”

Gregor’s mouth twitched downward, almost imperceptibly “Eunuch.” He simply said, as if it were a greeting and title.

 Turning his attention back to Catelyn, Varys grabbed her hands, turning her palms upwards and examining her bandaged, mostly healed hands.

“Your poor hands.” He said sincerely. Catelyn snatched them away, and took a step back.

“How did YOU know I was coming?” She demanded. Varys gave a small shrug.

“Knowledge is my trade, my lady.” The eunuch explained simply. “My little birds are everywhere. Castles, farms…inns.”

Catelyn stiffened as Varys let his words hang in the air. His round face gave nothing away, but his eyes glimmered with something dangerous. Could he know of her and Gregor? She supposed her efforts to hide it had diminished as time progressed, but as it were she still wasn’t advertising it. 

“Only takes a stone to fell a bird.” Gregor said, barely attempting to conceal his threat. To Catelyn’s surprise, Varys didn’t seem very much concerned by it.

“There will always be more birds. Mountains however - well those are a bit harder to replace.” Varys spoke softly. Catelyn’s eyebrows went to her forehead as the short, bald, fat man threatened the Mountain. Her eyebrows went even higher when she looked to Gregor and the man looked almost impressed. After a brief moment of looking at each other, Varys decided to get back to the matter at hand.

“Did you bring the blade?” He asked. Gregor, who had it in his waistband, pulled it out and handed it to him. Varys unsheathed the long dagger, which made Catelyn’s hands ache. He admired it for a moment.

“Valyrian steel.” He said, sounding moderately impressed

“Do you know whose dagger this is?” Catelyn asked, wanting to be done with this. 

Varys pursed his thin lips and said, “I must admit, I do not.” 

“Well, well - this is a historic day.” Petyr said from behind them. Catelyn turned back to him and arched an eyebrow. “Something you don’t know, that I do. There’s only one dagger like this in all of the Seven Kingdoms.” Petyr seemingly paused for effect before stating “It’s mine.”

“Yours? Catelyn asked in genuine surprise.

“At least it was.” Petyr continued. “Until the tourney on Prince Joffrey’s name day. I backed Ser Jaime in the jousting, along with half the court. When Loras Tyrell unhorsed him, many of us became a trifle poorer. Ser Jaime lost a hundred golden dragons, the queen lost an emerald pendant, and I lost my knife. Her Grace got the emerald back, but the winner kept the rest.”

“Speak plainly Petyr!” Catelyn finally said. “Who won your dagger?”

Petyr smiled as he said it - “Tyrion Lannister. The Imp”

Catelyn’s eyes went wide. It made sense. The Lannisters and the Starks and Tully’s always had hatred for each other. Went back to the days the Andals first landed on the continent. And there was already suspicion around Jon Arynn’s death, but why Tyrion? From her experience, he was the most approachable of all the Lannisters. Sure he was a vulgar whoremonger, but a murderer? 

It seemed Gregor shared the same skepticism as he grunted, and shook his head. Petyr raised an eyebrow, and Varys looked at him with intrigue.

“Was there something you wanted to add, Ser Gregor?” Petyr asked, annoyance seeping into his voice.

“Not Tyrion.” Gregor said simply. Catelyn looked at him with surprise in her eyes.

“What do you mean?” She asked him plainly. He looked down at her briefly, then at Petyr, who looked uncomfortable under his gaze.

“It wasn’t Tyrion.” Gregor expounded. “He’s a wretched imp - not stupid. Who would arm an assassin with their own blade. Too rare - too recognizable.

“Yet here it is.” Petyr pointed out. “Right before us, or do we need to look at the wounds on Catelyn’s hands as well.”

“I must say, it would seem that Ser Gregor makes a rational point.” Varys chimed in. Petyr’s eyes angrily flashed at the eunuch.

“Well Ser Gregor, it is just a theory. One that at the moment is unchallenged.” Petyr said smoothly.

Catelyn turned fully to Gregor and placed her hand on his chest, a gesture very much noticed by Petyr and Varys. “Gregor, do you have a theory on what’s happening - who’s targeting my family?” 

Gregor was silent for a moment. He didn’t speak much, but when he did his words were purposeful. “Ned Stark goes south - joins the King’s side.. Last Hand, Joyn Arynn, dead. North and Eyrie left without their male leaders. Other men might see it as an opportunity. 

“Are you saying my family is being targeted in some kind of power grab?” Catelyn asked helplessly. “That my son was nearly killed for it.”

“Perhaps we need to examine Ser Gregor’s biases.” Petyr interjected. “He is after all a vassal of the Lannisters. Made a noble house because of them.”

“Just a theory.” Gregor said, almost mockingly.  “I’m the one who saved the boy - twice. No more biased than the weapon of an assassin being able to be traced back to you.”

Petyr narrowed his eyes, but did not risk saying anything that would anger the much larger man. Varys saw a moment to step in. 

“Whatever the case of these tragic and concerning events may be, Lady Stark must speak to her husband.”

“Of course.” Petyr agreed with a smile despite clearly not being happy  “We should probably be off to court as is. Cat,, I’ll bring Ned here when I can. It will likely be in the evening once the day’s proceedings are done. I wouldn’t recommend leaving the establishment. I know It might not be to the level you’re accustomed to, but we don’t know who our friends are.”

He purposely looked at Gregor as he said that.

“I’ll help you find who made an attempt on your son’s life, I swear it Cat.” He finished adamantly.

“Thank you Petyr.” She responded earnestly. She heard a low growl from Gregor.

Petyr only took a few minutes to get dressed. He bid Catelyn a farewell before he went with Varys to the castle, leaving her and Gregor in his whore house.

Catelyn didn’t know what to do with all this new information and misinformation. She was overwhelmed and didn’t know what to think. The Lannisters were one thing, but the notion of someone trying to take The North and the Eyrie-

She sat down on one of the many couches and looked at her hands for a moment, before looking at Gregor.

“Do you really think someone’s trying to take the North?” She asked.

Gregor shrugged his large shoulders. “Starks conquered many kings to be the one Kings of the North. Greyjoys rose up not 10 years ago. North was a land of Savage kings, who all fell in line to the Starks.”

Catelyn mulled over his words in her head. What he was saying…made sense. Sure they kept their vassals happy, but they were once kings. One house wanted to return to those days, or multiple - it could be a whole conspiracy.”

“I-I don’t know what to believe. What to think.” Catelyn admitted quietly. 

“Enough thinking.” Gregor said, taking a step forward. “Remove your dress.”

Catelyn’s head shot up and her eyes widened. “Now?”

“Yes, now.” Gregor stated simply. He lifted a brown eyebrow. 

“I…we’re exposed here. Anyone could-”

“It’s a whorehouse.” Gregor said, cutting her off. “People fuck.”

He had her there

“You going to make me ask again?” Gregor asked, voice in a low growl. Catelyn chewed on her lip, and she pressed her thighs together. Well, maybe she needed to clear her mind before Ned arrived.

“No Gregor.” She said, standing and removing her dress.

________________________________________________________________________

Gregor took their location seriously as he made it his goal to fuck her over every square inch of the Littlefinger’s whore house. She was sure the other tenants and whores could hear her screams and the brutal slapping of skin echo through the building. 

After 2 straight hours of fucking, Gregor allowed Catelyn a short respite to rehydrate herself. She stumbled into an open room, naked as the day she was born, covered in sweat, and on shaky legs. She found a pitcher of wine and was about to bring it back to the room when she heard giggling behind her. She turned and standing in a doorway where two whores: a young blonde curly hair and red lips, and a woman of the Summer Isles, black skin glistening and her hair short.

“I didn't know Baelish got a new worker.” Said the blonde.

“She must be special.” Chimed in the islander. “Littlefinger talked to her in private - with the big man.”

“He must be the one making her scream like that.” The blonde added.

Catelyn’s mouth gaped open. They thought she was a whore. She wanted to say something in defense of her honor - that she was a highborn lady, their betters. But honestly she couldn’t blame them for the mistake - she did look quite like a whore at that very moment. She didn’t much feel like a lady these days either. Most of her time and energy were spent on Gregor’s cock. Maybe the whore life suited her. She had been propositioned by several men who thought she was for sale, but one look from Gregor scared them away. It felt good in a way - knowing he was there laying his claim to her cunt.

 Catelyn shook her head, not knowing where that intrusive thought came from. She opened her mouth to say something, but not before Gregor stepped through the door behind her. He too was naked, massive rod bobbing between his legs. The two whores gasped when they saw it, looking a mixture of horrified and deeply intrigued.

“You’re taking too long.” He simply said. He brought his hand up, and grabbed a fistful of Catelyn’s red hair.

“B-but what about the wine?” She asked as Gregor began to pull.

“Fuck the wine.” He answered, before dragging her back into the room.

The next place he took her was at a window overlooking the entrance and the Street of Silk. She was bent over in half, on her tip-toes with her ass hiked up to be level with Gregor’s waist. He had a firm grip on her hips, thrusting forward in hard brutal thrusts. Catelyn had to brace herself on the window sill - she thought he might fuck her right out the window.

“Gregorr-oh GODS.” She moaned loudly, trying to push herself back to meet the rocking of his hips. Her tits swung under her, dripping the accumulated sweat from the hours of fucking. Despite the countless times they’ve had sex - she always felt like she was being split open in the best way imaginable, like she could die at any moment from a mind shattering orgasm that would finally make her heart give out.

SLAPSLAPSLAPSLAP

The mostly opaque curtains of the window kept anyone from seeing her really, but she thought about what they would think if they did. The peasants and commoners who scrounge up enough to have a night with their favorite woman - would they see her and be envious of the man currently behind her. Would they see the Lady of Winterfell as nothing more than a flea bottom whore.

No - If she was a whore, she would be an expensive one. One that would only service men like The Mountain - and there were no other men like The Mountain. 

A harsh slap to her ass brought her back from her thoughts to her reality of being fucked within an inch of her life again. She squeezed her eyes closed and gritted her teeth, feeling the familiar feeling of her peak drawing near.

Suddenly, she heard a loud band coming from downstairs, right outside the window. Catelyn’s eyes shot open, startled, and she leaned forward, peeking her head through the curtains and looking down to the street. 

It was Ned. And Littlefinger. Ned had Littlefinger pressed against the door of the brothel by his throat, obviously seething.

Catelyn tried to push herself back, but she had nowhere to go with Gregor’s rod lodged in her, and he wasn’t budging, maintaining a firm grip on her hips. She turned her head and looked over her shoulder desperately.

“My Husband is downstairs.” She whispered pleadingly. All she got in return was a stony face as she always did.

“Yes.” Gregor spoke. “And soon he’ll be upstairs.”

Gregor gave an extra hard thrust of his hips, causing Catelyn to yell out, and her head to peek through the window. Ned looked up, seeing her there. She had enough sense to wrap the curtains around her neck, blocking Ned’s view of inside.

“Catelyn?” Her husband said in surprise.

“N-Ned.” Catelyn returned, trying to maintain a semblance of composure as Gregor continued to drill into her from behind. 

“See.” Littlefinger stated, rubbing his throat where Ned had grabbed him. “She’s inside, just as I said.

This was wrong, her husband was right there, but a few dozen feet below her, and here she was, getting fucked like a not particurarly expensive whore. Gregor continued to grind his hips in her, churning her cunt at an agonizingly slow pace. She brought her head back inside the window and looked over shoulder back at Gregor.

“Please…” She begged, not exactly sure what she was begging for: begging to be spared the shame of being seen being fucked in such a fashion, begging to come again. Whichever it was, it seemed Gregor seemed to spare her, as he grabbed her tightly by her hips and gave two hard, full thrusts of his massive length, enough to send Catelyn over the edge. She shuddered as she came, squirting her juices down between her now jelly-like legs. Gregor pulled himself free of her cunt, allowing her to fall to her knees, still spasming. 

“We’ll finish this up later.” He said plainly. “Better hurry. Husband coming upstairs. Wouldn’t want to create a scenario where I have to kill him.”

A semblance of sense came back to Catelyn through her orgasmic haze, and she nodded. She scrambled to her feet, and quickly began searching for her dress. The brothel was 3 stories, and generally very active, so that would slow Ned down, but she only had moments before he’d be in front of her. She found her dress, and quickly pulled it over her head. She grabbed a towel to wipe away most of the sweat on her face and neck, and downed some wine to cover the smell of cock and cum from her breath. She finished her cleanup right as Ned entered the room, followed by Littlefinger. Petyr looked at her suspiciously, noting the state of her hair and flushed face, but Ned didn’t seem interested in any of that.

“Ned, I-” 

“What are you doing here?” Ned asked, cutting her off. 

“No one would come looking for me he-”

“I don’t mean the BROTHEL.” Ned said, voice evident that he wasn’t too keen about that fact. “What are you doing in King’s Landing? It’s not safe for you here.”

“Don’t worry Lord Stark.” Said Gregor, walking into the main area. He had slipped on his large shirt and breeches, making Ned none the wiser of what he had been doing just moments prior. “No harm shall come to the lady while I am here.”

Ned turned to Clegane and frowned. “Ser Gregor, you escorted my wife to the capital?”

“By my charge Ned.” Catelyn interrupted. She stepped closer to her husband “We must talk, talk of serious dangers against our family. 

Ned looked at his wife for a moment, before looking to Gregor and back at Baelish.

“Gentleman, may we have the room.” 

Petyr smiled slyly as he always did, and bowed his head. “Of course Lord Stark. I’m sure you and your wife have much to talk about.”

Gregor and Baelish left the room leaving the Starks alone.

______________________________________________________________________

Petyr and the Mountain walked down to the first floor, to Petyr’s library he kept down there. Gregror didn’t need to follow the man, he just took slight pleasure in making the man uncomfortable.

“What’s your game here Clegane?” Petyr suddenly said, looking up at him.

“Game?” Gregor repeated flatly, arching a large eyebrow. 

“Your game with the Lady Stark.” Petyr stated. “You two seem close in a short period of time. She’s a Stark and a Tully. She should despise you, even without your…reputation.”

“I saved her son. Twice.” Gregor said.

“Aye, that you did.” Petyr returned, perhaps a hint of annoyance in his voice. “Tell me, do you believe your wild theory about the Northern Lords - or are you just working in the interest of your Lions?”

“No more wild than accusing Tyrion.” Gregor claimed. “The imp is many things. Murderer isn’t one of them. Doesn’t have the stomach for it like he does wine and whores.” 

“Yes, I suppose you’d be an expert in that field.” Petyr commented smartly. Gregor didn’t respond, but took a half step toward the Master of Coin. The smaller man’s eyes widened and he took a step back, as one might do if a bear was looming down on them. “Ser Gregor, I meant no-”

“I don’t like you Bealish.” Gregor said plainly. “You think you’re more clever than you are.”

Petyr laughed nervously, and showed his hands. “Ser Clegane - we really aren’t very different. We’re both servants of the realm, and very good at our jobs.”

“And what is your job exactly?”

“I’m the Master of Coin.”

“Right. Master of Coin.”

Gregor let his words hang in the air, and Petyr sweating. He then went to go find an unlucky red headed whore to keep him occupied 

____________________________________________________________________________

“What do you mean you’ll do NOTHING?”

Catelyn couldn’t believe her ears. 

Ned sighed wearily and ran his hand through his hair. “I did not say I would do nothing. But I cannot act on insufficient evidence.”

“We have-”

“A dagger which can easily be said was stolen, and an unfounded theory accusing some of my lost loyal vassals.”

Catelyn wanted to do nothing more but to slap her husband across the face. After everything she just told her, the assassination attempt, the valeyrian dagger, Ned refused to act. She shook her head and glared at him.

“Everyday we do nothing, our family, our children are in danger.” Catelyn tried. “The king is your friend is he not?”

“And the Queen is a Lannister.” Ned countered.

“He doesn’t even LIKE her.”

“That isn’t the point. What would you have me do, Cat? I can not make a move against the Lannisters unless I can back it up. Say I make an official accusation and say Rob believes me and takes my side - the crown is millions in debt to Tywin Lannister. He could choke the city of resources, the whole Kingdom.

“I don’t CARE about the Kingdom.” Catelyn seethed. “I care about our family, our children, Ned.”

“And they are safest if I don’t make any grand moves.” Ned stated. “If there is a conspiracy against us, we cannot draw any attention to ourselves.”

“Ned, there isn’t time-”

“Rushing into something he didn’t fully understand is what got my brother killed.” Ned said sadly.

‘ Your brother was a MAN. A man who acted’ Catelyn wanted to say, but all she could do was glare at him with hate. He scrubbed a hand over his face.

“Until we know who our enemies are, we must tread lightly.” He said, earning a derisive scoff from his wife. “You are to do nothing. I know you Cat, this is for your own safety, you have to understand.”

Catelyn looked at the ground, fisting her dress in her hands. “At least…let me see the girls.”

“You know I can’t.” Ned said, shaking his head. “It’s too dangerous. I’m sorry.”

Well, that was that then. They stood across for a moment, neither of them speaking. Ned moved forward in an attempt to embrace his wife, but she turned away from him. His face scrunched, hurt, but he didn’t press it. Instead, he moved to the door and opened it. 

“You should get back to Winterfell as soon as you can. Preferably today, tomorrow at the latest. I will speak with Littlefinger and we’ll investigate these matters.”

He started to walk out of the room when Catelyn spoke.

“This is three times you’ve abandoned me now.” She said, voice eerily flat. He looked back at her, hurt in his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” Was all he could say, before leaving the room, and leaving her there, alone.

____________________________________________________________________________

Little Finger gave Catelyn the private back room to sleep in for the night. It was usually reserved for King Robert, but he was rotated between Littlefinger’s brothel and Chataya's brothel, so it was open. There were strict orders for none of the whores or patrons to go back there with threat of being thrown out on the street. 

Catelyn shut herself in the room, her body full of dread. 

She had come to him, traveled for nearly a month to protect their family, and he had all but assured her that he’d do nothing. None of this would be happening if he had never left, if he hadn’t abandoned her once more. Catelyn wanted to cry, but she was beyond tears - just a dull anguish, and hatred of the man she once thought she could learn to love after his brother.

She had been wrong.

The door of the room creaked open. Catelyn looked up to see Gregor enter the room. 

“Gregor.” She said, not sure what she was calling to him for. She knew he couldn’t alleviate the heaviness of her heart or the worry she had for her family-

But he could give her the next best thing.

She stood from the bed she was sitting on, and walked toward him and near leapt into his arms. He caught her, one large hand holding her up below the curve of her ass. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, hard and full. His mouth opened. It was wet, sloppy, his tongue pushing into her mouth and filling it. It reminded her of how Brandon used to kiss her, so fierce and excited. He squeezed her bottom with his large hand, eliciting a moan from her. She pulled back and looked at him.

“Get on the bed.” She panted. “Get on the bed and I’ll do all the work.” 

Gregro just grunted, placing Catelyn back on the ground before moving toward the bed. He stripped off his shirt and pants before laying on his back in his nude glory, intimidating cock already growing.

Catelyn couldn’t get her dress off fast enough, sliding down her body and almost tripping over it to get on the bed. She climbed on the bed and straddled the man’s wide frame facing away from him. His cock rested between her thighs pressing against her cunt and stomach. Gregor reached forward and gave her ass a hard slap, sending the flesh jiggling. She slowly stood, legs on either side of his body. She shifted so that his proudly standing cock was aligned with her slit, before beginning to squat down on his length. She didn’t care about the pain of him stretching her, she just wanted to be filled. 

She slammed herself down on his cock, whole body shuddering as he filled her, twisted her insides to accommodate his inhuman size.

“Yesssss.” Catelyn hissed in pleasure, These last few months Gregor had brought her more happiness, more pleasure than her husband had in years. Perhaps it was a shallow, sensuous happiness, but it was happiness all the same. She leaned her body forward, the best she could with his cock lodged in her. She rested her small hands on his hard thighs, and with her feet flat on the mattress of the bed, pushed herself up his length several inches, before slamming herself back down.

SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP

She bounced herself on his cock, moaning lewdly like a whore in a way that harmonized with the other moans that sounded through the establishment. She found herself very much at home as she rode him wildly, slamming herself as hard as she could on his cock. Gregor simply watched as she worked, hands resting behind his head as he laid there on some very comfortable pillows.

He used her, and she used him - he was her stress relief after a day of anxiety and disappointment. As his cock slid in and out of her, bulged in her stomach and ruined her cunt, Catelyn’s subconscious thought of him as a savior, near divinity - a man who seemed to give her everything she needed, even the dark desires she didn’t even know were there.

“Gregor, Gregor, yes - YES!”

She moaned loud enough that anyone who was passing the room could definitely hear her clearly, but she didn’t care. She just wanted to come, riding his cock like her very life depended on it.

Close, so close. Her eyes were squeezed shut, focusing on the sensation and pleasure, riding higher and higher.

“Well - this is not how I expected to see you.”

And then she came crashing down. Her eyes shot open - she hadn’t even heard the door opening. Standing in the dark doorway was Petyr Baelish with a very strange look on her face. He had seen them, he had seen everything.

“Petyr!” Catelyn gasped, not knowing what else to say. She covered her breasts  and she stood, Gregor’s cock sliding free from her cunt with a bit of effort. She tried to move forward, but her legs went to jelly under her, causing her to fall face first on the bed. She pushed herself up on her hands, looking up at Petyr. Gregor pulled his lug up, and swung them around so he was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at their unwanted guest with a flat, annoyed expression on his face. Catelyn grabbed the covers from the bed, and pulled them over herself.

“Well, I feel like we’re well past the point of modesty.” Littlefinger said, stepping fully in the room and closing the door behind him.

“Petyr, I-” Catelyn began, without a real plan of what she was going to say. There was no excuse, no mistake in what he had seen. 

“You know, I was curious about the relationship between you two.” Petyr spoke. “How close you seemed to be, like one might be with their sworn shield. I guess it all makes sense now.”

“Petyr, listen to me-”

“But, Gregor Clegane? Of all people. Ned never stood a chance, now did he.” The Master of Coin laughed. 

Catelyn squeezed her eyes closed and angled her head down to the ground. This couldn’t be happening. She looked to Gregor for any kind of guidance, but the man just maintained his stoic face. 

“Oh Cat.” Petyr spoke, softening his voice. He crossed the room halfway, standing before her. “I’m not judging you, really. But you see, you’ve placed me in a…compromising position.”

‘YOU’RE in a compromising position?’ She thought, but didn’t voice it, allowing Petyr to continue.

“What I’ve seen here, well I’ll certainly never be able to forget it. Eddard is my fellow small councilman. We meet near everyday. I fear I might not be able to keep something like this from him. I’d owe it to him as a fellow member of the Small Council…But of course, you’re such an old friend. Family really. Of course certain things can be arranged, forgotten, for friends and family. 

Catelyn looked him in the eye, knowing the glint that laid behind his off green eyes. He had always been so good at making favorable situations for himself by knowing things that he shouldn’t. And right now she supposed he thought himself to have landed a rather large catch. Petyr gilded closer, kneeling down in front of Catelyn. He placed a hand on Catelyn’s thigh that peeked through the covers.

And It’s been so long since we’ve spent any real time together.” Petyr said softly, hand slightly rubbing her leg. It trailed upward, moving to dangerous territory. 

Claimed territory.

Gregor moved faster than a man his size should be able to. Petyr’s wrist was in Gregor’s large hand before he realized what happened. The large, and still very nude man, stood, pulling Petyr’s wrist up to his chest, causing the much smaller man to go to his tip toes. Littlefinger’s eyes flashed with panic, and he fumbled for the dagger in his waist. When he pulled it free, Gregor batted it away, knocking it from his hand like a child.

“Unhand me!” Petyr demanded, not sounding very threatening at all. Gregor made no move to release him, squeezing hard on his wrist causing the man to squeal. Petyr looked in panic at Cat. “Tell him to release me. I know…I know-”

“Petyr.” Catelyn spoke, voice icy. “You’ve put me in a compromising position.”

She saw fear flash in Petyr’s eyes, and couldn’t find it in herself to find very much sympathy. He always was sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. Always overstepping.

“Wait! Wait, I’m a member of the small council - they’ll know I’m missing. The guards earlier will attest-”

“The ones you didn’t give my name?” Catelyn countered. 

“My workers, they’ll-”

“Find one of the many other fine establishments for work.”

It was dawning on Petyr just how untenable of a position he put himself in. Threats weren’t working. Now came begging.

“Please Cat - I’ll forget I saw anything. As far as anyone knows, you’re not even here.”

Catelyn didn’t respond, instead looking at Gregor, who simply glanced back at her. Naturally neither of them very much believed Petyr. Gregor began to lift his free hand to Littlefinger’s head.”

“No, no!” He screamed.

“Wait.” Catelyn suddenly said.

She looked at Petyr in this moment, and saw the small boy she grew up with in the Riverlands. Scared, shaking, eyes wide - just like the day he dueled Brandon Stark for her hand in marriage. Despite who he was, she still had history with him, good and bad. On the day of that duel so many years ago, she had begged Brandon to spare him. She supposed she had another act of mercy within her.

“Don’t kill him.” She said carefully. Gregor looked at her, arching an eyebrow and Petyr nearly melted with relief. However Gregor understood the veiled meaning in her request.

“Right or Left.” Gregor asked, looking down at Baelish,

“What?” The smaller man asked in confusion.

Gregor squeezed hard on Petyr’s captured wrist, before repeating more sternly, “Right or left?”

“Ah! For the sake of the Seven! Left!”

Without as much as a hint of warning, Gregor swept Petyr’s legs from under him with a large foot. Petyr fell to the ground on his back, and before he could try and get back up, Gregor knelt down and grabbed Petyr by his left ankle and knee.

“What are you doing?” Petyr asked in a panic.

“Left.” Gregor simply repeated. Then suddenly Gregor crossed his arms across his chest, pushing Baelish’s knee and ankle in opposite directions. There was a loud pop as Petyr’s kneecap came displaced, and his leg bent at a grotesque unnatural angle. Petyr let out a scream in pain, only to have Gregor’s large hand cover his mouth a moment later. “Keep up that caterwauling, and her word won’t save you, little man”

Petyr forced himself to calm down despite the unimaginable pain. Catelyn stood from the bed, draping the covers over her body and looked down at the man she ‘once’ called a little brother. He looked like he did on that day, right after Brandon Stark nearly cut out his heart. His eyes brimming near tears, looking at her pathetically for help.

“Petyr, you were never as smart as you thought you were.” Catelyn said, almost sadly. “You saw me and Gregor, and now your life depends on you keeping our secret. Ned is an honorable man, even if that’s all he is. Even if you told him of us, he wouldn’t send assassins to kill Gregor in his sleep. He’d attempt to do the honorable thing and challenge him to a duel. That would mean he’d die. And after, that would mean YOU die.”

“Nothing by the new gods or old would keep me from getting to you, little man.” Gregor threatened. Petyr believed him.

Catelyn continued to look down at Petyr, eyes full of disdain.

“I want to say the capital has changed you, but that would be a lie. You were always like this.” She stated. Petyr cast his eyes downward, looking away from her.

“We should go.” Catelyn said, looking at Gregor.

“No.” Gregor responded.

“No?”

“No.” He repeated. I told you earlier we’d finish up what we started earlier. Not leaving until we do. Get the fuck on the bed.”

Catelyn’s eyes went wide, and she felt her cunt drip. Gods, he was more of a man than anyone in the whole Seven Kingdoms. She looked to Petyr, who looked in horror at the two of them. She supposed a broken leg was a light sentence.  She looked back at The Mountain and said. “Yes, of course Gregor.”

She threw off the covers, exposing herself once more. She got on the bed on all fours, making sure she faced Petyr clearly. Gregor climbed on the bed, and mounted her from behind.

Petyr could do nothing beside look on in abject terror and shame, and The Mountain did things to Catelyn that he never, ever would.

Chapter Text

There weren’t many knights as skilled as Loras Tyrell in all of Westeros. He wouldn’t consider himself THE best, but of the living men, he figured he could fell the vast majority of them. He didn’t consider it cockiness, it was simply the truth - a reality. He would not be humble about his skills - ones that he had been blessed with by the Seven.

But still - even he had to practice to keep his skills sharp. And with the…stakes that came with the Tourney of the Hand, well he didn’t want to let some other have the favor of the Seven.

He awoke early in the morning, just as the sun was being born over the horizon. He figured he'd make it to The tourney grounds, find an open space to practice his joust. Sure he was already the reigning champion, knocking Ser Jaimie Lannister on his arse a year prior, but naturally practice made perfection. He grabbed his equipment, leaving the apartments generously provided to him by the royal family in the Red Keep. As he left his room, he heard a voice call behind him.

“Early morning.”

Loras turned his head slightly to see Renly Baratheon, the Master of Laws, the brother of the king, and a man in which he had a…complicated relationship with.

“I’m a knight.” Ser Loras said with a smile, “My mornings are typically early. You however…how long have you been out here?” 

“Not long.” Renly answered. “Thought I’d take a walk, ended up here.”

Loras knew he was lying, and Renly likely knew Loras knew he was lying. He was too well dressed for an early morning walk, wearing a fine green tunic and breeches tucked into his leather boots. His long hair had also looked as if it had been washed recently. The man was obviously peacocking, a trait Loras could appreciate.

“Besides, It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. Both in the same castle yet we seem to miss each other.” Renly continued, stepping closer and placing himself in front of Loras. Renly was quite a bit taller than Loras, always looking downwards at him through his relaxed eyes. 

“Duties.” Loras explained away, leaning back against the stone wall, which Renly took as an opportunity to lean in, a hand beside Loras head.

Loras wasn’t being entirely truthful. While yes, his training for this tourney did occupy much of his time, truth was Loras had been avoiding Renly.

From even a young age Loras knew he looked at boys differently than his peers. While other boys saw them as friends and brothers, Loras always looked at them with more on his mind. His attraction to the same-sex was somewhat of an open secret within his family as he grew into his maturity. He appreciated them for their non-judgement of him, even if they approached it in a “do not tell us, and we will not ask” manner. Still, Loras had not acted on his attraction while he was in his home at Highgarden. It wasn’t until he left.

Until he arrived at Storm's End to become a squire. Until he met Renly.

They bonded immediately, a good squire always did bond with their knight or lord, so in this case Loras might’ve been the best squire. Loras was enamored by how solid the older boy had looked, Baratheon genes did him well, and Loras found his height dizzying. Renly found the pretty, slight, boy in front of him with big eyes and curly hair to be magnetic.

It only took them a fortnight to fall into bed with each other. 

The fire of their affair couldn’t be understated - they were both each other’s first time with a man, their first time with anyone for that matter. It was by the grace of the Seven that they were put together, for them to find each other.

But that’s all it was to Loras - an affair. Loras was young, came from a loving family. A family of people who understood him. Renly…was not. The Baratheons weren’t known for their love of, or their feelings. Loras had no doubt that he showed the most outward affection that Renly had ever received up until that point in his life. So while Loras saw their relationship as little more than a fling, Renly thought himself having made a husband - silly as the idea was.

There was also the fact that Loras’ proclivities didn’t stop at just men. His grandmother, always loving, told him that he had so much love in him that of course it couldn’t be contained to one man, woman, or anything in between. His father always told him that he would’ve been a Dornishman in a former life. His sister always told him he’d be the most famous whore in the known world if he wasn’t highborn, a sentiment he affectionately returned to her.. All these descriptions painted the same picture. Loras slept with many men and women in his young life, especially after he became a knight. He had no end of ladies and suitors he could bring between his sheets - and why shouldn’t he? He was young, handsome and talented; rare to have all three.

As for Renly - Loras wouldn’t have been surprised if he was the only person he had ever laid with. 

Back in the moment, Renly leaned closer, coyness all but gone. “Why don’t you train a little later? We can go back into your room and-”

“My squire is waiting.” Loras interrupted, placing a hand on Renly’s chest.

“He’s a squire. It’s their job to wait on their lord” Renly countered, not at all perturbed. 

“And your nephew, the PRINCE will be waiting.” Loras finished.

Renly stiffened at that. Pulling back to look down at Loras, eyes less relaxed than before. His mouth went to a hard line.

“Yes, my nephew.” He said in a way that would be indicative of someone talking about their enemy. “You have always been friendly with him.”

The barely contained disdain in Renly’s voice almost made Loras sigh. 

Then there was the jealousy. Another Baratheon trait. In times they were together, Renly glared down any man or woman who dared look at Loras. It was almost as if he was trying to give them away with the amount of hate he’d throw the way of a poor soul whose eyes laid upon Loras for too long.

There was an instance, at Joffrey’s last name day, where Loras wanted to try something with Renly.

Inviting someone else to their bedroom.

A woman.

Renly turned the bedroom upside down in rage, a fit that was reminiscent of King Robert: cursing, throwing things, rage that Loras didn’t even know the man had. 

Of course Renly was near tears with apologies a few hours later, but for Loras, well it seemed that their difference in mentality was never clearer.

Loras pushed himself off the wall, growing bored of Renly’s body trapping him. “Yes, we’re friends.”

“That boy doesn’t have friends.” Renly said bitterly. 

“Yet here I stand.” Loras countered with a shrug. He didn’t want to get into it with Renly again. He had a tourney to think of. He began to walk away, when Renly grabbed his wrist.

“Will I…see you after?” Renly asked hopefully.

Loras just pulled his arm free.

“I have to go train.” He said plainly, before walking away.

Loras didn’t LIKE treating Renly like this. But the man was too dependent on him, too attached. He was in the capitol, there were plenty of pretty young boys he could bring to his chambers. 

Loras had better things to think about, The tourney, his inevitable victory speech, and Joffrey and Arya - two people who have occupied his mind like never before.

___________________________________________________________________________

Loras’ squire had dutifully prepared his horse and equipment, as well as set up his dummy target. There were many components to a joust, speed. The constitution of your horse, but Loras found accuracy was by far the most important aspect. The tip of the lance was only an inch and a quarter thick - it was imperative to hit your target in the correct spot to make the best use of the runs. 

Luckily for Loras, he had perfect vision and a steady hand. He and his squire were set by the tourney grounds, the large green area between the King’s and Lion’s gates of the city wall. Plenty of space for him and his mare to do some practice runs with lances. His squire set up a dummy at the height in which the opponent's shield would be. Loras instructed him to get a target that was in fact smaller than the standard joust shield, so he could be even more precise. Now naturally Loras wouldn’t be up against a stationary target, but it was still important to hone his lance control and coordination.

He did several run throughs, hitting the target precisely each time - on his 4th run, he saw Joffrey and Arya walking towards him, accompanied by two Red Cloaks. Loras lifted the visor to his helmet, and smiled. 

Now that he had an audience - it was time to show off. 

He did several more passes, increasing his speed each time as he went.  He angled his lance perfectly so that it shattered in spectacular fashion. He looked over after each run to see Joffrey and Arya watching him with interest. 

Once he ran through his lances, he found it was well time he addressed his admiring crowd. He trotted his mare over to where they were standing, riding as a gallant knight would. 

“Prince Joffrey, Lady Arya.” He greeted, as if he had only just now seen them. He removed his helmet and looked down at them from his horse.

“Ser Loras.” Joffrey greeted. Inclining his head. Arya did a half hearted courtesy, which made Loras chuckle a bit. Arya was wearing a tight southern style dress, forming to her body elegantly, especially at her lovely hips and backside. It was maroon with gold accents - Lannister colors. Loras thought she looked lovely in them. Joffrey himself was dressed in regal tunic with the Baratheon colors and sigil on the forefront. Loras would have liked to openly ogle them, if it weren't for the two guardsmen with them. He figured he’d keep a semblance of decorum. 

“You're quite skilled with that lance.” Joffrey complimented. 

“I would hope so, or I wouldn’t have unhorsed your uncle, Ser Jaime last year.” Loras joked. Joffrey laughed outright at that, and one of the Red Cloaks behind him snorted, trying to hide his laughter. He was quickly elbowed by the other.

“Armor looks even better now that you’re in it.” Arya said, a sly kind of smile on her face. Ah yes, his armor - it’s what introduced them, wasn’t it.

“They don’t have armors as fine as his in the north, do they?” Joffrey asked, already knowing the answer.

“Nothing close.” Arya answered honestly.

“Yes…” Joffrey says, eying Loras’ armor, almost with envy. “Mother forbids me from getting armor, and father says I must “earn” it.” The last words leave Joffrey’s mouth with disdain. Loras knew the king was a sore topic for him.

“Well, perhaps with part of my winnings, I can get you a fine suit smithed.” Loras suggested with a smile. “Surely they wouldn’t deny you a gift from the Tyrells.”

Joffrey perked up at the prospect, eyes almost twinkling. Loras thought that that’s what he must have looked like when Renly first offered him gifts. He was sure the other man didn’t see his obvious flirting as much more than generosity, but Arya looked at Loras with a small smirk. Joffrey looked at Arya, then back at Loras, then smiled himself.

“Confident, are we?” Joffrey said. “Though I suppose you certainly do have the ample motivation to come out the victor.

As he spoke Joffrey let his hand slip behind Arya, sliding down her lower back to her bubbly bottom, finger sinking into the flesh over her thin dress. Arya gasped a bit, and bit her lip, pressing herself back into Joffrey’s hand as he groped her.

Loras’ immediate thought was how much he wanted to join Joffrey’s hand on her glorious ass. He next thought went to the two Red Cloaks behind the pair. He eyed them, mouth in a thin line, as they stood in form, wondering how they were taking the scandalous sight. Joffrey seemed to pick up on his apprehension, and looked over his shoulder at his guardsman, before back at Loras.

“Don’t mind them.” Joffrey offered. “Vorenus and Pullo. They’re well loyal Lannister men. They’ve served the Lannister half of my family since - ” Joffrey thought for a moment, realizing he didn’t actually know how long their service extended. “-As long as I can remember now that I think about it. “Vorenus, Pullo.”

The two guards stepped forward a step. “Your Grace.” They said in unison. Pullo was the taller of the two, stocky and solid, dark stubble on his square jaw, Vorenus was shorter and leaner, about the same build as Loras himself. His blonde hair peaked out under his helm, and his narrow nose was distinct. Loras thought he could’ve been a distant Lannister cousin.

“How long have you two served the Lannisters?” Joffrey asked, turning slightly to look at them.

“21 years.” Vorenus answered, bowing his head slightly. “Joined in service on my 17th name day.”

“22 years.” Pullo answered. 

“What?” Vorenus asked, glancing at Pullo, eyebrows raised.

“What?” Pullo asked in confusion, turning his head to his comrade.

“You haven’t been with the Lannisters for 22 years.” Vorenus stated in exasperation.

“Yes I have. I’m the one who convinced you to join.” Pullo said. He looked back at Joffrey. “He was going to give himself to the Church of the Seven. Become a Sept, your grace.”

“No, I’m the one who convinced you to join.” Vorenus retorted. “You were going to be a fishmonger if it weren’t for me.”

“Your memory is going old man-”

“I’m 2 moons older than you.”

“Positively ancient.”

*Ahem.*

Joffrey cleared his throat, and the two men immediately snapped back into their stance and closed their mouths. Loras was highly amused by their banter.

“Tell me, are either of you participating in the tourney?” Loras asked the two guardsmen. Typically in The Reach tournaments were knights only affairs, but he knew the rest of Westeros was more libertine with their rules.

“Yes Ser.” Pullo spoke up. “I plan to participate in the melee.”

Vorenus snorted at that. 

“Don’t act as if you aren’t going to bet on me.” Pullo said, smiling a bit at his comrade.

“If I wanted to waste money, I could give it to a beggar.” Vorenus commented, no real bite in his words.

The sound of the city bell rang, indicating the change of the hour.

“It seems that we must be off.” Joffrey said. “Mother will have a fit if I’m not at first meal. Come you two.” 

“Until the tourney.” Arya bid, once again giving a simple courtesy. 

“Until then lady Arya.” Loras purred. “Prince Joffrey.”

The two guards led Joffrey and Arya back towards the city gates, Loras enjoying the sight of Arya’s backside under the tight dress as they walked away. 

After they got a few yards away however, they stopped, and Arya looked over her shoulder, a mischievous look on her face. Loras was a bit confused, until he saw Arya’s hands go to her waist, the fabric of her dress. Vorenus and Pullo step in front of her, blocking her from the view of anyone in front of them. Slowly, she began to draw the skirt of her dress up, exposing her fit calves and her creamy thighs. Loras’ breath hitched as her dress ascended up her body until it got to the bottom of her ass. She paused a bit for dramatic effect, before yanking her dress upwards. Her thick ass popped free, cheeks jiggling slightly as it did. She had forgone small clothes, and her slit was on display, glistening. 

Loras nearly fell off his horse.

Arya continued to surprise him - which only fueled his desire.

Joffrey looked at Loras, smiling a bit smugly. He then looked to his two Red Cloaks and nodded his head.

Vorenus seemed a bit hesitant to move, but it seemed Pullo didn’t share the sentiment. The guardsman stepped forward, handing Vorenus his polearm and removing one of his gauntlets. He then reached around Arya, and delivered a hard smack to her right ass cheek. Arya gasped, and she went to her toes before giggling a bit. She continued to look back at Loras as Pullo’s fingers sank into her ass flesh, pulling at her cheek and exposing her muscled ring to Loras.

‘Quite the loyal guard.’ Loras thought. Pullo looked at him knowingly with a smirk. 

“Erm, your grace, we really should get you back for your meal.” Vorenus said, seemingly being the only one maintaining a level of decorum. 

“Very well.” Joffrey said, but not before reaching behind Arya and spanking her left ass cheek himself. Pullo let Arya go, stepping back into formation. Arya let her dress fall back down to the ground, and gave Loras one more glance, before they continued to the gate.

Loras thought he’d practice a bit more - not wanting to at all risk losing out on his prize.

____________________________________________________________________________

Arya awoke early in the morning,

She was buzzing with excitement - The Hand’s Tourney.

Her father didn’t particularly like Tourney’s, maybe he was just mild mannered, maybe because one led directly to the war he fought in. Whatever the case was, Arya wasn’t exposed to many tournaments - perhaps some friendly competition between the household guards and some local lords, but that didn’t really count. This tournament was grand - knights and warriors from all over the kingdom coming to take part. 

Arya wondered if she'd get to see someone get decapitated. 

The prospects bounced in her head as she got ready. She slipped into one of the many dresses that the Queen had gifted her, another maroon piece with gold accents - form fitting - southern style with a deep collar. She figured she needed to give Loras the proper motivation to do well. She hoped her little treat earlier sparked the fire in him for victory.

Even if it didn’t she still got to flash him, which she saw as a victory in itself. 

Arya slipped on her shoes and headed to the door, but not before grabbing Needle on her way out. With debauched adventures in the capital, she hadn’t got to practice with it as much as she would have liked, but she figured that the day of the tourney was as good of a day as any to bring it out. Everyone else was going to be armed at the tourney - why shouldn't she. She wrapped it in some cloth to make it less conspicuous and bounded out the door and down the stairs of the tower, like a child at a spring festival. 

In her excitement however, she wasn’t quite paying attention - and ran headlong into Sansa, who was coming down from her own room. 

They crashed into each other, Arya being sent to the ground on her bottom, and Sansa stumbling on her feet.

“Oof! Watch where you’re going Arya!” Sansa barks after she regains her balance. “Coming down the stairs like some wild horse. You could have ruined my dress”

Arya pushed herself to her feet and didn’t respond, simply scowling at her older sister. 

“What are you even wearing?” Sansa continued, eyeing Arya up and down with a slight sneer.

“It’s a dress the queen gifted me.” Arya answered.

“Well, you look RIDICULOUS.” Sansa said meanly. Sansa never missed a chance to put down Arya’s appearance. “You should wear something to hide those wide hips of yours, as impossible a task that might be. And - what’s that?

Sansa looked down to the ground, where Needle still laid by Arya’s feet, metal shining through as it’s cover was slightly skewed.

“Nothing.” Arya said firmly, quickly snatching up her weapon. But Sansa didn’t very much buy that.

“Is that your little sword?” Sansa asked, mix between scandalized and annoyed.  

“It’s name is Needle.” Arya corrected.

“Are you mad? You can’t bring a sword to the tourney!”

“Everyone else will have one.”

“Don’t be stupid!” Sansa shouted, stepping forward to get in her sister’s face. “I won’t let you ruin today. I’m telling father!” 

“He’ll be too busy with the tourney to listen to your whining.” Arya countered. Sansa’s mouth opened and closed a few times, evidently not having an immediate response to that very good point.

“Then I’ll tell Septa Mordane!” Sansa said, looking satisfied with her secondary plan. But Arya wasn’t phased. Stepping forward, Arya met Sansa’s gaze.

“If you do that, I’ll tell Mordane that I smell wine on your breath”

At that, Sansa gaped like a fish, eyes going wide, and cheeks burning red. Her mouth hanging open did nothing to hide the smell of spiced wine that was on her breath. 

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sansa tried lamely.

Arya just arched an eyebrow at her. Sansa was not very good at lying. Arya wasn’t blind - she had noticed during their breakfasts together that Sansa would sneak a goblet or two of wine when the Septa wasn’t looking. She also wasn’t ignorant to the fact that some days Arya returned very late to her rooms, if at all. She didn’t know what her sister was getting up to, and she didn’t care. The South was an interesting place, and Arya had her own little interests to worry about. Sansa scowled, face red and angry.

“Fine.” Sansa ground out. “Keep your little sword. Poke your eye out for all I care! Just don’t EMBARRASS me in front of Prince Joffrey, or any of the other brave knights today!”

Arya could only smirk at that. If only she knew-

“Ah girls, I was just coming to gather you.” 

The girls snapped around, Arya quickly hiding Needle behind her back. It was Septa Mordane.

“Your father is of course busy with the Tournament, and asked me to come fetch you two and bring you to the grounds.”

This is exactly what Arya wanted to avoid. She had hoped to get to the greens before anyone had noticed so she could be left to her own devices. Sansa had to go and ruin that.

The Septa looked at them, a bit suspiciously. “You two haven’t been fighting this early morning, have you?”

“No Septa.” They said in unison. 

“Good. Then let’s be off.”

____________________________________________________________________________

Tourney’s naturally were lively events. Knights and lords traveled from all over, the merchants and inns made more money than they did all year, and the commoners were given a spectacle in their otherwise dreary lives. 

Tourneys rules and events did differ from place to place, but the general structure was maintained. There were three events: An Archery contest, the Melee, and most importantly, the joust. 

The Archery contest winner would be awarded 10,000 gold dragons, the winner of the melee would be awarded 20,000 gold dragons. Another 20,000 to the runner-up of the joust, while the winner would receive a whopping 40,000 gold dragon prize.

Despite the tourney being in his honor, Ned was near pulling his hair out at such high prizes. The King told him it was good for morale. Ned told him it was bad for their debt.

Arya, Sansa and Septa Mordane arrived at the Court bleachers, a double decker set of covered where the small council members, nobles of note, and whomever had the king’s favor could watch the events. Elsewhere 100s of pavilions had been erected, where thousands of common folk packed in to watch the events. Boorish of a man he was, you couldn’t say that King Robert didn’t know how to throw a tourney - the Baratheon banners flew everywhere, golden stags shining everywhere. He spared no expenses on making sure the stadium for the games was lavish and grand. Seems Robert wanted his own Harenhall packed into one day, hopefully with a more fortunate outcome for him.

The King’s awning was across from the Court’s, elevated above the ground and grand. Robert sat lounging in his chair, while Tommen and Joffrey sat beside him. Neither the Queen nor Myrcella were there. Seemed Cersei thought Tourneys weren’t a place for a girl Myrcella’s age. She would’ve kept Tommen with her as well if Robert hadn’t insisted that watching the Tourney would “Make a man out of him.”

Joffrey looked over to where Arya was sitting, and smirked, the unsaid understanding of what the day could entail flying between them. Arya glanced over to Sansa, who looked absolutely giddy - the silly girl no doubt thought the prince was smiling at her.

The trio sat on the lower level, so Arya could be closer to the action, and so Sansa could look at the brave nights in their shining armor. Arya tucked Needle under her seat, hidden out of sight.

The Archery contest garnered 80 competitors, though realistically only about 30 or so had any business being there. The competition was open to common folk, most of which didn’t have proper bows, just makeshift set-ups only good enough for hunting rabbits. Despite this, it was actually a commoner who ended up winning. Anguy of the Dornish Marshes. A simple looking man, young, skinny with red hair and a freckled face.

He was against seasoned, battle trained archers: Jalabhar Xho, the extravagant looking, colorful exile of the Summer Isles, a skilled warrior and bowman, and Balon Swann, a knight whom Arya though had an overly squared head. The three of them made it to the final round of shots, and Swann and Jalabhar were both neck and neck. To everyone’s surprise, Anguy backed up an additional hundred paces from the target, and hit the center with pinpoint accuracy. He hadn’t needed to back up so far; 40 or 50 paces would have sufficed. It seemed Anguy just wanted to show off a bit. Suffice it to say, neither Swann nor Jalabhar were particularly happy about the loss.

Despite her interest in archery, it was a bit boring to watch. The Melee however was another story. 40 competitors fought for over three hours, blunted weapons and bad attitudes. Some Melees were horseback only, others were on foot - this one was a hybrid. Competitors started on horseback - if they had a horse to begin with, but could continue on foot if knocked off but naturally at a disadvantage. Competitors were eliminated when they forfeited, were rendered unconscious or otherwise incapacitated.

To call the event controlled chaos would be giving it too much credit. The men duked it out fiercely, clashing, forming and breaking alliances, fighting in ways many would consider “dishonorable”. Melee’s by design were viscous sights, but this one im particular was especially savage. 20,000 gold dragons was a lot of money, and finding victory before the king could make a squire, sell swords, or hedge knight’s relationship with the crown. Men were broken, bruised and utterly battered. There were several broken limbs - one man’s horse was struck in the head and fell onto the rider’s leg, crushing it. A young squire, one of the Frey’s maybe, had half his teeth knocked out with a pommel to the mouth. Another man nearly had his jaw knocked full around his head after taking a mace to the jaw. A man from the vale had his nose mashed so hard against his face, that it became flat.

Arya thought it was all magnificent, the violence, the carnage. Nothing at all this interesting ever happened back home. Sansa meanwhile was looking green in the gills, the brutal battle nothing like she’d heard in her songs and poems. Joffrey himself was on the edge of his seat, watching intently at the chaos while his father was hollering and laughing like a toddler behind him. Tommen had his eyes covered.

Arya spotted Pullo amongst the frey, fighting with a war hammer. He seemed to know his limits, and bowed out of the battle before he found himself too battered - he got away with only a few bruises and a broken pinky finger.

In the end, it was Thoros of Myr who won it all - a fat bearded man with a shaved head, and billowing red robes. He claimed to be a Red Priest, but most thought he was just a mad man. The fact that he fought with a sword engulfed in wildfire helped reinforce that, One couldn’t deny it was effective, scaring the mounts of many riders.

As much as she enjoyed the Melee, the joust is what she, and everyone else was really waiting for. More spectators arrived just to watch the event alone, including their father and several other members of the Small Council. Ned looked haggard, running around to make sure that the tournament in his honor was running smoothly ironically.  He sat between Arya and Sansa, while Littlefinger arrived and sat directly behind them, along with Renly Baratheon.

Arya looked back at Little Finger. Leg wrapped from his ankle to above his knee. He arrived on a cruch, struggling to hobble up the stairs and needing to be aided by servants.

“What happened to your leg?” Arya asked bluntly. 

“Arya!” Sansa admonished.

“Don’t be rude!” Septa Mordane said sternly.

“Apologies, Lord Baelish.” Ned apologized, more as a formality than anything else.

“No trouble at all.” Baelish said with a forced smile. “I was riding a horse, got a bit careless and fell off.”

“Must not be very good at it.” Arya commented. Baelish’s faux smile twitched a bit, and Renly laughed out loud. Littlefinger turned to him, narrowing his eyes.

“Falling from a horse can be quite dangerous. Let’s hope the man you’ve bet on doesn’t fall from theirs and break their neck. Who are you vying for anyway? Ser Loras?” Littlefinger said, voice like a snake. Renly’s face turned hard in an instant, glaring at the man.

Not liking Lord Baelish’s tone in regards to Ser Loras, Arya leaned back, bumping against his leg. He immediately reeled back in pain and groaned.

“Apologies, Lord Baelish. I slipped.” Arya said, not sounding very sorry at all.

________________________________________________________________________

Loras didn’t see Tourney’s as a sport. He didn’t even see them as competitions.

To him, they were the personification of the chivalrous class - the Sers who built and protected Westeros. In the Reach, the Knight was the most honorable thing one could be. The Tourney was in a way a show, a presentation of what it meant to be one. Now naturally Loras didn’t LOVE the Hand’s Tourney being so open to the common man, sell swords and master less Hedge Knights - The Reach was much more selective of participants, but in a way it was perfect. A chance for Ser Loras to show his superiority over them. It wasn’t their fault, he was simply a different breed of man.

And this Tourney in particular, well there was something more than honor and gold to be won.

Arya Stark, a lady like none other he ever met.

Joffrey Baratheon - the future king of Westeros.

Ser Loras was not a greedy man, but he wanted it all, the gold, the glory, AND them. And he was on his way to getting it.

Before the event started, Loras made sure to trot his horse down the lanes. The common folk cheered him on, as he was the favorite and most loved of the jousters present. He saw Arya, his prize, sitting amongst her family. Leisurely riding up to the Court bleachers, Arya smiled slightly as he approached.

“The Knight of the Flowers.” Sansa said dreamily.

True to his moniker. Loras did in fact have a flower in his hand as he rode up. The perfect rose. He stopped right in front of the Starks and extended his hand holding the rose. Sansa began to raise her own hand, thinking the rose was for her - but she of course was not his intended target. Angling his arm slightly, he presented the rose to Arya, who looked at it with wide eyes.

Even with their decadent flirting and debauched actions previously it was his gestures of chivalry that caught her off guard. Slowly she reached out and took the rose into her hand. Arya wasn’t a girl who would swoon over such things - but she couldn’t deny the gesture made her feel wonderful. 

“Thank you.” She said quietly, suddenly shy.

“Of course, my lady.” Loras replied with a smile.

Next to her, Sansa stared with her mouth agape, in disbelief and outrage that such a handsome knight would favor Arya over her. Even Ned looked a bit shocked, arching his eyebrow at Ser Loras. 

Loras briefly made eye contact with Renly, who looked like he was very much trying to keep from scowling. If he didn’t like that, he certainly wasn’t going to like what Loras did next. The Flower Knight trotted over to where the royal family sat, looking up and immediately locking eyes with Joffrey.

“King Robert. Prince Joffrey, Tommen.” Loras greeted, bowing his head slightly. He kicked the side of his mount, and his horse bowed as well - Tommen liked that. 

“Ser Loras” Joffrey greeted back. Robert didn’t bother to say words, merely grunting and giving a wave of his hand. “I wish you luck in the joust.”

“Thank you, your grace.” 

“I wish you luck as well.” Robert said gruffly. “I’ve got 1000 dragons on you. Now, let’s get the joust started before I piss me self.”

And by those crude words, the joust started. 

There were about 40 competitors in total, but really, Renly only saw maybe 4 or 5 people as any kind of real competition. Most so called Knights had subpar joust skills at best, and this tourney was open to Sellswords to participate. Loras was almost insulted every tilt he had to partake on with one of them. Loras easily ran through most of his opponents in a single pass, unhorsing them with pinpoint accuracy. He faced off against several Freys, who as a ilk weren’t particularly known for their horse combat - they were basically practice for him. He also faced off against several members of the Kingsguard. He thought that the Kingsguard very much needed some restructuring with how easily he unhorsed them - he doubted if most had been outside the city wall since the last Tourney.

The other competitors who were doing well were of course Jaime Lannister, beating several opponents easily, including the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Barristan Selmy. He had expected it to come down to himself and Ser Jaime again, but there seemed to be a dark horse doing inexplicably well. 

Ser Meryn Trant. 

Loras hadn’t interacted with him much - he had been mildly successful at the tourney at Joffrey’s last name day before falling to Ser Jaime. But the opinion everyone seemed to hold about him was that while an above average knight, he was unpleasant, quick tempered, and generally mean overall. He broke his lances and unhorsed his opponents violently - the point of the joust was to win, not to cause harm. 

Seemed Ser Meryn didn’t get that message, and it was Ser Hugh of the Vale who would come to understand it gravely.

Ser Hugh had squired for the late Hand of the King Jon Arynn for years. The young man was only just recently knighted in honor of Jon Arynn’s memory by the king. Loras didn’t think he was much of a knight - he seemed to struggle to hold his lance up, and his movements were awkward and stiff. Maybe if King Robert hadn’t taken pity on him and given him Knighthood so early he’d have had more time to hone his skills, or perhaps realized knighthood wasn’t his path. Regardless, Ser Meryn made sure his path ended there.

On the first pass, Ser Meryn purposely leaned backwards, aiming his lance high - while it was unpleasant, the head was a viable target during the joust. Except Ser Meryn didn’t aime for the head, he aimed for the throat. Ser Meryn’s lance shattered dramatically, splintering and knocking Ser Hugh from his horse - but not before driving an 8 inch sliver of wood into Ser Hugh’s throat.

Cries and gasps broke out in the crowd as the young knight twitched on the ground, gurgling and spitting up blood. There was no treating an injury like that. All one could do was watch until his pathetic and desperate movements and sounds got quieter and stiller.

As unfortunate as it was, he knew what he signed up for joining the tournament. Death was a rare, but very possible occurrence. Attendants dragged Ser Hugh’s body from the field, and the events continued as if nothing happened. Loras looked over to Arya, and it seemed the girl was unphased by the event. In fact she was looking on with interest. Her sister beside her however was pale as a sheet, and trembling a bit. Jeyne Poole outright fainted. Joffrey however had an open smile plastered on his face, watching it all excitedly. 

Ser Meryn didn’t seem to put out about the fact he just killed a man as he lined up to face off against Ser Jaime. In fact, he looked cocky.

His cockiness only heightened when he surprisingly managed to beat Ser Jaime. They pair broke several lances of each other, and it was up to the King to determine the winner. Robert awarded the win to Ser Meryn, a choice which Loras questioned the unbiased nature of. It wasn’t a secret that King Robert didn’t particularly like Ser Jaime.

Regardless, it seemed the finals came down to Loras and Ser Meryn. Ser Loras wasn’t particularly worried however. A good knight used strength, accuracy and speed, but they also used strategy. 

Loras’s strategy was his horse. He was very particular about the horse he used - he picked it particularly for the event. A mare as opposed to stallions most of the contestants rode. More importantly, he chose a Mare that was in heat. 

Why?

Simple - it gave him a split second of unfocus within his opponent's horse, just enough to distract it as they rode down the list. And that split second was all he needed to unseat his opponent. 

He was sure Ser Meryn was feeling mighty confident as they went to opposite ends of the list for their first pass.

Loras was sure that confidence was dashed as quickly as a candle in the wind as Ser Meryn found himself on his back, lance hitting him square in his shield and driving him from his stead.

It was inevitable really - Loras was simply the TRUE knight of the tourney.

The crowd erupted into cheer at Ser Loras’s victory. Both Arya and Joffrey were on their feet applauding and cheering loudly. 

They were cheering so loudly that he didn’t hear Ser Meryn bark to a squire for his sword. 

To Loras’ own shame, he was so enraptured in his victory and the cheers of the crowd that he didn’t notice Ser Meryn striding toward him until he saw the faces of Arya, Sansa and Ned transform into concern and horror. 

He quickly spun his horse, but Ser Meryn was already upon him. “You cheated!” The red bearded man yelled. He grabbed the reins of Loras’ horse, and yanked hard, causing his mare to reel up and throw Loras from his saddle. Loras landed hard on his back and  Ser Meryn began to swing his sword at him. Still gripping his shield, Loras is able to bring it up and block Meryn’s blow. Jousting shields weren't made for real combat, and quickly the shield began to crack and chip. A particularly wild swing gave Loras the chance to avoid the blow, sword connecting with the mud. Loras brought his legs up, placing his feet to Ser Meryn’s chest plate and pushed him back, giving him some space. Loras rolled to his front and pushed himself up to his knees. He needed a weapon, fast.

“Loras!”

Loras looked to where the scream came from. Arya was at the banister of the bleachers, holding a thing rapier in her hand. Needle. Loras didn’t know why Arya had a sword with her, but he was thankful she had it regardless. Arya threw the blade to Loras. It landed in the dirt a few feet in front of him. Loras scrambled to it and to his feet, grabbing it just as Ser Meryn began to stride toward him again, sword raised. Loras spun around, facing the rabid Kingsguardman head on. Arya’s balde was small and thin, Loras could hold it one hand. It wouldn’t do anything against Trant’s armor, so he had to pick his moment. Ser Meryn raised his sword above his head, ready to swing again - which was what Loras needed. Stepping forward, and with pinpoint precision Loras thrusts the tip of Needle up and forward - directly into Ser Meryn’s throat.

Trant’s eyes went wide and he stumbled backwards, hand going to his throat. He fell to his knees, and after a bit of wheezing and crawling, he fell face down in the dirt - dead.

The crowd seemed to be impossibly silent besides Loras’s heavy breathing. After a moment, Loras turned to Arya, who herself looked a bit shook, both from shock of the events, and from the fire that was currently between her legs

.Loras took a knee and bowed his head, “Lady Arya - I owe my life to you.” He said earnestly. The act of regal humility seemed to set the crowd on fire, as they began to cheer louder than ever. They probably couldn’t remember the time they had a tourney so interesting. Ned looked at Arya in shock and disapproval at her bringing her sword to the tourney grounds, but was relieved that her quick thinking helped the man defend himself. Joffrey looked upon everything with a huge smile on his face. He got to witness two deaths in one day. And he never much liked Ser Meryn to begin with. Loras turned to him, and their eyes locked with understanding. Loras was the champion, and he would have his prize.

__________________________________________________________________________

The death of Ser Meryn had the court nobles and guests in a bit of an uproar, such a display at a tourney - especially one held by the king. King Robert assured everyone that thing would go on as normal that the celebratory ball would commence as planned. As far as he was concerned, Ser Meryn got what he deserved for acting the way he did, especially as a member of the Kingsguard. Although now this meant he head to figure out a replacement for him within the Kingsguard ranks.

Arya's mind and body were on fire with how the tournament ended. The violence, Ser Loras’ victory. Her blade being the one to end him, even if she wasn’t the one to hold it. Arya couldn’t have had a better day if she had planned it.

Sansa however didn’t think she could have a worse day. The tourney was nothing like she imagined. It was so brutal, so gruesome. She thought they were supposed to be gallant, honorable events. Worse yet, she was IGNORED. Joffrey had barely laid eyes on her the whole day. And Arya - she had to go and steal Ser Loras’ attention! She was the oldest. She was the prettiest. Ser Loras should have given her a rose. He should have noticed HER, not her fat bottomed, horseface sister. She wanted to whine and cry to her father, but he was nowhere to be found, dealing with the fallout of the day’s events. She basically ran to her room, prepared to throw herself on her bed and cry. But when she got to her chambers, someone was waiting for her. A Red Cloak - tall with a ginger beard. Sansa was startled by his presence.

“Lady Sansa.” He greeted. “Queen Cersei sent me.”

“Why?” Sansa asked before she had time to think about it.

The guard didn’t answer her question immediately. Instead, he went to a small side table where a pitcher of wine sat. He poured a generous amount into a goblet, and brought it over to Sansa.

“Wine?” He asked. Sansa licked her lips a bit at the sight of the cup. She was a bit parched. 

“Thank you.” She said quietly, taking the goblet from the guard. She brought it to her lips, and downed half of  it quickly - quicker than a lady should. That seemed to amuse the guard a bit.

“The Queen thought you might be a bit shook up from the excitement of the day.” The guard explained. “Wanted to make sure you made it to the ball without issue, as well as dropping off your dress.”

“My dress?” Sansa asked in confusion. The guard gestured to her bed, where the garment laid. Sansa’s eyes widened at the clothing, face growing red. “She wants me to wear THIS?”

“Problem?” The guard asked, stepping behind her, crowding her a bit.

“Erm…It’s just that I already had a dress picked out and-”

“Lady Sansa - it is a gift from the QUEEN.” The guard said, voice a bit stern. Sansa swallowed, and looked at the ‘dress’ again.

“I-I suppose if it’s a gift from the Queen.” She waited for a moment, for the guard to exit the room so she could change, but he didn’t budge. “I need to change.”

“Strict orders my lady.” The guard said. “I’m not to leave your side until you’re in the Great Hall.”

“But-”

“Strict orders.”

Sansa frowned miserably, before downing the rest of her wine. She put the goblet down, and slowly began to strip out of her day dress, as the Red Cloak smirked and watched on.

_________________________________________________________________________

Arya snuck to Joffrey's room. The Keep was preparing for the ball, so she made it to his chambers without much hassle. And luckily for her, Vorenus was guarding his door.

“Lady Arya.” He greeted.

“Vorenus.” She greeted back,

“The Prince is inside, waiting for you. Whenever you’re done with - well I’ll escort the both of you to the Great Hall when you’re ready.”

Arya was amused by his professionalism. She’d make him slip eventually. Vorenus opened the door to Joffrey’s chamber, and Arya entered. Joffrey was standing by his bed, shirtless as he changed into his outfit for the ball. He turned as Arya entered the room, smiling as he saw her.

Arya practically leapt into his arms, smashing her mouth to his. His arms wrapped around her, grabbing two handfuls of her plump ass and holding her up as they fiercely kissed. 

Arya was the first to break the kiss, breathing raggedly, pupils blown.

“Gods, I’ve wanted to jump you all day.” She breathed. She thought back to the blood and viscera she saw and felt herself grow wet between the legs.

Joffrey smiled devilishly at her. “Save it for Ser Loras. The champion of the day.”

Arya shivered in anticipation and Joffrey groped her ass over her dress, pulling and kneading the cheeks

“I have a gift for you. A dress for the ball.” Joffrey said, letting Arya go. He went to his wardrobe, opening it and reaching towards the bottom and back. He pulled out the dress, throwing it on his bed for Arya to see. Her eyebrows went to her forehead at the fabric that laid on the bed.

“THIS is a dress?” Arya asked.

“Problem?” Joffrey asked. “It’s the latest in Braavosi fashion I’m told.”

“No.” Arya assured, a devilish smile spreading across her face. “It’s perfect.”

____________________________________________________________________________

As much as Joffrey would’ve liked to watch Arya get dressed, but as the prince he figured he should arrive early to the ball. He quickly pulled on his tunic of silk and velvet - fur trimmed, brightly colored with the Baratheon colors and sigil embroidered on the chest - and headed down to the celebration

The Victor’s Ball was held in the Great Hall, which could house a thousand to feast. Already the Hall was crowded as the first courses and wine was being served. Many long tables outlined the perimeter of the Great Hall, while the center was left open for mingling and dancing.

At the head table naturally sat his father, who looked like he was already several goblets deep. His mother sat next to him, her face in a light scowl as it always was, while his uncle Jaime stood behind her dutifully. 

Joffrey’s eyes scanned the room, looking for his champion. His eyes locked onto Loras, whom was standing and chatting amongst some courtiers. Well in reality, they were doing much of the talking, ladies of the court chatting his ear off and attempting to get close, while men tried to curry Loras’ favor. He had a polite smile on his face, but Joffrey could tell he was dreadfully bored. Joffrey decided to save his friend, making his way across the room to the group. Loras’ eyes lit up as he saw him, and his smile became genuine.

“Prince Joffrey.” Loras greeted. “You look nice in your ball attire.” He complimented, allowing his eyes to look Joffrey up and down, appreciating the younger man’s form.

“Ser Loras.”

“Ah, Prince Joffrey.” One of the courtiers said, turning to him. He was a fat man with thinning hair and crooked teeth. “We were just discussing how exciting today’s games were, and-”

Joffrey of course had no interest in what the man was saying, and waved his hand dismissively “I must speak to Ser Loras.” He stated simply. The courtiers looked at Joffrey in confusion for a second, before Joffrey narrowed his eyes and frowned, making his point clear.

“Erm, of course.” The fat man said, skulking away followed by the others.

“A brave knight, coming to save me.” Loras said with a mirthful smile.

“There’s only one knight here, Ser Loras.” Joffrey replied. “Think you proved as much today.”

Loras at least ATTEMPTED to sound modest, “Many brave men competed today. Shame that Ser Meryn couldn’t take his loss gracefully.”

“Fuck Trant.” Joffrey scoffed. “I never liked him, and now he’s dead. You’ve done me a favor really. You’re the champion of the day.”

“Speak of-” Loras said, eyes looking around the room.

“Looking for your prize?” Joffrey asked with a knowing smirk. “She’ll be down soon - she’s getting herself…prepared.

Back at the head table, King Robert was drunkenly laughing, fondling a poor servant girl who came to refill his goblet. Cersei decided that was well enough time for her to stand, and put some distance between her and the king. Jaime naturally followed her, and they began to walk around the room, appraising and judging the attendants.

“Where’s Lord Stark?” Cersei asked. “He’s missing his own ball in his honor.”

“Not sure. The head of his guard whispered into his ear just as the tourney was ending, and the two of them rushed off somewhere. You know Ned is quite the busy body.” Jaime responded 

“Ned is being quite nosy - too nosy.”

“I told you if anything changes, I’d handle it. Right now he’s reaching around in the dark. He doesn’t know anything.”

“He’s from the North. They’re used to the dark.”

“Still, we can’t be too hasty in our actions.” Jaime countered. “We wouldn’t want to cut our little game with Sansa short.”

“And speak of the devils.” Cersei said, looking toward the entrance of the Great Hall. Seemed something had caught the attention of some attendants. That something was Sansa Stark.

She was wearing the dress so generously provided to her by Cersei Lannister. It was dark purple, and tight to Sansa’s body, showing her figure immaculately. The neckline went deep, showing a generous amount of cleavage, and it had an opening on its left side, right along Sansa’s ribs. The dress went to the floor, but a generous portion of the front was cut to her to show off her long leg. It was immodest to say the least.

Many guests stared as she entered, men with arousal in their eyes, and women with sneers at the amount of skin Sansa was showing. Sansa was a bit red in the face, and almost shaking as she walked into the Great Hall. She had to down another goblet of wine to push down her nerves, which didn’t help with keeping her steady on her feet. Sansa looked around and noticed no one was near dressed as she was. Her eyes found Cersei and Jaime, both of them having smiles on their faces.

‘ Everyone is staring.’ Sansa thought, as her eyes darted around nervously. All eyes were on her. But that’s what she wanted, right? No - it’s what she deserved. She was betrothed to the prince, she was to be queen of Westeros. Of course all eyes would be on her. She needed a dress like this to stand out, to be a cut above everyone else like she deserved to be. Slowly confidence came to her, and she stood a bit taller. She saw Joffrey and Loras standing amongst the crowd, looking at her with raised eyebrows. She pushed out her chest, and raised her chin, walking over to them.

“Prince Joffrey.” Sansa greeted happily.

“Lady Sansa.” Joffrey returned with much less enthusiasm. Sansa’s smile faltered a bit at that - but took his rudeness as him having been tired from the day.

Loras was a bit more compassionate, grabbing her hand and kissing the back of it. “Lady Sansa.”

Sansa nearly swooned at that.

“You were so brave today, Ser Loras.” Sansa said breathily. “A true knight.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

“I’m hoping to have a dance with you - if my betrothed would allow it of course.”

Joffrey frowned slightly, not particularly liking being called her ‘betrothed’. 

“You may do as you like.” Joffrey said curtly. 

“Dancing with you would be an honor.” Loras said charmingly. “And..and-”

Loras’ words trailed off, as he looked behind Sansa, eyes wide. Joffrey looked to where he was looking, and his eyes widened as well, jaw dropping a little.

“Ser Loras, Prince Joffrey?” Sansa asked, looking at the two of them in confusion.

There was a string of gasps near the entrance of the Great Hall, which finally prompted Sansa to turn around. Her own eyes grew to the size of saucers at the sight.

It was Arya, making her entrance.

All eyes were glued onto her as she walked into the Great Hall, her heeled shoes clicking as she was led into the room by Vorenus. She was wearing the dress Joffrey gave her - if one could even call it that. The material of the dress was scant, and near sheer. The neckline was non-existent, the inside of her breasts showing as the material was parted all the way down to her waist to the point her belly button was showing. A belt separated the top and bottom portion of the dress, which were in reality just two strips of fabric that covered her ass and nether regions just barely - a breeze would have her on display. Her bare hips popped from the dress allowing her curves to show free. Her heeled boots made her stand several inches taller, making her already confident walk look even more bold. Her hair was braided in two falling over her shoulders, and her make up was done up with skill that Sansa didn’t think she even had.

If Sansa’s appearance was immodest, Arya's was downright obscene. Ladies looked openly scandalized while the men could barely tear their eyes away. Seems the attention Sansa got was fleeting, as all eyes were cemented on Arya. 

Cersei and Jaime watched with as much surprise as the others, not knowing what to make of this.

“I- did you have something to do with this?” Cersei asked, looking to Jaime.

“No, I figured you did.”

Even the well drunken king took notice, looking at Arya with open lust. He wouldn’t remember in the morning, but he thought he looked like Lyanne - and wanted to fuck her as such.

“Pardons, Lady Sansa.” Loras said, excusing himself abruptly, and moving towards Arya. Sansa scowled deeply as the knight moved from her, forgetting her in an instant. She took a drink from a passing servant's tray, and downed it quickly.

Loras pushed through the ogling crowd, until he was right in front of Arya. She looked up at him with a ruby colored smirk.

“Lady Arya.” He breathed out.

“Ser Loras.” She replied, simply.

“You look absolutely…ravishing.” He stated honestly. Arya leaned forward, so only Loras could hear her.

“That’s the point, is it not?” She said with a sly grin on her face “Needed to make sure your prize was worth it.”

“Oh it will be. I’d fuck you right here on one of these tables if I didn’t think I’d have knighthood stripped the next day.”

“Tempting, but for now - let’s just dance.”

And dance they did. Loras grabbed Arya’s wrist, and dragged her to the middle of the dance floor with the other dancers. Loras grabbed her hand in one of his, and placed his other low on his hip, allowing his fingers to sink into the softness of her flesh. The music was uptempo, and they moved and swung to the rhythm. Arya wasn’t much of a dancer, but she was athletic - gliding and following Loras’ steps with relative ease. Loras held her right to his body as they danced, her barely covered nipples rubbing pleasantly against the fabric of her dress. His hips pressed into her, and she could feel the evidence of his arousal pressing against her stomach. Slyly, she brought a hand between them as they moved, squeezing him through his breeches. He gasped, and twitched in her hand.

“Kept that up, and you’re getting fucked in the middle of this Hall - knighthood be damned.” Loras growled in her ear. His hand slid behind her, wanting to grab a handful of her ass, but she pushed him back and wiggled out of her grasp, spinning away from him. The hem of her dress flared up, showing off her bottom half to all who were looking, and her VERY slight small clothes - Lannister

“You’ll have to catch me first.” She said, before disappearing into the crowd. 

Several feet away, Joffrey watched with envy at their dance. Sansa had badgered him into dancing with her, but he was simply going through the motions, doing very little more than swaying with her. Sansa looked at him as he clearly had his attention elsewhere. Sansa looked back at her sister, twirling around the dance floor, dress flying, skin showing without a care in the world. It was wanton, it was obscene, it was taking attention away from Sansa. 

“Excuse me.” Joffrey said, dropping Sansa’s hand and letting her go unceremoniously, moving toward the center of the dance floor, and Arya. Sansa frowned miserably as she was left alone to stand there. She grabbed another goblet of wine from a servant.

Arya moved around the dance floor like a tornado of fabric and skin, moving freely, not much caring if she was basically flashing everyone every time she moved. She danced with a few people - naturally in their state of dress, they were handsy. She swatted them away easily enough, unless they were handsome or a Lannister guard, then she let them get a generous feel in. She found Pullo, and danced with him a bit, though in reality it was more him just pawing at her ass for a song, moving the back of her dress to the side causing her to basically moon the whole room. She didn’t mind. She offered Vorenus a dance, but he declined - she’d get him to break eventually. Even King Robert attempted to dance with her, but he was so drunk by that point in the night, he was barely able to stand, and had to be helped away by several guards, much to Cersei’s embarrassment. 

Though she danced with others, she always found her way back to Loras or Joffrey, pressing her body against them, letting their hands roll over her freely, before spinning away again. A bit of a game for her, a bit of teasing. Very fun for her, but she could tell by their arousal pressing up against their pants, they were getting a little…frustrated.

At some point Jalabhar Xho made a request to the players of the ball to play some Traditional, Summer Isle music - percussion heavy, tribal, and fast paced. This only caused Arya’s movements to become even more free and sensual, her hips and bottom moving, her dress being more of a suggestion at this point as her lower half was exposed more often than not. When Joffrey or Loras would catch up with her, she;d dance with them back to front, her ass openly pressing against them, grinding into them to the strange beat of the music. The other guests got into the novelty of the Summer Isle tunes, dancing wildly and drunkenly into the night.

Sansa, who was at this point 5 goblets of wine deep counting the ones she had in her room, decided she wouldn’t be out classed by her little sister of all people. She was the oldest - she was the prettiest! She deserved all the attention. She began to drunkenly offer to dance with various noblemen, courtiers and guards, none of which she even knew. They were more than happy to oblige. But while Arya danced and moved with the grace of a cat, Sansa did little more than drunkenly stumble through dances. That was perfectly fine with her partners however, who took the opportunity to basically drag Sansa around the dance floor, grabbing and groping as they did, pushing her stumbling from partner to partner. One nobleman with a quill thin mustache, grabbed her hair and tilted her head back, pressing a hard kiss to her mouth. She was quickly snatched away by a Lannister guard, who she thought might be saving her, but instead groped at her ass over her dress. Many hands pulled and tugged at her dress, shifting the fabric. The dress fell of her shoulder, revealing a nipple, and every time she tried to fix it, another partner would spin her around and grab at her, making it shift all over again. 

As it turned out, Sansa’s manhandling at the hands of fellow ‘dancers’ allowed Joffrey and Loras to put an end to Arya’s little game. She had been dancing with Loras, pressing her ass against him, and letting his hands sink to her cheeks. She tried to spin away, only to run into the chest of Joffrey, who quickly grabbed her upper arm. Loras came up next to her, and grabbed her other arm. They basically dragged her from the Great Hall, unnoticed by the rest of the attendees. Her heeled shoes clacked loudly as she stumbled, trying to keep up with the two as they dragged her about. They pulled her into a secluded servant hall. The spun her around, bending her over slightly so her ass stuck out, and Joffrey planted his hand against the back of her head, pushing her face against the stone wall. Loras kicked her legs apart, making her take a shoulder with base, before lifting his hand up, and bringing it crashing back down on her ass with a loud crack. Arya gasped and humped, arching her back and sticking her backside out more for them.

“Caught you.” Loras said simply, before delivering another hard smack to her ass. Arya groaned, and her hips twicthed, desire shooting through her.

“You think you could be a little cock-tease and nothing would happen?” Joffrey growled, pushing her harder into the wall.

“I think…exactly what I wanted to happen is happening.” She purred back. 

Loras made a growing noise, before grabbing Arya by the back of her shoulders, and spinning her around so that her upper back was pinned against the wall. She placed his hand on her throat, not squeezing, but firmly holding her there.

“That Northern cunt mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble.” Joffrey barked.

“I like trouble.” Arya replied, smirk on her face, only for it to be slapped away a moment later with Loras’ palm connecting with her cheek.

If they fucked her right there in that corridor, she wouldn’t have complained. She was in heaven, her body tingling, and her head light. 

“Arrrryaaa?”

Then of course something had to bring her down.

“Arrryaa? Is that you?” Came the drunken voice of Sansa, seemingly able to get away from the hands of the crowd. Joffrey and Loras let go of Arya, allowing her to collect herself as the drunken shuffling sound of Sansa’s fe3t came around the corner. When she came into view, they took in the state of her. Her hair was a mess, her neat bun mostly undone, and her hair falling over her face. Her lipstick was smudged from all the kisses forced upon her, and her dress hung off one of her shoulders, half her breast showing and her seemingly not being too bothered by it. The bottle of wine she was gripping tightly in her hand likely had something to do with it.

She looked at Arya hatefully, seemingly not even noticing or caring that Loras and Joffrey were right there.

“You!” She slurred, lifting her free hand and pointing at Arya. “You ruin everything.”

“Sansa, are you drunk?” Arya asked, eyebrows raised. Sansa ignored her statement, and pressed on.

“You ruin everything.” She slurred again, taking a step toward the three. “Taking all-all the attention, emberussin me. “I’m the old-eldest! “I’m the prettiest!”

Sansa’s voice came out as a pure whine, and Arya just sneered at her, Joffrey looked at her with disdain, and Loras simply shook his head. Sansa stepped forward, lifting her hand to seemingly smack Arya, but the sober girl simply shifted to the side, allowing Sansa to tumble to the ground beside her.

More footsteps came, this time a pair. Vorenus and Pullo came around the corner, at the ready. When they saw the sight in front of them, they relaxed a bit.

“We came after we heard…a disturbance.” Vorenus said, looking at Sansa struggle to push herself up from the wine she spilled on the ground.

“My sister was just leaving.” Arya said flatly. “Pullo, help my sister to somewhere quiet.”

Pullo raised an eyebrow to the youngest Stark girl. “And then what, my lady.”

“Do whatever you want.” Arya said, implication floating in the air.

“My lady, it would be no trouble for ME to assist Lady Sansa to her rooms, and-”

“No.” Joffrey interrupted. “Let Pullo do it.”

“...As you wish your grace.” Vorenus said, bowing his head. Pullo smiled nearly ear to ear, as he stepped forward., grabbing Sansa by her arm and yanking her to her feet.

“Who are you?” Sansa asked in drunken confusion.

“I’m Pullo - I’m gonna take you somewhere nice and quiet.”

Sansa seemed to verbalize some sort of argument, but it fell in her throat as Pullo began to pull her away by her arm, Sansa stumbling behind him.

“You coming Vorenus?” Pullo called behind him. Vorenus looked at Loras, Arya and Joffrey for a moment, before sighing and following after Pullo and Sansa.

When the coast was clear, Joffrey grabbed Arya by her wrist.

“Enough distractions, and enough dancing. Time for Loras to collect his prize.”

Chapter Text

Joffrey had a bigger bed, so they went to his room. 

Chapter Text

Catelyn typically hated the smell of fish, so she stayed away from wharves and piers when she could. King’s Landing didn’t have that problem, mainly because it smelled of shit and human waste - Catelyn’s nose stung, and she had to cover her face with a bit of her sleeve, as nausea was taking her a bit, especially with the wind coming off Blackwater Bay.

People on the pier split as she and Gregor walked by, fearful of the large man.

They were leaving the city, headed back to the North, with more questions than answers. The attack on her son, a Northern conspiracy - it seemed far-fetched, but then again, so was anything at this point. She didn’t know what to think - but her husband’s inaction in the matter, the matter of their son - well it was obvious that the task of discovering what ills were befalling her family were on her shoulders. Well, hers and Gregor’s.

He had become her anchor in so many ways. Never backing down, never unsure; his will as hard, and as firm as his muscles or cock. He was the one who saved her son’s life, he was the one who silenced Littlefinger, now he was the one who found them passage back north - They weren’t going all the way back to Winterfell, however. Even if unsubstantiated, the idea of a power grab in the North with Ned’s absence unnerved Catelyn greatly, so they needed to regroup. Her sister in the Vale, it had been years since she saw her last, but she had always been paranoid of actors working against them. Everyone thought her touched, but now - well Catelyn couldn’t help but wonder if her paranoia was warranted. So they would travel to the Eyrie to see her - The Wagon they came in was out of commission and would’ve taken too long regardless, so by sea was the smartest and fastest way, at least until they reached The Vale.

The ship was at the edge of the dock, The Sunflower, A large 2 masted galley of Dornish origin. Catelyn didn’t know what cargo they held, but it seemed they had room for travelers. The crew was loading various crates and barrels as they approached, and a Summer Islander, adorned in bright and colorful robes and supervising the others as they worked - Catelyn assumed he was the captain. He turned towards them, and his eyes widened at the sight of Gregor. Some men stopped working and gawked at him. Some men gawked at HER.

“I must say, when my cabin boy said two people were looking for passage, I did not expect a very lovely woman, and a giant.” The man said, turning to look at them.

“Are you the captain of this ship?” Catelyn asked. The man stood up straight, before going into a dramatic bow, extending his arms to his side in a flowy fashion.

“That I am.” He said. “Ashlam Iago, at your service.”

Ashlam grabbed Catleyn’s hand and gave the back of it a kiss. She snatched it away, frowning a bit.

“We need to go North.” Gregor interrupted gruffly. “To the Vale.”

“Well then you’re in luck, because me and my crew are headed to Gulltown.” Ashlam replied. “And we have the space, perhaps not the kind of space a man of your size is used to, but enough space to take you as passengers…that is if you have the coin, of course.”

Gregor glances down to Catelyn expectantly. He hadn’t spent a cent of his own money the whole trip. Cat reached into her sleeve and pulled out a small coin purse. It was the last of her own coin until they reached  her sister in the Eyrie. She tossed it to Ashlam, who caught it in one hand.

“Yes, this will do nicely.” Ashlam said, fingering through the gold, a broad smile on revealing his rather white teeth. “We have a spare room, should fit you and your lady, if you duck.”

“Hmph.” Was all Gregor responded with. Ashlam eyed him up and down, his brown eyes studding Gregor curiously.

“Are you a knight my good sir?” Ashlam asked. Eying Gregor’s dark armor

“The fuck else do I look like?” Gregor said gruffly. 

“A mountain.” The captain laughed cheerily, not knowing the irony of his comment.He then turned his attention to Catelyn, openly leering at her.

“And you-” He purred, still smiling 

“She’s my whore.” Gregor snapped. Catelyn’s eyes widened, and she looked up at him. He didn’t even glance at her, still looking at Ashlam. To add to his claim, Gregor reached behind Catelyn, and grabbed a large handful of her meaty ass. Catelyn squeaked as his meaty gauntlet dug into the flesh of her backside through her dress. But she said nothing, not wanting to contradict Gregor’s words. Some of the men looked at the scene, clearly envious of the large man, wishing it was their hands groping her ass. 

Ashlam raised a curious eyebrow at the pair, before laughing again.

“A knight with his own traveling whore.” He guffawed. “I do like the way you Westerosi do things.”

Catelyn flushed a bit - the man didn’t even question that she was a whore. 

“You may enter the ship and get comfortable in your quarters if you like.” The Captain told them. “My men still have a bit of loading to do. Your room is on the 2nd deck, end of the hall.

Gregor just grunted, and nodded his head.

“Come on.” He ordered, giving Catelyn’s ass a hard spank, which sent her stumbling forward.  She squealed, and walked quickly, keeping her head down to avoid the gaze of some of the crew members who were snickering and making comments. When they got to their room, Gregor set their few belongings down and began to take off his armor. Catelyn closed the door behind them, and glared at him.

“Why did you tell him I was a whore?” She seethed. Gregor didn’t stop removing his armor, but he glanced at her and sneered.

“You know very little of life.” He told her. Catelyn frowned, wondering what the hells that meant. “You think goods are the only thing ships carry, that they only sell their wares at ports? They also sell information.”

“Information?” Catelyn repeated.

“You think the captain cares I’m a knight, stupid woman?” Gregor asked with a sneer. “He cares about what he can tell others, what he can inform. A knight and a well-dressed woman traveling together on an otherwise unremarkable vessel? Someone might be interested in that information.”

Catelyn opened her mouth to retort, but closed it quickly, considering his words. Their presence on the ship was an oddity, as was them even being in proximity to each other. She was in the dark, not knowing who their enemies were, and who might be listening and plotting to further hurt her and her family.

“That…still doesn’t explain why you told him I was a whore.” She replied, but with less conviction than before.

Gregor shucked off the upper portion of his armor, letting it fall to the ground with a loud thud. “A whore raises less questions than a lady.” He replied simply. 

Catelyn pursed her lips. She didn’t want to admit it, but that DID make alot of sense. Gregor was being cautious, to protect them, to protect her. She nodded her head amenably. “I can… see the reason in that.”

Gregor reached out with his now bare hand, and grabbed her roughly by the chin, making her head tilt to look at him fully.

“That means you’re not a lady on this ship.” He told her sternly. Catelyn swallowed thickly, her jaw starting to ache, but she made no move to get away from him. “Just remember that.”

Catelyn nodded her head the best she could with his grip on her face. He understood it well enough, releasing her with a small shove, which was enough to send Catelyn stumbling back into the door.

“Now help me out of these fucking greaves.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Catelyn knew it was going to be a long trip, despite their travel time being estimated at only a sennight and 3 days.

She was not used to being treated as a commoner; she was the daughter of a powerful house, and the wife of an even more powerful one - but on The Sunflower, well she might as well have been a chamber maid. But a chamber maid might have had a bit more dignity, here she was a whore. 

Her choice in clothing probably didn’t help. She had practically replaced her entire wardrobe with more revealing, and downright brazen dresses in her effort to keep Gregor’s interest. The tight southern dress that hugged her body, the neckline that showed off an obscene amount of and threatened to pop her breasts out with every step and bounce, she certainly looked the part of a whore, if albeit an expensive one. The crew seemed to treat her as such. Despite being the one to literally pay the captain, it seemed that he and the rest of the crew saw Gregor as the one who booked passage, and Catelyn was just his luggage. Pinches at her ass, “accidental” swipes of her breast, thighs were common - a crew of rowdy sailors who now had a woman that wasn’t in some port whore house, a blessing at sea for them. Catelyn hated it, hated being treated like that by THEM, but Gregor’s words stuck with her; with unknown enemies, she didn’t dare reveal her status, she just had to bear it all. In theory, it could’ve been worse, most of them had the sense, even if it was bare minimum, not to go beyond those small touches - most. 

Benson - a Dornishman of Andal features, pale with thinning gray hair that looked to have been blonde at some point. He was the row master, a gravely voice to bark at the oarsmen. He was somehow less pleasant than the rest. One evening, she had just come from speaking with the captain. She wanted to know the where they were on their trek. The Captain wasn’t too interested in speaking with the luggage, so he gave her an unsatisfying noncommittal answer. Catelyn wanted to push the issue, but didn’t want to seem too desperate and raise any unneeded questions. When she walked down from the deck into the second, Benson and another man were waiting for her in the narrow stairwell. Catelyn tried to push past them, giving them a polite “excuse me.” that they didn’t deserve. But as she passed Benson grabbed her by her upper arm, pressing his body into hers, forcing back to the stairwell wall. 

“How much?” Benson asked, voice dripping with seediness. Catelyn gave him a hard frown and tried to wrench her arm away. She knew what he was propositioning, but still she played dumb,

“I have no idea what you mean.” She sneered.

“Oh spare me, whore.” Benson scoffed. “You could be making some good coin on this ship, plenty of men who want to spend a night with ya. So how much?”

“More than your MEAGER salary could afford.” Catelyn bit, letting her noblewoman tenor slip in to add to her insult of him. He frowned deeply, his thin eyebrows knitting downward. “And by the look of you, you wouldn’t need a night, you’d hardly need an hour.” 

It was a vulgar insult for a lady of her station, but the look in the man’s face was worth it. Benson bared his crooked teeth at her, and pushed her harder against the wall. He looked like he might do something rash, until his comrade grabbed his arm, shaking his head. Benson stopped, clearly furious - Catelyn met his gaze in defiance, not letting the man intimidate her. Slowly, his grip on her arm began to let up, and Catelyn thought she verbally vanquished the man - that was until he pursed her lips, and spat in her face; a wet glob of saliva hitting her right between the eyes. Catelyn flinched -of course she did, she just got spit on by a salty seaman, but she stood her ground, maintaining her fiery gaze with him, not letting him see her shaken, even though she was internally reeling. He fully let go of her arm, only to bring it up and palm her face with his bony fingers. 

“Useless cunt.” He barked, pushing her face so that she was past him, before giving her ass a hard spank, almost sending her stumbling down the stairs, before marching up to the top deck with his crewmate. Catelyn quickly scampered to her quarters, rubbing off the man’s spit with the back of her sleeve, shuddering in disgust. When she entered the room, Gregor was on the bed - it was much too small for him, made for a man slightly over 6 feet at best, but it was all they had. He hadn’t much left the room, sending Catelyn out whenever he needed or wanted something, subjecting her to the crew. She looked up from his laying position, eyebrow quirking at the strained expression on Catelyn’s face.

“Problem?” He asked laconically. Catelyn considered, for the moment, crying to him like some wench, but she wanted to maintain a modicum of dignity- to not run to him like a damsel because some commoner acted untoward. Instead, she stole herself, repeating in her head that it was all temporary. She forced her face to shift back to neutrality, and shook her head.

“Just sea sick.” She lied. 

Gregor grunted, not showing whether he believed her or nor, He sat up and told her, “Get on the bed.”

Catelyn sighed - even within their temporary quarters, she could find little peace, Gregor’s libido made sure of that. When she was in their quarters, it was an unspoken decree that Catelyn would be at work trying to make Gregor come, whether that be from her mouth, cunt, tits, or whatever part of her body he fancied at the moment. On the second day, he made her jerk him off using some of her hair, and painted the top of her fiery head white, before making her go out and get him some wine. While the crew of the Sunflower were bawdy and brazen, Gregor was obscene and vulgar with her. On the rare occasions they were both out of the quarters and milling about, he wouldn’t change his behavior to spare whatever dignity she had left. While the crew mates would pinch and slyly touch, Gregor would just grope her in full view of whomever might have been around. His fingers digging into the flesh of her ass, reaching into the top of her dress to palm at a tit for minutes on end. Catelyn would flush red, and put up a half-hearted effort to stop him, before usually being dragged back into their quarters where she’d be fucked into the small and uncomfortable bed; her moans loud enough to ring through the ship and into the ears of all the crew. She might have been a whore as far as they were concerned, but she didn’t think Gregor had to treat her like one while people were watching. 

Gregor of course was uncaring of the stares of the other men, the surprise and disgust that turned into lust and jealousy. Catelyn however was very much aware of it, as she was the target of the glares. As far as the crew was concerned, she and Gregor were guests vs, passengers, and the least she could be doing was spreading her legs for them. It also didn’t help that Gregor had a blatant disregard for the crew, shoving them out the way when he walked by, taking double helpings of meals; they weren’t making friends, they weren’t even making acquaintances. They were making themselves rather disliked on the ship, but as a knight, the men could do very little to Gregor - but Catelyn didn’t have the protection of her noble name at the moment, she was just a lowly whore, something was going to give.

And on the 8th night, the levee broke.

Catelyn had to use the loo - a rather unpleasant experience given it was shared with 2 dozen other men, but it was what she had to suffer through temporarily. At the bow of the ship at the beakhead, Catelyn had to walk deck in the cool night. The night watch crew was scant, as it was so late, they were letting the wind navigate them at a steady pace. A few of the men regarded her in the dark, giving her the stares and glares they had over the last few days, but she ignored them, and they maintained their work. When she walked down the step to the lower decks, she was alone, all the crew who were relieved for the night were in their cabins and bunks, sleeping or drinking. 

Except for a few - Catelyn turned a corner, and she ran into a mass, a chest. She took a step and a half back, looking at a dark haired, swarthy man with a short beard, the same man who had been at Benson’s side. Catelyn didn’t have much the way of instincts, but she knew a trap when she saw one. Before she could open her mouth, and hand came from behind her, clamping itself over her mouth tightly; a pale hand, Benson’s hand. Another hand latched onto her upper arm, and she felt hot breath on her cheek.

“Come on, make this easy for us.” Benson said slimily from behind her. She, of course, did not. She screamed through the hand, and began to thrash, kick and pull away. Benson just tightened his grip on her, and yanked her back. The dark haired man caught her kicking feet, but not before Catelyn gave him some hard kicks to the stomach and chest, and lifted her off the ground. Squirming and bucking in their grasp, the two crew men hurriedly carried Catelyn into a store room. They kicked the door closed, and pinned her onto some crates.

“Yell all you want, nobody can hear ya in here.” The darker man stated. So Catelyn did, caterwauling and thrashing about, Benson gave her some choice slaps to the face; they stung of course, but Catelyn’s pain tolerance had increased a fair amount since being with Gregor, so she barely reacted to the slaps, just setting her jaw and glaring at the men. She did still her movements, however; they had her pinned down firmly, and she didn’t intend on wasting her energy that she desperately needed. The darker man brandished a bent, dull looking knife, one that smelled like it was used for gutting fish. 

“Don’t cause no fuss.” Benson told her. “Make it easy, and we’ll be as gentle as we can be.” he lied.

For a moment, Catelyn considered revealing her noble status, but she thought better of it - they’d likely think it was some desperate attempt to get away. Instead, she gave them a hateful glare and bared her teeth.

“You damned fools.” She barked at them, almost in a laugh. “You don’t know what you are doing.”

It was true, they had no idea what they were bringing upon themselves. 

But the two sailors just laughed, so pleased with themselves. 

“We’re gonna fuck the piece of cunt that’s been teasing us for days, that’s what we’re gonna do.” Benson stated.

“You’re going to die.” Catelyn told them, like a prophecy. Benson gave her hair a harsh yank.

“Watch your mouth, bitch.” He warned. He nodded to his comrade, who brought his knife to Catelyn, and began to cut her night slip. She gave a bit of a struggle, but the garment was cut from her easily, it was thin and there wasn’t much of it to begin with. In only three swipes of his knife, Catelyn was left completely bare. The two crewmen stared hungrily, practically watering at the mouth like hyenas. Benson took one of his filthy hands and squeezed Catelyn’s right breast roughly, while the other tried to force his hand between Catelyn’s legs; she squeezed them together tightly on instinct, trapping the man’s hand, but ensuring his fingers could only swipe at her folds.

“Fuck, I can’t wait any longer.” Benson said ravenously. His hand went to his roughspun trousers, and pushed them down, his pale, hard cock popping free.

Perhaps in a past life, she might have been intimidated by the sight of a grimy man’s cock. It was around 7 inches with blemishes, and perhaps to some other poor maid he undoubtedly forced himself on, it would have brought tears and fear - but after Gregor and the bitch breaking weapon he had between his legs, Benson’s cock was laughable.

So that’s what Catelyn did - she laughed. 

Loud and boisterous guffaws, the kind that would’ve been unbecoming of a lady, her eyes staring directly at his prick so that the source of her mirth was unquestionable. The darker man looked confused, and Benson’s face burned red with fury.

“Shut up-” He barked. Catelyn just laughed louder and harder.

“I said shut your mouth!” Benson screamed. The other crewman flinched, and looked towards the door, perhaps worried someone might hear Benson’s yelling. Catelyn just continued to laugh; a man’s ego was unarmored, subject to cuts and stabs. In fury, Benson gave Catelyn another slap, before grabbing her and roughly spinning her around, and bending her over the crate. He gave her ass several hard smacks, before his hand latched onto her hip. The darker man pushed down on her upper back to keep her pinned.

“I’ll show you, I’ll show you.” Benson repeated. Catelyn could hear him shifting and stumbling behind her, lining himself up with her entrance. “I’ll fuck you fucking bloody. I’ll tear you in half-”

Then there was a gasp, like the air was taken from someone’s lungs all at once.

Catelyn still found herself surprised with quietly Gregor could move despite his size; it almost defied reason. The pressure on Catelyn’s back disappeared suddenly, and she was able to stand back up. When she turned back around, Gregor was there as he was inevitably going to be, her knight coming to save his noblewoman. His hand was between? She also was looking at the pained and petrified face of Benson, who was frozen as Gregor had his bare hand between his legs, gripping his manhood in his massive grip. 

And then he squeezed, turning Benson’s manhood into a horrid mess of blood and flesh. Benson let out a scream that Catelyn could only imagine came when someone was being drawn and quartered. Gregor moved his arm, and lifted Benson from the ground by the remains of his cock and balls. Benson kicked his feet, gurgling screams and crying in horrific pain. His comrade stood, frozen in fear, his knife hanging by his side as his whole body shook. 

And just as quickly as Gregor lifted the man, he dropped him, letting him fall to the floor in a heap. Benson curled up into a ball, hand reaching for his cock that was no longer there, just a bloody and terror of a mess. He let out a pathetic squeal. He wasn’t left to suffer for too long, as Gregor stepped into the room further, stepping directly onto Benson’s head. Catelyn barely saw him apply any force, but Benson’s head POPPED, like a horse stepping on a melon. He didn’t even have the chance to make another sound, before his body seized, then went limp. 

Gregor then looked at the darker man, his face passive despite just brutally killing a man. The man stood frozen in place, besides his shaking, petrified beyond reason. Catelyn stepped to the side, trying to avoid stepping on the remnants of Benson’s head that was spilled on the floor. Gregor simply reached out to the man - Catelyn turned her head slightly to look away as Gregor took hold of the man. Catelyn heard a yelp, and the sound of bones breaking, then the sound of a body hitting the ground. When Catelyn looked back, the dark man was on his back, the top portion of his had looking as if it was caved in, bleeding from his mouth and ears.

The deadly commotion had awoken most of the ship, and footsteps clambered to the store room. Half the crew stood outside the store room, looking on in horror and confusion. They began yelling, all their voices mixing together in anger and fear. Some head weapons, axes and knives, but didn’t dare step into the same room as Gregor, shirtless and covered in blood.

The Captain arrived and pushed through the crowd of men. His eyes widened as he looked into the room, looking between his dead crewmates, Gregor and Catelyn.

“What is the meaning of this?” Ashlam demanded, trying to sound authoritative. Gregor just regarded him slightly, stepping over Benson’s body, towards the door. The crew took a fearful step back, but Ashlam stood his ground, even though he clearly broke out into a sweat. 

“Your men touched something that wasn’t their's.” Gregor said simply. Ashlam frowned, and looked past Gregor’s large form at Catelyn. The other men did the same. It suddenly dawned on Catelyn that she was completely naked in front of half the crew, and a semblance of modesty returned to her as a blush crawled up her bosom to her face.

Ashlam pursed his lips, intelligent enough to infer what happened. 

“Do you not think this was an overreaction.” Ashlam asked diplomatically. “Surely you can understand why men who are at sea most months might…balk at temptation. She is a whore after all-”

“MY whore.” Gregor replied possessively.

Catelyn just sat there silently, in the nude, as the men spoke of her attempted rape like it was a property dispute. The tension in on the deck could ignite to more violence in an instant. The crew looked ready to riot, but their fear of Gregor kept them at bay. Catelyn wondered if he could take them all if it came down to it. But Gregor didn’t seem to have any intention of fighting at the moment, least not them. Instead, he reached back, and grabbed a fistful of Catelyn’s red hair. She gasped in surprise and pain as he hauled her to her feet, and began to drag her stumbling to the door. The Captain and crew were caught by surprise, and unsure of what to do, parted from in front of the store room door and allowed Gregor and Catelyn to pass. 

“Gregor?!” Catelyn gasped out, grabbing his large wrist. “What are you-”

“Be quiet.” Gregor ordered plainly, before yanking her hair harder, continuing to drag her about as the crew followed in confusion. Gregor pulled her all the way to mess hall, where he manhandled her over the nearest table, turning her so that she was looking at the oncoming crew; Gregor positioned himself behind her. She tried to look back at him, but he placed a firm hand on the back of her head, and forced her to look forward at the crew. 

“Gregor, just-” She began, before being interrupted by a THUNDEROUS slap to her bare ass. She gasped, more whined, loudly, and was nearly sent over the table by the force of it. It wasn’t the piddling spanks she had ‘suffered’ through at the hands of the crew; it was ferocious, savage, the kind she had come to crave and love. 

“Spread yourself.” Gregor told her, hand still firmly pinning her down by her head.  She tried to look back at him in her periphery, before looking forward at the crew who had huddled by the entrance of the Mess, watching in puzzled concern and confusion, all staring at HER. Though greatly diminished, Catelyn STILL had a sense of shame, and she once again flushed red. But that didn’t keep her from obeying, reaching behind and grabbing a hold of her ass cheeks. Slowly she pulled them apart for Gregor - the crew couldn’t see, of course, but the implication was clear enough for them to start muttering amongst themselves. She had done this dozens of time before, but to do it in front of people - a surge of humiliation, and despite herself, excitement ran through her.  Gregor kicked her feet wider apart, and Catelyn instinctually arched her back and raised her ass in the air more. 

“Ser Knight-” Ashlam said carefully, like he was trying to calm down a unruly stead. “Just what is it that you are doing?”

“Making a point.” Gregor replied. Catelyn heard him shift, and gasped as she felt his cock flop against the small of her back. She couldn’t control herself, her ass wiggling back against him, a wanton display in front of all these men. It was shameful, degrading, but her cunt dripped - like a whore. 

Gregor gave no warning as he lined himself up and shunted his manhood into Catelyn’s waiting cunt.

“NNNNGGGGHHH” Catelyn moaned, mouth through clenched teeth as she was stretched, even after weeks of laying with him, his cock still felt like it was splitting her open in the best way, her quim clenching against his length in a tight sheath. Her eyes crossed, and the men in front of her blurred. She could make out their astonished expressions, astonishment mixed with jealousy, fear and lust as Gregor rode her brutally.

“By the gods, he’s gonna kill 'er” One man said.

“Nay, look at her, she’s taking it.” Another commented. And he was right, she was taking it - each brutal thrust making, her cunt gushing with each slam of his hips. Catelyn continued to hold herself open, giving Gregor the fullest access she could offer.

*SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK*

The sound of Gregor’s hips crashing against Catelyn’s jiggling ass was almost deafening, drowning out the sounds of the sea and the creaking of the boat, each thrust threatened to make the table give way. Catelyn’s tongue loled out her mouth, and ideas of composure being fucked right out of her brain. She was getting fucked in front of some dirty seamen, her cunt ravaged, and she wouldn’t have been anywhere else. In her fucked out delirium, she thought she might’ve let Gregor fuck her in front of all of Winterfell.

“This is MY cunt.” Gregor grunted, giving his hips an extra hard snap. He was addressing the crew, but Catelyn tried to nod her head. “MY holes, MY bitch.”

“YESSSSHHH!” Catelyn drooled, as an orgasm tore through her body. Some of the crew shameless had their hands in their trousers, jerking their pricks at a bitch being broken. Gregor moved both his hand to cradle the side of Catelyn’s head, his large fingers hooking into her mouth and pulling her cheeks back. Spit ran down Catelyn;s chin, and her tongue waggled out her mouth in a disgustingly whorish fashion. She was slamming her self back against Gregor’s cock, like she was trying to run his cock all the way through herself.

“This is your warning.” Gregor said firmly and evenly, like he wasn’t balls deep in Catelyn and fucking into her like a maniac. “She is mine. Touch her, and there will be consequences.”

Then, no more words were said. Gregor was silent, focusing on ravaging Catelyn, the crew was silent, watching entranced at the scene in front of them; Catelyn was the only one still making noise, senseless babble of pleasure and undignified degrading moans as she continued to get worked. This went on for another half hour, until Gregor let out a grunt, his cock pulsing and balls tightening, emptying himself into Catelyn’s womb. Catelyn had gone limp at this point, several orgasm tearing through her, her arms lying limply on the table, her mouth dangling open, and her eyes half closed. When he had finished pumping her full of his seed, he pulled out of her just as carelessly as he had driven into her, cum spilling from her cunt and cascading down her inner thighs. He moved around the table, and the whole crew flinched, worried at what he would do next. But he ignored them, still wet cock swinging between his legs, he walked to another table, where an apple sat. He grabbed it, and ate half of it in a single bite. Then, he left, walking through the crew, who moved out his way like he was made of fire, returning towards his room. As for Catelyn, well she was left there, her cunt leaking come, passed out on the table, muttering to herself in a delirious unconsciousness. 

That was the beginning of the last trek of the voyage, one in which there was an…understanding on the ship.

The levee had been broken, ultimately destroyed in fact. With about 3 days left on their voyage, what little decency Gregor had had completely evaporated. He fucked Catelyn, whenever, wherever and in front of whoever. Whether it be bouncing Catelyn on his cock while he ate in the Mess, or her choking on his cock on the upper deck while he looked over at the horizon, Gregor held no shame, fucking Catelyn where ever he happened to find himself, and leaving sticky remnants of when they left. He forbade Catelyn from wearing clothes, so for the last days, she had to traverse the ship completely nude. She still reddened, and felt waves of humiliation - she STILL was a noblewoman, but it was usually, if not temporarily, fucked out of her mind whenever Gregor got a hold of her, turning into a wanton whore who did not care who was watching or judging.

And the crew watched on, trying to keep their distance after he 8th night. Even as Catelyn walked the ship with her tits and cunt out, the men kept their hands to themselves - mostly. There were those who tempted fate, who thought Gregor was bluffing with his talk of “consequences.”

The first man “fell” overboard, and another ended up with an axe lodged in his skull.

It was simple; if they touched Catelyn in any way, they died. They were to fearful to fight back, to offer any resistance to this new maritime law they found themselves in, so they just did their best to avoid their deadly passengers. 

Catelyn did feel a tad guilty about the first mate, though. He hadn’t even meant to touch her - the halls of the ship were narrow, and he was a man a bit on the portly side. A slight brush of her breast as he tried to move past her, with his shoulder of all things. Catelyn hadn’t even thought of it as a transgression - but Gregor did. The crew found him hanging from one of the sails.

7 crewmen. That’s how many Gregor killed in total. Catelyn wasn’t one to condone such feverish violence, especially for offenses that were hardly capital, however another side of her, one that was more primal and growing stronger every day was quite taken by Gregor’s willingness to kill for her. Perhaps it came from his own sense of selfish ownership as opposed to her honor, which he had no problem degrading, but still, it reminded of how she felt when Brandon had dueled Petyr all those years ago. Brandon had nearly cut Petyr’s heart out, her friend of years, but Catelyn couldn’t deny that she had nearly swooned when Brandon delivered the strike that ended the duel, and that her small clothes were rendered a bit sticky. 

When they finally arrived at port, and dropped anchor, Catelyn was allowed to wear clothes again. She walked the deck to disembark, and the crewmen scattered away from her, like she was lady death herself. Seemed in the end, even if they didn’t respect her like a noblewoman, they feared her all the same. 

Gregor wasn’t with her as she stepped off the ship, saying he had some final business to attend to. His armor back on, he entered Ashlam’s master cabin - the Captain was not happy to see him, sitting behind his desk, he scowled, and leaned back in his chair.

“Well, Ser Knight-” He spat. “You have arrived. Arrived at the expense of my crew - like a damned plague.”

“I have never been sick in my life.” Gregor replied. “Perhaps your men just had weak constitutions.”

Ashlam gave him a disgusted look. “Well your passage is now complete. Get off my ship. I have work to do to rebuild my crew.”

Ashlam began to go over scrolls on his desk, doing his best to ignore the giant in front of him. Gregor just stood there, a quarter of a smile on his face.

“Aye.” Gregor replied.

In gray flash, Gregor moved - quicker than a man his size, and a man armored, should. His dagger came from his belt, and stabbed through Ashlam’s hand, pinning it to his table. The Captain screamed, howled for help.

“Don’t think they can hear you.” Gregor noted. “Moving your cargo, the bustle of the port. You might as well be at the bottom of the ocean”

Gregor gave the dagger a slight twist, making Ashlam whimper, tears running down the man’s dark face.

“I told you there’d be consequences, touching what’s mine.” Gregor said lowly, bending down to look the captain in his face.

“I-I didn’t touch her.” Ashlam begged. “I swear!”

“Did you forget already.” Gregor laughed horribly. “It was not a fortnight ago. In King’s Landing - you kissed her hand.”

_________________________________________________________________________

“What kept you?” Catelyn asked as Gregor descended from the ship.

“Business.” He replied simply. Catelyn arched an eyebrow at him. He made a movement with his hand as he passed, tossing something at her. She scrambled to catch it. She looked down, realizing she was holding her coin purse, still full.

“What is this?”

“Refund.”

Catelyn looked at the ship for a moment, before turning away from it and following after Gregor. She tucked her coin purse into her sleeve. Some questions didn’t have good answers. 

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