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The Northern Tyrant [Game of Thrones] Chapter 3 - Dance & Decisions
🕑 Added 2025-05-01 19:38:03 +0000 UTC[Lifespan Left - 73 Years 6 Months] It was frightening to see his lifespan go down from seventy-six to seventy-three years and six months. B
[Lifespan Left - 73 Years 6 Months]
It was frightening to see his lifespan go down from seventy-six to seventy-three years and six months. But he decided to make the purchase anyway. In the world of Westeros, there were a few skills without which he couldn’t survive long.
While he already knew horse riding and swordsmanship, he didn't consider himself a true master. After all, he practiced with blunt swords. Meanwhile, in Westeros, steel was steel, and it was meant to cut things down. And he needed that skill.
So, a night before heading out for the Tourney at Harrenhal, Wylis slept alone in his room. It'd been weeks since that night with Lyanna, and they'd casually met each other a few times since then. At night, of course. She was still not fully accustomed to his size but they were slowly getting there.
Alone, while lying on the bed, he summoned that magical screen in front of his eyes and purchased: Sword Mastery, Archery Mastery, Horse Riding Mastery, Survival Mastery, Knife/Axe Throwing Mastery, and Hand-to-Hand Combat Mastery.
All of it in one go.
A big mistake on his part.
That night, he chewed on the pillow in fear of waking up the entire Westeros with his screams. The pain arose not only in his head but also in his spine, and every single muscle on his body. In real-time, he felt all the information leave a print in his mind. He felt it slowly as his awareness of the purchased skills grew exponentially.
It felt like his brain was being fried, and his muscles hardened by the sudden years of training experience. He just chewed the pillow, grinding his teeth like a madman. Every vein on his body bulged, his clothes drenched in sweat. The ordeal lasted hours, possibly the entire night.
When he noticed the morning sunlight through a tiny crack in the ceiling, he knew the night had passed. Panting, exhausted, he finally felt normal.
But it was a heavy lesson learned. From then on, he planned to never buy more than one experience at a time.
With a heavy sigh, he looked affront at the stretching Kingsroad through the dense trees of Riverlands. They'd already set out for Harrenhal—Him, Lyanna, Brandon, Benjen, and a few Stark soldiers and two carts carrying equipment. The plan was to meet up with Eddard and Robert who'd already arrived at Harrenhal.
For Wylis, this was an exciting experience. For the first time, he was out of the North and he was already loving it. As the winter was ongoing, he didn't like Winterfell much, always dirty, muddy, and covered in snow. Even just reaching Riverlands was a relief. Greenery everywhere, not that much mud, and also warmer.
But right now, he noticed the people had started to think the Winter had passed. He knew they were wrong. 281 AC was the year of false Spring that lasted two months. As far as he remembered, it'd soon start snowing and it'd snow even in King's Landing.
"How many Knights will there be in the Tourney?" Wylis asked, keen on understanding the world around him.
"Too many." Brandon Stark responded from his steed. "But you bested me fair and square, Wylis. Even with my twisted ankle, you fought well. You're better than most knights out there. Just be cautious around the likes of the Prince and Selmy."
Hah! Sprained ankle my ass. Wylis remembered the man jumping around like a rabbit to stay away from his reach. He'd won against Brandon in his prime.
"And Robert." Lyanna added, squeezing forward her horse between Brandon and Wylis'. "He's a brute. Be careful."
"Oh? Could it be... heavens! Are you wagering against your own sweet betrothed?" Wylis teased, his grin as wide as the moat. Even Brandon chuckled, and from the back, Benjen's laughter echoed. Her brothers were well aware of her disdain for Robert; it was no secret.
Lyanna glared, her angry face too mismatched in Wylis' eyes as he only thought it was cute. He'd felt that ever since they became pals. She just lacked the size to be lethal to him.
"Fine," Lyanna huffed, rolling her eyes. "I'll pray to the gods that he knocks you flat in the melee. May you land on your ass and cry out for Old Nan." With a mischievous grin, she struck a sharp smack on Wylis' horse's rear.
Pa!
"Neeehhhh!"
The horse neighed in frenzy and tried to shoot off forward in wild galops. But Wylis skillfully controlled it, only letting it raise its front hooves for a moment before resuming a normal trot.
"..."
Lyanna was speechless.
"By the Old Gods, Wylis, when did you become a master horseman?" Brandon exclaimed, eyes wide with surprise. "Either way, you've earned the right to borrow my spare jousting kit."
For a moment, even Wylis was in shock.
Jesus Christ! Fuck! That was… exciting. It felt so natural!
"Well, I’m officially the stableboy. It's only natural I'd know horses best."
"Hah! Is that so? Then how about this—" Brandon shared a quick glance with Benjen behind and then Lyanna. "The last one to reach Crossroads Inn buys the wine! And not the cheap kind—Ha!"
Bring it on, buddy!
Wylis, truly enjoying himself with the Starks, let his instincts control him. He'd mastered horse riding already, the knowledge was within his brain, and his body was already used to it. All he had to do was just… do it.
"Ha!"
####
"Shit! That's a lot of knights." Wylis saw it from a distance as they neared Harrenhal. The ruined castle wasn't as impressive as the tents that sprawled around the castle itself. Smoke pillars rose at many spots, and countless flags fluttered in the wind.
"Scared already?" Lyanna teased from his side, a sack of wine in her hand. Benjen had lost the race and had to buy the wine.
Wylis scoffed and raised his head proudly. Using both hands, he combed ten of his fingers through his hair, settling them backward. "It's called excitement, Lyanna. I know no fear."
"Oh really?" Lyanna suddenly steered her horse closer to Wylis and whispered with teasing eyes. "Looked pretty scared when I nearly bit them balls that time."
"..."
He did remember that vividly. At times, Lyanna tends to get too lost in the act of sexual pleasure, leading to some strange behaviors from her side. Not that he was complaining.
"That's a different thing… Let's move faster."
They sped faster and soon arrived at Harrenhal. As Wylis had expected, a grand tent was set up for House Stark with the other northern houses dotted around. Of course, the members of House Stark would sleep within the castle itself. The tent was for soldiers and preparations for the tourney.
"The tourney events start from tomorrow. A great feast will be held in the Hall of a Hundred Hearths tonight." Brandon informed them all. "Wylis, if anyone stops you, just say you're my squire."
Wylis agreed right away. He was so lowborn that even being there was a stroke of luck for him. Getting to enter the great feast was a much greater opportunity. Sure, he was already stronger and much taller than Brandon. But Brandon was also older.
After dismounting their horses and handing them over to the Stark men at the tent, the four of them walked towards the castle. The scale of it was insane, and the ruined grandeur was ominous. Dragons did that, and those dragons were long gone yet the dynasty had continued.
Wylis walked behind the three Stark siblings to avoid any unnecessary chatter. But still, Wylis stood almost seven feet tall, and he was built like a muscled bull. It being winter, his fur cloak elevated his massive form, and the greatsword on his back made him all the more terrifying. Yet, one look at his face and most men stared at him in awe rather than fear.
I was prepared but… this will be a challenge.
Wylis felt he could never act or plot secretly in the future due to his height. Blending into the crowd was impossible. And his two-handed Great Sword, six feet long itself, also caught too many eyes. It was annoying to carry it on his back, but he got by. He planned to take complete advantage of his monstrous size, strength, and arm reach with an even longer blade.
As they approached the walkway to enter the castle, an old scribe sat at the gates with a small table and a booklet. Knights and lords who entered the castle could add their names to the tourney there.
"Brandon Stark of House Stark. Add me to melee and joust." Brandon put up his name. Lyanna was a woman, and Benjen was just fourteen, so they didn't join any.
"Ser?" The scribe looked at Wylis then, the old man's eyes gleaming with interest at the colossal man.
It was awkward for Wylis. He was no knight and was called Ser. "I am no knight, not yet. I am Ser Brandon Stark's squire—Wylis of Winterfell. Add me to melee, archery, ax throwing, horse race, and the joust."
"Ambitious, aye, lad? That only leaves the tourney of singers," the old scribe said, chuckling. "You don't want to take part in that, my big friend? You do have a deep voice."
Wylis shook his head. "I can't see anyone enjoying a tall brute gurgling random words."
"Pfft—" Lyanna laughed at his side. "That's right. He only knows how to grunt… whilst wielding his sword."
"..."
Wylis wanted to see her face. He was sure she'd smirk and wink at him. Her words were simple for others but he knew the deeper meaning.
"The Prince will be winning it then," the scribe said and finished writing Wylis' name for the mentioned events. "Go on then, may you win all the glory. You're a big boy, perhaps the King will take notice of you."
That's the last thing I want. That mad cunt.
After that, Wylis followed the Starks into the castle. A servant was quick to approach them and guide them to their resting chambers. The castle was huge, and a lot of its portions were repaired, or temporarily fixed for the tourney. Clearly, the money being spent was beyond Lord Whent's ability. Everyone knew it.
While Lyanna was provided a small chamber for herself, Brandon, Benjen, and Wylis were given a slightly larger chamber with three beds inside. Eddard wasn't there, likely staying with Robert Baratheon.
Quickly, they all wiped their faces with a wet cloth and changed their attire for the great feast. Thankfully, the Starks didn't care much about luxury and fine clothing. What they wore were simple grey and black combinations with some silver chains around their necks. The fur cloaks added enough majesty themselves.
Even Wylis had decent clothes this time, thanks to Old Nan and his mother. They were alive and well, including his father, grandfather, and granduncle. He had a whole family to support him in whatever way they could.
Wearing a clean grey tunic, a vest, trousers, boots, and then a black cloak with white fur around the collar, he seemed no less than a northern noble. Also, he had a bronze chain around his neck carved with a locket in the shape of a gauntlet; his coat of arms in the previous life.
Pat!
Brandon smacked on his back. "Let's get going."
The three walked over to Lyanna's room which was close by and waited for her to emerge. Wylis was curious to see what she'd wear since in the North she was always draped in too many layers of clothing, boyish sort mostly.
Clack!
She can look like this too?
Wylis ogled her so hard that she felt his eyes undressing her right then and there. A soft glow of blush emerged on her cheeks from that. But still, she proudly moved, draped in a beautiful, ice-blue gown that hugged her slender waist so tight, off-the-shoulder type, revealing her pale as snow skin. But the rest of her was completely covered. Soon, even those shoulders were covered in a cloak.
She also wore some jewelry, the ones that he'd gifted over the years. He'd made it with his own hands. A thin-chained necklace that was given a shining light blue color. With her beautiful, brown hair, she was destined to be the focus of many at the feast.
"So, you're still a girl," Brandon teased with a grin. "Watch yourself—Robert might just take that as an invitation."
"Then I'll slice his bloody guts." Lyanna scoffed, her pleasant mood instantly ruined.
Finally, the four headed to the Hall of a Hundred Hearths for the opening ceremonies and the great feast. The main entrance was guarded by soldiers wearing Targaryen coats of arms, declaring that the King had already arrived.
As they walked into the massive hall, their ears were filled with incomprehensible chatter from too many noblemen and women all around. At the far end of the hall was a long table where the King sat, beside him was Lord Whent, and then there was Prince Rhaegar, his wife, and their children. Most of the other guests didn't take seats at the moment, busy discussing personal matters, marriage alliances, or trades.
This scent… wine and cheese.
Wylis had never smelled something like that even at feasts held at Winterfell. The level of luxury was absurd but to his liking. This was what being a noble was all about to Wylis. This was his dream, to be wealthy and powerful enough to hold such feasts.
Then, he glanced at the King's table, to which they were moving in order to pay their respects.
Filthy was the only word that came to Wylis' mind after seeing the King. The man was so thin and gaunt, with wrinkles all over his face. But not much of his face was visible anyway. His nasty hair had grown long past his waist, and his beard fell all the way to his lap, tangled and matted. His fingernails had grown like yellow talons, almost a foot long. There was clear madness in his eyes, all signs of acute paranoia were visible in the little movements he made to look left and right.
I pity the Queen more than anyone at this point. Wylis thought. He knew why the woman wasn't there. She was confined to the Red Keep with Viserys.
"Brandon Stark of House Stark pays respect, Your Grace." Brandon stopped a clear distance from the King's table and knelt down on one knee. Wylis and the others copied Brandon.
This fucker!
Wylis ignored the King's amused gaze. He noticed Rhaegar's keen eyes locking on Lyanna's figure. As if the prince just had a eureka moment.
"House Stark? Where is Rickard? Why isn't he here?" King Aerys demanded, his voice sharp and erratic. Then, just as quickly, he waved a dismissive hand. "Matters not—I'm sure the winter is harsh in the North. Let him manage his peasants. Enjoy the festivities."
Dismissed, they all stood up and left the King's table. Wylis, however, felt the Prince's eyes following Lyanna's moment. And he also saw how Elia Martell noticed her husband's strange behavior.
Then, just for a fleeting moment, as he felt Elia's eyes lock with his, he looked away. While the Dornish woman was beautiful and slender, he saw no advantage in getting tangled with her this early. He was a nobody for now.
"Baaaah! There you are!" Robert's roaring voice came from the front. Tall, broad shoulders, muscular, and not the fat man he'd one day become. The Robert of now looked so full of life and might, his eyes intelligent and hungry for something. "Seven hells! You've grown taller than me!"
That was for Wylis. Sure enough, Robert bypassed everyone, even his precious Lyanna, and came straight at him with an arm raised.
Bam!
Wylis clasped hands with the Baratheon Lord. "Fine food and wine raised me well, my Lord."
Wylis had met Robert only twice during Eddard’s visits home as Robert would tag along. The first time he met Robert, the Baratheon Lord challenged him and defeated him. The second time was just a year ago and Wylis defeated Robert in a hand-to-hand brawl.
Neither Robert nor he were trained in hand-to-hand. So, in the end, it was a simple brawl to see who was stronger in brute force. In that, he had come out on top.
“Bah—That’s right. Add some women an—” Right as Robert was about to speak of his whoring hobbies, he felt a nudge by Eddard behind him. "Ah, it's a pleasure to see you again, Lyanna."
Expressionless, Lyanna just gave a small greeting by raising the hem of her gown, refusing to even touch the Lord of Stormlands. "You look healthy, my Lord."
"Indeed, I am. The feast is grand, and the tourney grander!" Robert exclaimed, eyes gleaming with excitement. "Wylis, the melee will be seven-sided—seven teams of seven, clashing until the last man stands victorious."
Robert grabbed Wylis' arm and pulled him aside towards a table. Wylis was already huge, and combined with Robert, all nobles moved aside to give them way.
"Join my team tomorrow," Robert said, slamming a mug into Wylis's hand. "We'll hold back till the end, then show them a duel they'll sing about for years!"
No wonder he failed as a King. He's a battle junkie.
Men like Robert thrived in times of war and lived miserably in peace. Wylis knew the likes of him. He'd met a few veterans like him in his past life as his company produced medicines. For PTSD as well.
"Let's do that, my Lord." Wylis agreed. He needed to be Robert's friend to climb the social ladder. The Targaryens were hopeless in the long term.
But then, he noticed a man at the other end of the large hall. The man was even taller than him. "Who is that, my Lord? I never thought I'd see someone taller than me."
Robert lowered his wine mug and sneered. “Behold Gregor Clegane, the Lannisters’ new pet—The Prince knighted him recently. Pointless, if you ask me. The oaf won’t even joust. What use is all that height if you’re just a statue in armor?”
Wylis nodded silently. Right now, Gregor may not be much of an infamous warrior. But because of his size and twisted mind, the threat was no less.
"Eat well, Wylis. It'll be a day to remember tomorrow."
You just want to bash other men bloody.
Wylis went with it and entertained Robert until he was too drunk. Then at some point, the King stood up at his table and gained everyone's silent attention. Nobody feared the King, but they feared his madness.
Then, surprising many but not Wylis, the King admitted Jaime Lannister into the order of the Kingsguard. A purely political move, keeping the beloved son of Tywin Lannister as his hostage. Of course, Jaime being a fool accepted it excitedly, considering it an honor.
After that, the King sent Jaime to the Red Keep right away to guard the Queen. Even when Jaime requested to take part in the tourney.
Soon enough, the feast began, and then Prince Rhaegar sang a song. Wylis had to agree, the fucker had a face and voice most women would drool for. Even Lyanna's eyes were full of tears by the end. Benjen teased her and received a nice, cold goblet of wine on his head.
[Singing Mastery - 1 Year]
Wylis checked out the shop out of envy. But he didn't buy it. One year of his life just for singing was a waste. Maybe someday when he'd accumulated more lifespan with trueborns and bastards.
Then came the dance. The lords and ladies moved around, asking each other for a dance. Eddard eyed Ashara Dayne from a distance. So did many others. Even Lyanna was busy dancing with men she found decent.
Wylis stood at the side for a while, his status too low to ask anyone for a dance. All the women there were daughters, mothers, or wives of knights and lords. First, his height scared most women. And even if a woman did accept his invitation, their brothers, fathers, husbands, or sons would feel insulted.
While other squires could do it since they were already sons of lords, he had no great lineage.
So, he focused on fulfilling his daily protein intake to keep his muscles as fine as they were. He avoided wine and ate meat, the ones with the least grease, at least. He asked for milk too and the servants were happy to help, too scared of his ire.
Since I'm so close to King's Landing already, let's pay it a visit after the tourney.
He plotted his next steps while munching. Over the past four years, he'd strengthened his base. The people of Winterfell and Winter Town loved him. Now was the time to solidify his future.
"Ehm… Ser? May I have a dance with you?"
Fuck!
With a big bite of juicy chicken in his throat, he gulped it down quickly to seem presentable. But in turn, it only got stuck in his throat. Quickly, he drank some milk and wiped his mouth.
When he finally looked behind, he froze, then a frown formed on his face, and then a confused expression. He looked left and right, he was sitting alone.
Me? But why?
"My Lady?" He greeted her and stood up confidently, towering over her frame. Well, at that point he towered over all but one man.
She smiled, so beautifully that it finally hit Wylis why everyone was after her. She was young, probably the same age as him if not a year or two older. Beautiful, absolutely, taller than Lyanna, and fair in flesh. Her eyes were hauntingly violet in color, but she was no Targaryen. Her long dark hair tumbled around her shoulders that were bare in that gown. Her lips were plump red, her nose perfect, and she smelled of something nice.
"I’m no Ser, my Lady." Wylis was quick to act the part. If not in status, he hoped to seem noble in action.
"Not for long, I'm sure," she replied, shifting a quick glance towards the table where only the King and Elia remained seated. A glance that didn't go unnoticed by Wylis.
Then, she shifted to stand right beside him, her shoulder touching the upper part of his sidearm. She quickly wrapped her slender arm around his. "I'm Ashara Dayne of Starfall."
"Wylis of Winterfell, my Lady," Wylis replied and went to the dance floor with her.
Elia sent her? She's smarter than I guessed. But it's futile, the Prince has gone senile. Wylis entertained Ashara, perhaps the most desired beauty of the night. He felt countless eyes stare daggers at his back. He was sure many would try to seriously injure him in the tourney for this slight.
Maybe that's what Elia wants. To see how good I am in battle.
Wylis knew it, from the day he sensed his great height and prowess, that he'd be only ever seen as a tool by nobles. Be it Starks or Lannisters, or the Crown itself. In their eyes, he was just another Gregor Clegane.
I won't be anyone's dog but…Wylis glanced at the table, at Elia. She was smiling and looking at him. It is a dog-eat-dog world.
On the dance floor, Wylis placed a hand on the side of Ashara's slim waist. She was an arousing woman in every way. From her face to her body, she had curves, she was tall, and her mounds were noticeable even in that gown.
He looked down at her face as she glanced back up at him. They began moving with the rhythm. She tried to guide him but he already knew how to dance, a surprise to her.
"Your eyes, my Lady—make the stars look plain." He complimented her.
Ashara giggled, and when she smiled it felt as if her eyes smiled too. She shifted closer to him at that, her ample chest gently touching him below his chest. "Thank you. I've heard compliments before but never delivered so eloquently. I wasn't aware that Wylis of Winterfell possessed such poetic charm."
She's trying to charm me? What's the point?
He treated it just like any other dance. Under so many eyes, he dared not play around or feel her body beyond the side of her waist.
After a while, Ashara stopped moving and looked at Elia, who'd gotten up from her seat. "Thank you for the dance, Wylis. Her Grace and I shall be watching you closely tomorrow. It's rare to witness a warrior in his ascent—may the Warrior favor you."
Wylis watched her walk away, her hips not that noticeable in the gown, but he knew they'd be a sight to behold.
"Ehm… dance?"
He looked towards the front, holding back his chuckle at Lyanna's annoyed face. Quickly, he clasped her hand on one side and placed his other on her tight waist. Ashara may be many things, but she was no Lyanna, the only woman he felt comfortable with.
Her waist, he held tightly, sinking his large fingers into her flesh. She looked like a rabbit dancing with a wolf, but the smile on her face was telling. No other dance partner in that hall had earned that from the she-wolf.
"Enjoying yourself? Pretty ladies throwing themselves at you," Lyanna asked, teasing was her intent but the tone came out as frustration.
"Oh? What's this? Is that jealousy?"
"Hmph!" She scoffed, matching his steps. She wanted to be more relaxed and dance closer to his body but the event didn't allow it. "She's not worth half of me. Can she swing a sword? Can she race a horse?"
"That's why you're my favorite, aren't you?" Wylis teased her back. It was rare to earn such moments. Besides, she looked stunning that night. "Still, I'd prefer to see you wield a more… intimate sword right now."
Lyanna smirked, squeezing her hand against his chest while keeping it all normal and formal to other people’s eyes. "Is that what you want?"
In a low voice, he replied, "Would love to tear that dress apart and have you right here and now."
"Too bad… it's expensive. So no tearing."
"..."
Wait? Does that mean?
So suddenly, Lyanna had the upper hand. Her sultry eyes hinted at the event beyond that dance. "The usual four knocks."
"Very well, my Lady," he said and stopped dancing as too many men stood in line to dance with her. Including Rhaegar Targaryen.
Mindful that no other lady there wished to dance with him, he went over to Brandon who was busy drinking with Robert.
"Ah! Have a drink, Wylis. Listen to his fucker! I think he's shagged half of Vale." Brandon called for Wylis.
"I've eaten. I'm off to the tents outside to prepare our armor for tomorrow." Wylis excused himself. And it was true. He was Brandon's squire and it was his duty to prepare Brandon's armor for the melee.
Also, it was an excuse to have an alibi so he could spend time with Lyanna later.
####
"He's no fool, Your Grace."
Elia Martell looked at her lady-in-waiting while she sat on her bed, beside her were two children. "What about his ambitions?"
"I saw desire in his eyes."
"Most men would if you danced with them, Ashara."
Ashara turned red with embarrassment. "Not that sort of desire, Your Grace. He has very intelligent eyes as if he knew the game before it was presented. He looked at you at my slightest hint. He… I think it's a disservice to cast him alongside Tywin's brute."
A brow raised, Elia eyed her handmaiden with interest. "You already speak so highly of him?"
"He had a way with words…"
And so, Ashara went on to explain the entire dance to Elia.
They weren't the only ones. The appearance of a tall warrior like Wylis was an opportunity to some and an eyesore to others. And if that tall man were to be intelligent, he posed a real challenge.
That night, many attempted to unearth anything they could about the Wylis of Winterfell. But to most's surprise, there was nothing out of the ordinary to be known about him.
Eventually, as the night went on, most forgot about Wylis of Winterfell. Dismissing him as yet another brainless brute, a mere stableboy.
####
Knock! Knock! Knock! Knock!
One slow, two fast, and then one slow knock. That was the code.
The door opened without a creak, so fast. A slender arm grabbed his collar and pulled him in before the door was shut behind him.
Thud!
"What took you so long, Wylis?" Lyanna complained, glaring at Wylis before she lunged towards him and jumped into his arms, his hands instantly supporting her hips in the air, bringing her face right in front of his. "I stayed in this dress… I thought you'd be interes—"
"I love it!"
With that declaration, Wylis pressed his lips on Lyanna's thin, succulent ones. He’d bedded her half a dozen times already, but the hunger never dulled. If anything, it only sharpened with every forbidden kiss, every stolen night. That rush in his chest, in his groin; just knowing he could have her, Lyanna Stark of all women, sent his lust spiraling. She was a wildfire in human form, untamable, and he never wanted her any other way.
His large hands gripped her thighs just beneath the swell of her ass, grinding her up against his chest like she weighed less than air. Her feast gown clung to her like a second skin, concealing nothing, teasing everything. He could feel the warmth of her bare pussy just beneath the silk, already damp, already pulsing. His thumbs dug deep into her asscheeks, kneading them with brute hunger as she gasped into his mouth, hips twitching in his grip.
She looked like a goddess summoned just for him, her silk-like hair, cheeks flushed, lips slick and hungry. Their mouths met again, this time like fire colliding with oil.
Lyanna grabbed his face, nails dragging through his thin stubble as she mashed her lips against his with feral force. She wasn't soft or patient, she devoured him.
Wylis met her just as fiercely, sucking and biting at her lips, his tongue plunging into the heat of her mouth. Their mingled spit trickled down from the corners of their kiss, wetting both their chins, wet and filthy.
They kissed like they were starving, like kissing was the only thing keeping them from madness.
Lyanna clung to him, her arms looped around his neck, her legs wrapped around his waist, or at least attempted to. Her gown twisted around her legs, lips locked, breath stolen. Her whole body wrapped against his like she was trying to fuse into him, desperate for skin on skin.
“Hah… we’re mad, Wylis,” she panted between gasps, her forehead pressed to his, sweat dewing at her brow. The candlelight threw golden flickers across her face, catching the shimmer of spit on her lips.
“If we get caught here, they’ll kill you… and I’ll be—Gods, who knows what they’ll do to me.”
Wylis smirked, digging his rough claws into her pert ass hard, squeezing her body against himself in pure, animalistic passion. "You'll probably be married off to some old fart but…"
He kissed her lips once again, feeling that warmth in his chest again. This time it came off as possessive. He seriously didn't know, nor did she. Should they call this love or lust? But they both wanted each other desperately.
"But?" She asked, needy for his answer.
"With my strength, I could whisk you away, my wit could fill coffers with gold aplenty. Be it Westeros or Essos, you needn't fear a thing, Lyanna," Wylis declared with a roguish grin and moved towards the table beside the bed. He sat her on it and began pushing her gown up her legs. "Let's live for tonight... but perhaps not announce it to the entire castle."
Lyanna chuckled, her eyes dark with lust for Wylis. Right as he tried to kneel between her legs, she stopped him. "No… Let me… let me pleasure my charming knight tonight."
A thick breath froze in Wylis' throat as he stood back up. He watched as Lyanna jumped off the table and pushed him back towards the bed with her hand on his chest. He let her do that, and soon he sat down on the edge of the bed.
"Umm… you asked me to wield that sword. Here I go…"
Lyanna, in her noblewoman’s garb, lowered herself gracefully to her knees between Wylis’ big legs. The sight alone made his shaft twitch.
The bed was low enough that her delicate face hovered right in front of the heat swelling beneath his breeches, her hair still pristine. She looked like a princess, kneeling in reverence before something unholy.
With hunger, she reached for his breeches. Her pale fingers made quick work of the knots, tugging them down along with his smallclothes in one smooth pull. The fabric fell, and from behind it, his cock surged forth.
Thick and mouthwateringly obscene. It jutted out like a weapon of lust, his shaft veined and pulsing with heat, ridged like it had been carved by the gods just to ruin women. His flushed crown was swollen, leaking thick beads of precum like it had missed her for too long.
“O-oh gods,” she whispered, wrapping her slim fingers around the base. Her hand barely covered half his length. “You’re… impossible,” she added with a sultry grin, biting her lip. She gave him a slow stroke, her thumb rubbing at the tip, smearing the slick over his flushed crown.
“How did I ever take this monster inside me?”
Wylis grunted. “You didn’t… not all of it, yet.”
She giggled softly, a sound too refined for the sinful thing she was about to do. Leaning in, she kept her eyes locked on his, cool, noble, confident; until her plush lips brushed the swollen tip of his cock. Her tongue flicked out in a teasing swirl, dainty and deliberate.
Wylis groaned low. She looked like every highborn man's fantasy: hair still in delicate waves, her gown bunched at her knees but otherwise pristine, her posture elegant as a lady at court… while she worshiped his cock like it was her calling. That contrast, the picture-perfect lady on her knees, defiling herself just for him, sent a wicked thrill through his chest. No lord would dare touch her like this. But he could, and he was.
"Uh… Dammit, Lyanna… You're… great at this…"
She sank deeper, her lush lips forced wide open around his thick cock, sealing him in a sloppy, wet embrace. Every inch she swallowed made a filthy, sloppy squelch come out of her mouth, obscene in the quiet room. She barely managed halfway before the fat crown jammed against the back of her throat, making her whole body jolt. Still, she refused to stop.
“G-Gods, girl…” he groaned, watching her pretty face struggle.
Her cheeks caved in as she sucked greedily, her throat clenching and spasming around his crown like it was trying to milk him already. Tears pooled at the corners of her pretty eyes, her flaring nose gasping for breath between gulps, but she stubbornly wouldn't stop.
Gluk! Gluk! Gluk!
The lewd wet sounds of her mouth filled the air, filthy and relentless, as if her only purpose was to worship his cock. One trembling hand cradled his heavy balls with reverent, almost worshipful strokes as if every part of him needed to be adored.
“Ghhh…” Wylis, now sweating from the heat surging through his body, growled low in his throat. He tossed his cloak aside and tore off his tunic, baring his sculpted chest and bulging abs.
That seemed to spur her on. Her hand trailed from his wrinkled family jewels, up the plane of his stomach, marveling at the sweaty ridges of strength, the sheer power under her fingertips. She loved the heat of his skin and the hard, rock-like muscles he had. That seemingly filled her with a strange sense of desire to please, urging her to go past the half mark of his cock, lodging his cock in her throat so deep, like never before.
Wylis’ head fell back, mouth open in a silent moan, eyes fluttering shut. He was on the brink.
“L-Lyanna… let’s move to the… main part—” Wylis tried to advise.
But she ignored him.
She sucked harder, deeper, her throat milking his cock like it was her only goal in life. Her lips slurped, her tongue flicking and pressing along the underside as her throat convulsed with every thick inch. Wylis growled, hips jerking, every muscle clenched as the inevitable took him—then he burst.
“F-fuck! Lyanna—!”
Hot, violent spurts of cream shot down her throat, thick ropes of molten pleasure flooding her tight mouth. She gagged once, briefly, but swallowed it all like a starving cat, sucking even harder, desperate to drink every last drop.
His cock twitched wildly in her mouth as she moaned around it, her eyes fluttering, cheeks flushed with heavenly bliss.
“Gck… God!” Wylis gasped, trying to push her head back, but she didn’t let him.
She whined, mouth still stuffed full, throat gulping around his cock like a woman possessed. The wet, messy gulps, the obscene squelches of her mouth draining him dry, pushed him into pure sensory overload.
His body trembled… No, shuddered, with raw ecstasy.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, her mouth pulled off with a wet pop. A long string of spit and cum clung to her tongue before she swallowed it all, licking her lips like it had been the sweetest thing she’d ever tasted.
"Ummm… I said it—You can't sing but your moans… music to my ears."
"That's a groan, not a mo—aaah!"
She licked his shaft again, teasing the oversensitive head with a flick of her tongue, making him twitch.
“Now…” she purred, eyes glinting with mischief. “Lie down.”
Without protest, Wylis let her take full control that night. He reclined across the bed, muscles glowing in the dim candlelight, chest rising and falling with his still-racing breath.
Lyanna rose to her feet, her smile soft but wild, and slowly peeled off her gown. Layer by layer, the silk pooled at her feet, revealing the real Lyanna Stark; slender, fierce, and stunning. She was as smoldering as fire, with tight curves wrapped in pale skin, and a body built for riding horses and being ridden harder. Slender waist, pert breasts, and lean thighs that could grip, she was a wildling wrapped in a noble shell. Every inch of her screamed untamed beauty.
Lyanna climbed the bed and straddled him with hungry, eager eyes, her soaked lower lips dragging along his length, smearing her dripping lust all over his thick, flaccid cock. The slick warmth of her pussy folds kissed every inch of him as she rocked her hips intentionally slow.
She then leaned down and pressed hot kisses to his chest, flicking her tongue over his nipple and making him chuckle breathlessly before biting his neck, kissing his jaw, and then claiming his lips with a needy, open-mouthed kiss.
They weren’t lovers, but their bodies told a different story. Every touch was worship, every motion, madness. When they were tangled together like this, devouring one another, there was no difference between lust and love; it all blurred into one savage craving.
Her shorter, lithe body blanketed his massive frame. Her dainty breasts pressed flat against his carved chest as she kissed him, but her short stature meant her pussy couldn’t keep grinding where it wanted to.
Wylis, already burning with need, hard again, curled his arms under her ass, hoisted her just right, and shoved his now eager cock into her tight cunt with a gentle thrust of his hips.
“Ughh…” Lyanna moaned sharply into the kiss, her throat vibrating against his tongue. She wasn’t as tight as the first time, but still snug enough that every ridge of him felt like a stretch, like she was splitting open, but loving it.
He started fucking her slowly, with measured thrusts. She drooled into his mouth, her moans breaking into quiet hums, her body trembling.
“N-No—oh Gods—I wanted… to do it myself.” She panted out, fighting to hold some control.
Wylis grunted, and stopped, hands leaving her hips. “Then do it, girl.”
With determination, she rose up. Knowing what was to come, she grabbed his discarded tunic and stuffed its sleeve in her mouth, and bit down hard. Her thighs trembled as she began working herself on that hulking cock, taking more and more of him inside her slick tight cunt, her hips jerking, her eyes watering from the stretch. But she wanted it.
Her legs were spread wide across his thick waist, barely able to bend properly. She had to press both palms on his muscled chest for balance as she worked herself down that monstrous shaft. Bit by bit, inch by burning inch, she lowered herself until her pussy swallowed him whole. Her mouth dropped open, tunic forgotten, drool clinging to her lips.
"F-Fuck… you're all the way in…" She whimpered.
It felt like he was impaling her womb, so high inside her that she could feel it up in her stomach. It stung, and burned, but gods it was divine. She didn’t need silken words or courtship; Wylis’ cock was all she’d ever crave, it filled her so well.
Wylis looked down at her stomach and saw it. A faint bulge where his cock sat buried inside her. His throat tightened, mouth dry, shaft pulsing from the obscene sight of her cunt stretched around him like that.
"I thought you'd never…"
“Take it all? Please, I’m no—ohhhfuck!” she gasped, broken mid-sentence as Wylis bucked his hips up into her with no warning.
They started moving in sync, slow and wet. Her slick petals clung to his cock greedily. This time, she took all of him in with each thrust. Her moans were feral, and she had to bite down again to keep from waking the whole castle.
She felt thoroughly ruined. No cock in this cursed realm could ever fill her like this. No knight, no Prince; no one but Wylis. So deep inside her, it felt like a part of her body itself.
“Mmmmmh!”
It came suddenly, like an explosion. Her climax was violent. She screamed around the tunic sleeve she bit, cunt clenching, fluttering, and her whole body fell forward onto his sweat-slicked chest, eyes rolling back. Her ass, her thighs, her cunt spasmed as she came on his cock still jammed balls deep.
But Wylis wasn’t done. He moved her like a stringless puppet, her limbs loose, barely coherent. With ease, he spun her around, as if he wanted her to ride him with her ass facing his gaze. But that wasn’t it. He locked his arms under her smooth, pale thighs, gripping her in position.
Then he stood to his full height, bare feet on the stone floor, lifting her sweaty body in the air, her back resting against his broad chest. Her cunt stretched wide in that position, he easily reached with a stretched hand and guided his thick shaft back to her rosy, spent swollen entrance.
“Oooh—Wylis!”
“Shhh… Not going all the way.”
As his cockhead lodged in, he lowered her light body, fucking her on his shaft like a willing toy, and she was one. Slow at first, he soon bounced her on it, harder, rougher. She couldn’t scream, only stretching her arm back, gripping his head behind.
It felt so big, so stretched, so much of his cock stuffed in her; Lyanna almost yelled out loud.
Then, she felt him move. Before she could react, they were in front of the dark window.
She saw their faint reflection in the small panes of the glass window. His thick cock spread her open, her pussy wet, pink, swollen, and stretched obscenely around his girth. Her reflection, fucked open and dripping, made her shudder.
Wylis started drilling up into her from below, using her body like a bouncing fucktoy. The sound of flesh slapping echoed in the quiet room. Her teeth gritted, eyes wild, and then she came, hard. A blinding spray burst from her pussy, soaking his thighs and landing a few drops on the window.
“F-fuck, Lyanna…” Wylis hissed, cock twitching madly inside her.
Knowing he couldn’t cum inside, he quickly dropped her onto the bed’s edge. Still high from her climax, she tried to take him into her mouth, but he was already stroking himself.
“Ugh~”
The intense itch in his balls rose, and Wylis pumped thick streams of cream all over her. The hot, pearly mess streaked her cheeks, splashed onto her lips, and dripped onto her tits in globs. Her wild, noble face painted white, the proud she-wolf of Winterfell reduced to a dripping cum-doll. And yet… it didn’t feel like a degradation. Not to him. It felt like adoration, like the kind of raw, addictive fondness he never wanted to stop giving her.
And then came the shiver of fear. That tight clutch in his chest. Because as he slowed his strokes, Lyanna swatted his hand away, took his still-hard cock into her hand, and started nursing it with her mouth, licking off every creamy drop like she was savoring a feast.
Her lips slid over the length, sucking him slow and gentle now, not for climax, but out of eagerness to please.
Wylis stared at her bobbing head, struck silent. The sight of her like this, smeared in his seed, willingly licking his cock like it was her prize, was beyond lust. This wasn’t friendship anymore. This was something else. Something fiery and fucked-up and real.
Why? Why would you still pick Rhaegar?
He asked himself, fearing losing her to the Prince. The thought struck like a dagger. The Prince: beautiful, golden, royal, an already married bastard.
Would she still want him after this? Would she still choose him?
He didn’t even realize he'd drifted into that spiral until Lyanna, still breathless, cock-stained, and glowing, raised her head and smirked. “Heh—what are you dreaming about?”
Wylis woke up from that post-nut clarity and looked at her.
She’d laid back on the bed, sprawled like a goddess in ruin, using his tunic to wipe his batter off her face and chest. It clung to her skin in shining streaks as she cleaned herself with a lazy smile.
"Nothing… Just wondering what we are." He replied, climbing into bed beside her; body still warm, cock still twitching.
Lyanna didn’t answer with words right away. Instead, she slid closer, snuggled her flushed face against his chest, and curled into him like she belonged there.
“Shh…” she whispered, her voice soft as silk, her breath hot on his skin. “Some questions are better left unanswered.”
After a moment of silence, Wylis hummed in agreement. The more time he spent with Lyanna, the less he wanted to give her up. He really had no other friend like her.
Soon, he heard her calm, sleeping breath on his chest. He glanced down at her messy hair and sighed deeply.
Rhaegar… What if I defeat him in the tourney? What will that change?
______________
A/N: Do vote on the posted poll.
Comments
MrPlotThickens
Yeah. Gonna post another chapter today.
Jacob Weiss
Neeeeed moooooore
Hildisvini
Nice chapter !
