Westeros – The North
Winterfell
The storm swept down on Winterfell like the hammer of an angry god. It had been snowing for weeks now, but not like this… the fields were covered, and nothing moved outside those walls. It had been the retreat of the Night’s Watch nearly impossible, but they had managed… only through careful preparations layed down by Lord Commander Edd and Lord Jon Stark together. A second wall had been built around Winterfell, encamping the armies surrounding it.
One army of Black-Armored slave soldiers, freed and pledged to their saviors, the Unsullied. One army, a mercenary force, the Second Sons… their numbers reduced by cowards fleeing, but still large, still dangerous. One army dressed entirely in leathers and furs, the Free Folk, the Wildlings from North of the wall, lead by Tormund who had pledged himself to follow Jon to the end. One Army of all black-clad brothers of the Wall, Crows retreating from the breach in the realm’s defenses. One army hoisting banners of bears, of wolves, of mountains and of towers, the assembled host of the Northern Bannermen, rallied around Jon Stark. And now, one final army… the crimson and gold-clad force of the Lannister men, placed as far from the Northern forces as possible but still here, led by the Lord Commander of the Queensguard Jaime Lannister to defend the realm.
Inside and outside the castle, fires burned bright and warm, beating back the unnatural cold and keeping everyone alive… R’hllor offering his protection to this final army of men prepared to die to defeat his enemy. The dead were on the move. By tomorrow night, they would be here… and if they broke through Winterfell, they would break the backs of the seven kingdoms. There would be no force left that was strong enough to stop them from rampaging over the kingdom and plunging all of Westeros… and soon the world… into eternal night.
No one still doubted that the army of the dead was on the march. Any skeptics had been silenced when they watched the Wall fall. Any cowards had already deserted. Everyone left here was ready to stand against the Night… even if it cost them their lives.
Ygritte sighed with pleasure, holding both her hands on Jon’s head as his tongue worked worked between her legs, sprawling luxuriously on the large, soft bed. Say what you would of these Southerners… they knew how to make a bed. She moaned and signed and groaned as she sank into the soft mattress and felt her lover licking on her sex.
“I have to say,” she moaned, “I like this tradition of you Southerners very much…”
Jon pulled up, licking his lips for a second. “You realize I’m from the North, right?” An amused chuckle bubbled up, and the breath did interesting things to her clit, making her shudder. “I grew up right here, in this very castle.”
“South of the Wall,” she insisted. “Your a Southerner, crow.” She pushed back down with both hands. “And I didn’t tell you you were allowed to stop.”
Laughing, Jon struggled. Ygritte tried to hold him in place, grinding him against her pussy for a few seconds before he got free, grabbing both of her arms and pinning them above her head as he crawled up her body, holding her down while she writhed. “I think that would make you the Crow Queen,” he teased her as he held her in place and bit softly on her neck.
“Never that. Wolf queen is bad enough. I don’t handle fleas,” Ygritte protested as she struggled while Jon slipped between her legs with the rest of his body, smiling as she felt his hard cock grind against her. “What are you going to do, give me pups?” She gasped, chuckling, as he slipped inside her, pushing against his body in an extremely halfhearted attempt to get him off her. “I didn’t even know crows and wolves could breed. Where did a thing like you come from?”
Jon pumped into her, sliding effortlessly into the hilt into her tight but very wet and eager cunt. “Does the barbarian girl require a demonstration of how breeding works? I imagine I came from something much like this…” He began to thrust in and out.”
“You think I haven’t forgotten you were a virgin when I found you, Jon Snow?” She protested. She almost never got to call him that, anymore… these southerners were very particular about their names. Trying to avoid being distracted by the pleasure of having him slam in and out of her, she wrapped her legs around his ass… and then twisted every muscle in his body, flipping him over onto his back shockingly quickly. “Perhaps I need to remind you how I taught you everything you know worth knowing…”
Jon reached up and grabbed her hair, holding the back of her head as she slowly rode up and down on him, grinding herself down. He was grinning like an idiot… so was she, until her cheeks hurt. “Show me a trick if you can, puppy.”
Any of the warriors among the assembled armies knew that they were likely to die tomorrow, and the more fatalistic the warrior, the more they believed it. It couldn’t be a surprise that both Brienne Tarth and Jaime Lannister felt they had just hours left to live. Far from worrying them, though, it only lead them to make their last hours together the more memorable, to carry them into the Seven’s embrace satisfied.
Brienne shuddered as she felt the metal of his hand against her skin… like she always did. It was uncomfortable, and cold… but precious, and not because of the gold smelted into it. Feeling it always reminded her what he had sacrificed, and how it had been for her. One hand on either of her cheeks, the handsome knight leaned in to kiss her, and Brienne melted into that kiss, letting him push her against the wall.
She had never expected to have a real lover… not after her experience growing up. Who could desire a woman like her, who could have wanted her? It still felt surreal that the man whom she treasured felt the same. She felt like part of her was still waiting for the punchline, for the deception to be revealed, even after they had been together for months now.
But this was no deception. She could see the devotion in Jaime’s blue eyes, the need. She didn’t want him to take his hands off her, not even for a second, so she moved her own hands, unfastening her tunic, slipping out of her pants and stepping out of them. One of the legs got caught on her foot, and she snarled incoherently for a second as she kicked several times, hard, shaking it off her while Jaime smiled and returned to kissing her. His tongue tasted like… sunlight, and flowers, and honey, and she loved it.
She didn’t resist as he began to guide her towards the bed, but she did tense. She hated that, but she couldn’t help herself… spending months beneath Ramsay’s tender mercy had left some lasting scars. Jaime assured that didn’t make her weak, and most times she agreed with him… but when she tried to bed her lover, it still disgusted her that she was so weak she began to panic, like he was going to hurt her.
Thankfully, they had found a solution they could both live with. Moving a bit hesitantly, she still raised her hands above her head, letting Jaime fasten the leather cuffs on the bed to them there, binding her arms in place. She felt a moment of panic as they closed, like always, but it faded as she felt his hands against her skin, felt the cold of his false hand bringing her out of it. She rolled onto her belly, letting him bind her ankles the same way to opposite corners. Now she couldn’t panic and lash out, couldn’t hurt him, could try to make him stop when she really wanted anything but for him to stop.
She felt his hands on her hips, pulling her ass up and towards him. She shuddered, but only a little in fear… mostly in anticipation. She was helpless now, and she knew it. Resisting wouldn’t help her. Still, he leaned down. “I need to hear you say it, love,” Jaime asked, his voice rich, musical.
“I love you,” Brienne said with a shudder… words she had never expected to say to another. “I want this…”
And Jaime drove forward, and she cried out in pleasure.
Melisandre couldn’t breathe around his length, but she knew she wasn’t supposed to be able to. Davos wouldn’t kill her… he wouldn’t let her escape so easily, even if she longed for death over service. Not ever… and certainly not while she was still carrying his child. It had been three months since she became his, and she wasn’t certain yet how far along she was… it was barely showing, but she could tell, the change to her perfect physique.
She doubted he was going to let her get away with sucking the cum from him… he almost never did. He liked fucking her gagged mouth, but he didn’t often cum there… preferring to pour his seed into her womb. This time was no exception… after a few more minutes of choking on his cock, he yanked himself out, leaving her to gasp in great ragged breaths, trying not to breath in the spit that filled her mouth every minute from having her mouth held open.
Usually he fucked her now… but today, Davos had something else in mind.
“I was going to save this until you were a little further along,” Davos warned as he bent her over the bed, her ass hanging off the edge. “To make sure I didn’t injure my child while putting you to the use you so badly need… but it looks like we’re run out of time.”
That was an understatement, Melisandre knew. She didn’t need to be on the front lines to know what was going on. The wall had fallen. Soon, she was going to learn first hand if Scarlett was right or not. Despite everything, including her vicious hatred for that cunt, she hoped that she was… Melisandre was afraid to die, and she certainly didn’t want to join the Great Other’s army of the dead.
Davos moved behind her, kneeling behind her upturned ass and admiring it. Two perfectly round moons, and nestled between them a wrinkled little hole. He took hold of those lovely ass cheeks and pushed them apart, distorting her rosebud into a horizontal slit. His cock settled against it, and even to Davos it looked like it was never going to fit… to Melisandre, it seemed like a horrifying impossibility. She was too tight, and he was too big, and for all her experience this was one thing she had never so much as considered. She made a small whining noise through her gag.
Davos began to push, pressing his head against her hole. “We’re out of time if I’m going to claim you completely… and if we’re going to die, it won’t be before I’ve taken every bit of you.” They both felt it as once… that tiny shred of give as she began to part. The knight dug his thumbs harder into her asscheeks, pulling and stretching at the flesh around her arsehole. Slowly but surely, the head of his cock began to disappear inside of Melisandre, who whimpered at the intrusion… her body tensing until at last, the head of him popped in… the tight ring that had been fighting him now just a pleasant squeeze on the head of his shaft.
Davos slapped her ass just to make her jump, then grabbed hold of Melisandre’s hips, just below her belly. “Assuming we live to see tomorrow’s end, you had best get use to his,” he growled. “This is where you’ll be taking me until its time to knock your slut cunt up again.” Then he slammed my hips forward, sinking himself several inches into his slave’s guts, yanking himself out and slamming again, and again, an extra inch of him sliding in each time.
Melisandre howled into the sheets as she had her ass broken in for the first time, her first tears of this experience slipping down her cheeks. It felt like he was ripping her apart. Davos was not overly sympathetic. She had more than earned her punishment.
Davos was fully inside Melisandra now, grinning at her back, her virgin asshole molded around his cock. It felt like he had stretched it into a perfect fit, like it was now the perfect size for his rod. Enjoying the clenching insides of his slave girl, he began to pummel her rear, balls bouncing off her cunt as he fucked her. “Phllssss,” Melisandre moaned. “Phlss cmmmmm. “Phlsss!” The garbled begging for him to fill her ass with seed was all it took to push him over the edge, her ass was already an even better fuck than her other holes. He shoved himself deep and let his load blow, pouring hut seed into her guts while she let out one moan after another, moans and pain and of relief and even thanks.
“You wanted that, slut,” Davos said, slapping her ass again as he pulled out. “You know you deserved to be punished.” And in her heart, Melisandre did.
The room was dim and quite hot from all the candles despite the chill outside… not that that bothered either of them anymore. Jorah was naked to the waist, standing over Scarlett where she lay on the bed, on her hands and knees. He stepped forward, examining the beautiful woman with his hands.
Scarlett was sure R’hllor walked with them, that he would stand with them against the Darkness coming from the North… but that didn’t mean that she would survive it. It didn’t mean that even Azor Ahai would. Jorah, as ever, was a rock… perfectly assured that whatever was going to happen, would happen, and he would meet it with his blade in hand… but that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t do whatever he needed to to comfort the lovely young priestess who had stood beside him for the last year and a half.
Scarlett had a fantasy, a dream that she had once whispered to him in the dark of night, far from the flame. A wish that when she had been put on sale, when she had been sold as a slave to the Red Church, that Jorah had been there to buy her instead. That he owned her, body and soul… that she was his slave instead of R’hllor’s. Jorah felt sure she didn’t regret her lot in life, but she had confessed she wished she could be his, instead.
He could grant her that wish… at least for a night.
That was why, as his hands flowed over her body, he traced the edges of the rough ropes that had bound her in place, keeping her hands bound to her ankles, keeping her ass high up in the air. Several coils of the rope were constricting her waist by at least two inches, controlling her breath, making her breath is short gasps. Each large breast was bound excruciatingly tightly at its base, her pert nipples swollen with blood.
From where Jorah stood, he couldn’t see her face, but he could imagine the half-lidded eyes, the ring in her mouth to turn her words unintelligible. Her bright hair was gathered in a pony tail and tied back to the coils around her waist, pinning her head up at the edge of the bed, in perfect position for him to push into her mouth if he willed. He continued walking until her expression came into view, both pained… and eager. She might not be overly beloved of pain, but she wanted to his completely… to not have a way to stop him from hurting her.
Jorah wouldn’t hurt her badly… but she wanted the whole experience. He raised the whip in his hands, swishing it through the air, making her jump before he whacked it against her ass with a dull thud and a snap in turn. She gasped in surprise more than pain, and he struck again, and again, slowly beginning to redden her skin to the color of her hair. He would often stop for a minute to let her breathing slow, then start on another body part, flicks of his wrist curving the end of the cane around her ribs, thighs and portions of her mons. Finally he stood in front of her and opened his pants.
Scarlett was whining with need. Being whipped by Jorah was more erotic than she had thought it would be, something she had needed worse than she knew. Being completely under his control… it felt like she was being punished for every lie she had ever told the handsome night. Still, the lashing had only inflamed her lust, not satisfied it. Jorah’s cock sliding deep into her mouth felt like completion to her.
To him it felt indescribable. She couldn’t close her mouth, but her tongue massaged and licked and her throat opened to welcome him. Now, as he slid in and out of her throat, he reached down and around to slap at her bound breasts, leaving handprints on her fair skin. It inflamed her further… but not enough to make her cum. She would have begged, but she was gagged both by steel and his hard cock. Even if she wasn’t, she knew that begging would do her no good. She had no control here, there was no escape. There were only her Master’s wishes.
Jorah exalted in the slow fucking of her throat, but he didn’t want to cum in her mouth… he had other plans for the priestess who had made herself his plaything for the night. He pulled out, walking around behind her, ignoring her moan as he climbed up onto the bed on his knees. He ran his fingers over her naked sex, her skin as smooth as if she’d never had hair at all. Scarlett groaned and thrust her hips into his fingers, but to no avail… he didn’t brush her clit, didn’t let her cum.
She wanted him… her cunt and ass were both exposed, both ready for Jorah to do whatever he wished. She wanted to feel him use her body and get pleasure from it. She needed to know she could please her Master. Feel him spreading her pussy… she needed to feel him inside her. Jorah was happy to oblige as he slid his cock into her. Her tight, wet heat enveloped him.
He slid in and out of her body while she groaned. Jorah barely was more coherent himself. “God your cunt feels good.”
Scarlett moaned in response.
“Do you like having me inside you?”
“Ys Mssstr…” she slurred through the gag. She jerked as he leaned down, grabbed both of her bound breasts and squeezed. He didn’t hesitate… He knew her desires intimately, knew she wanted to be pushed to the edge and beyond. Needed to feel the pounding of his cock.
“You may cum when I do,” Jorah growled. “And not a second before.”
“Ysss…” she panted, then cried out through the gag as he pinched her nipples. It felt so intense… Never before had she felt anything like this. Never had her fantasies been so fulfilling, so real. She knew how she wanted this one to end.
Jorah had never felt anything like this either… while he enjoyed it, less because this was a fantasy of his than it was because he felt exactly how much Scarlett was enjoying herself being beneath his thumb. He had complete control over her body, and an open invitation to use it precisely for his own pleasure… and now it was time to cum. He thrust harder, his hands slapping and squeezing Scarlett’s breasts while she strained against the sensation. She couldn’t hold any longer… and when her pleasure peaked, it was mind-melting. Scarlett remained conscious long enough to feel the cum pouring into her, feel her own impossible orgasm beginning to shake her body before her vision passed into a red haze of feeling. Then she felt nothing more for an hour.
The sun dawned on the assembled armies, the light shining through Cersei’s eyelashes. Not that she could open them… they had been plastered shut with cum of frightened soldiers hours before. Idiot soldiers, so foolish, so frightened. They were convinced they were going to die, that an army of the dead was coming for them. Utter nonsense… that priestess had gotten into everyone’s head. It was obvious she was just after power, like everyone else. That she was moving them like pawns on a board.
The light was still bright enough to wake her up, though she wished otherwise. She groaned through her gag, feeling the soreness between her legs, evidence of the thorough ravishment of both her holes. She was going to kill them all. Once her brother brought the army here, she was going to have every single one of them slain. Some she would skin and hang in the Hall of Dragons in the Red Keep. Others would adorn spikes on her walls. That priestess… she would have to see if her head could find a place of “honor” on the Iron Throne itself, impaled on one of the swords. Jaime would save her. He needed her.
The door opened. She braced herself for her next rape… but it didn’t come. Instead, two men dragged her to her feet and out of the cell. She hadn’t been let out in more than a month since she had arrived, ever since that first gangrape on the shores of the Bay of Seals. She shook her head, working her eyelids, trying to get her eyes open.
She managed to pry one of them up in time to see herself being walked through an assembled… army. A huge one. Far larger than she could have guessed from what she had seen. It had to be a quarter million men. And some of them had Lannister banners. She didn’t understand that. Had her brother’s army already vanquished her captors? If so, why had he not come for her? Why was she being taken naked through their midst?
Then she saw the Stark bastard, standing besides the northern Knight from the ship and the Red Priestess. She sneered at them, as best she could with a gag in her mouth. She was going to weave a blanket out of that woman’s hair and wear it like a shawl when she got out of here.
She was brought before them, stopping ten feet away while all three looked at her with solemn expressions. “Cersei Lannister,” Jon began. “You have been found guilty of Murder… of my Father, of the High Sparrow and Margaery and Mace Tyrrell, and of King Robert Baratheon. You have been found guilty of treason against the Seven Kingdoms in the murder of my brother Robb Stark and his family, and of gross negligence in your failure to protect the realm against the threat from the North. Do you have anything to say for yourself before your sentence is carried out?”
One of the soldiers removed her gag, and she spat the taste out of her mouth. “My brother is going to kill you all,” she raged. “When he gets here he will…”
She cut off as she caught sight of him, in the assembled lords and generals to the right of the three standing judgment over her. Jaime Lannister, in golden lion armor, looked at her with pity in his eyes… but then looked away. Turned his back on her.
“No…” she whispered. “Jaime! How could you! How could you!”
“What happened to my son, Cersei?” he said, still not looking at her as he openly admitted to their most denied secret. “You as good as pushed him off that balcony… and you don’t even care.” He shook his head. “You never cared about anything but yourself.”
And then Jaime walked away, followed by the tall blonde she-knight that had escorted him from the Starks, a lifetime ago.
“The hand that imposes judgment should swing the sword,” Jon said softly. “That was what my father always said.” He turned to Jorah and raised his hand. “You brought her to justice, Ser Jorah.”
Jorah stepped forward. Cersei glared at him as Scarlett walked up next to him, whispering into his ear as he raised his crimson blade…
No One watched from a window is castle Winterfell as the sword took Cersei through her heart… or at least where her heart would have been, if she had one. She had her doubts. Still, it must have hit something important, because the woman went stiff. She struggled for an instant, no longer. And then Cersei Lannister fell to the ground, dead.
No One felt no pity for the woman, at all. Nothing that had been done to her was unfair. In fact, it was far more merciful than Cersei would have been to any of them, and far kinder than the fate No One would have chosen for her, if she was free to choose her own targets… but no. The Many-Faced God decided who lived and who died. She was grateful he had decided it was time for Cersei.
“Another name off the list,” she whispered to herself as she turned back. “Only one left now.” And she looked over at Melisandre where she was still bound on the bed, in the very same room as her. The Red Priestess, or former Red Priestess, had wide eyes as she looked at the assassin, at Death come for her. No One knelt down before her face, meeting those eyes directly.
“You’re the last one on my list now,” she said carelessly to the woman. “You don’t recognize me, I know… you wouldn’t recognize me even if I wore my own face. I was no one to you… but I swore I would kill you one day.” She raised a sliver knife.
And stabbed it into the wood of the bed, where Melisandre could see her own reflection in the bright blade. “You see him out there?” she asked. “Gendry lives. He is free and happy now, and you are not. That fact alone spares your life, witch.” She leaned closer. “Otherwise I would suffer the consequences of stealing a life from the Many-Faced God for a second time, and suffer them gladly.”
She yanked the knife out and stepped back. “But you aren’t worth killing anymore,” No One said. “You’ll die when the Many-Faced God decides it your time, Red Lady.” As Melisandre watched, the girl’s face changed, into a young boy, maybe fifteen or sixteen. Now she fit the armor she was wearing, the armor of a Stark soldier. “Farewell priestess,” No one said in a deeper voice. “Valar Dohaeris.”
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