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Chapter Text

The sun rose early this day and Lyanna woke with it, bathing with Lyarra until a summons arrived from the king. Every loyal lord was to appear in court. Lyanna Stark made her way to the throne room just in time, weaving her way through the large crowd to stand at her place just before the raised Iron Throne.

“I have had news from the Westerlands, the Reach and Dorne. The damn Ironborn ignored my commands and have been reaving from Sunspear to Pyke. Call your banners my lords.” Rhaegar I Targaryen announced from his perch and a hushed gasp rang through the gathered lords. Lyanna’s eyes rested on Elia, who looked shocked at the news.

Lyanna had been expecting it. Aemon had changed the orders, having warged the raven delivering it and having it intercepted. He had changed them so that Balon Greyjoy would fall for his carefully laid bait and would reave their way south before occupying the Stepstones, which had been Rhaegar’s original orders.

Next, Aemon would fly south on his great white and grey dragon’s back to bring fire and death to the Ironborn pirates. In fact, her son was already weaving his own way through the crowd, the gorgeous Cersei Baratheon following closely on his heels.

“Father. You have no need of your banners. Send me.” Aemon told the seated king, and a louder gasp rang through court.

“You would deal with this problem for me?” Rhaegar asked. “You and your mount?”

“Lyannax is yet to be blooded. She will be eager to teach these Ironborn scum the meaning of our house words.” Aemon promised darkly, his hand resting on the ornate hilt of his favourite Valyrian steel sword, a bastard sword wrought from black steel with red ripples throughout the blade.

“Then go with all speed, my son.” Rhaegar told him and Aemon nodded.

“I will leave on the morrow.” Aemon replied and turned to leave.

“Wait, you’ll want to hear my other news.” Rhaegar told him before raising his head to gaze out over the crowd and raising his voice. “I have decided to betroth my eldest daughter, the princess Rhaenys, to Robb Stark of Winterfell!”

Lyanna felt shocked at her husband’s words but had to admire his plan. He was clearly seeking to tie the North even closer to the Iron Throne. She briefly wondered how Aemon would react, before her son clapped his hands together slowly.

“A brilliant idea.” Aemon told his father in what Lyanna was sure was a voice dripping with sarcasm, but that was only because of how close she and her son were these days. Rhaegar certainly didn’t read anything but genuine warmth in his tone, but Lyanna could hear the bitter edge to it.

“With that done, this court is concluded.” Rhaegar announced and descended the Iron Throne as the throne room began to empty. Lyanna made to approach, but Rhaegar exited through a side door. Lyanna sighed and turned to where Aemon was stood with Cersei. Aemon’s left hand twitched at his side and realisation crept into her mind. He’s using the ring. Influencing Cersei. She thought to herself as she caught his gaze. She turned to leave him to his business with a small smile on her lips.

She came across Ser Arthur on her way through the corridors. She had tried the library first, for Rhaegar was ever fond of books and scrolls, but had found the vast wing of the castle empty save for the acolytes working at bringing order to three-hundred years of disorder and chaos in the personal library of the kings of House Targaryen.

“He’s in his solar, Lya.” Arthur told her when she questioned him as to Rhaegar’s whereabouts. She smiled at the familiar use of her name, for she and Arthur were long-time friends. He had been the Kingsguard she had spent the most time with at the Tower of Joy, always questioning him as to Rhaegar’s past. She smiled as she left him and wound her way to the king’s solar, knocking on the door before entering at the beckoning call from within.

“I know you are busy, but might I beg a word?” Lyanna asked her husband as she entered the brightly lit room, tall candles and the roaring fire illuminated her husband. Rhaegar was bent over the desk, studying a map of some sorts. The Stepstones, hopefully. Lyanna mused as Rhaegar’s head looked up at her.

“I always have time for you, my love.” Rhaegar replied and Lyanna had to fight the grimace of rage and disbelief from her face. He probably really believes that the fool. She thought to herself as she forced a grateful expression onto her face and nodded. Kinvara smiled at her and again Lyanna had to swallow her rage at seeing the Red Priestess at Rhaegar’s side.

“Things seem easier between the two of you.” Kinvara commented as Rhaegar left the desk and laid a hand on her belly, giving it a swift stroke with his lithe fingers. Lyanna shivered at the contact, almost disgusted at Rhaegar’s touch. She did not enjoy the feel of another man’s hands on her. “Queen Elia, I mean. I swear she even smiled at you today.”

“We had much time to talk during the tourney. Things are different between us, now. Aemon gave Aegon one of his swords, one that matches his own, I think she has finally accepted that my son is not a threat to her’s, but a true and loyal brother.” Lyanna replied with a forced smile at the Red Witch as Rhaegar’s hand left her stomach. She longed for the day that she could tell Rhaegar the truth, to crumble his illusions and bask in a moment of sordid triumph as realisation hit her husband, so he could learn the sinful depths of her utter betrayal.

“I hear Aemon faced Arthur in the final?” Rhaegar asked. Lyanna did not know why he was asking, tales of the six tilts that the two had rode against each other had spread throughout the realm. Lyanna simply nodded.

“Aemon rode well, but experience won the day.” Lyanna replied with another forced smile. “Our son was very frustrated by his defeat.”

“There is no shame in losing to the greatest knight in the entire Seven Kingdoms.” Rhaegar commented as he crossed to the table, taking a deep drink of his wine. “And Aemon has always been a stronger sword than lance.”

“Yes, our son is a mighty swordsman.” Lyanna commented with what she hoped was an unreadable smile. “I have a request, Rhaegar. For our new child.”

“Speak it. I know I wished for it, but I am surprised that my seed took root in you again so quickly. You have certainly earned whatever you wish for.” Rhaegar replied with a warm smile of his own.

“I want to journey to Winterfell, when it is time for my confinement. I want at least one of my children to be born in my former home.” Lyanna requested in a supplicating, almost pleading tone.

“Why?” Rhaegar asked, seemingly baffled. “Tradition dictates that you must travel to Dragonstone, or else remain here in the Red Keep.”

“Call it sentiment. Or call it my faith.” Lyanna answered

“Your faith is an ancient poison on these lands, Your Grace.” Kinvara commented in a coy tone, her brown eyes flashing. “If you would only embrace the Lord of Light, your new child could achieve great things in the light of R’hllor’s grace.”

“I am no heretic, witch. I would sooner die than embrace your false and cruel faith.” Lyanna growled, baring her teeth at the wicked whore before turning back to her husband. “What of it, Rhaegar?”

Rhaegar’s eyes flicked to Kinvara momentarily before they snapped back to her own. Rhaegar smiled and nodded.

“As you wish, Lyanna.” Rhaegar answered and Lyanna felt joy in her heart and smiled back at her husband. The truth of the matter was that Aemon wished his bastard child to be born the North, his future kingdom. A plan she agreed with, for Lyanna dearly wished to spend more time with her niece and future good daughter. To make some kind of attempt to prepare the sweet girl for whatever awaited her as Aemon’s future wife. Now, the idea was unthinkable, for Sansa no doubt had dreams of romance and unbreakable fidelity from her husband. Aemon’s lusts meant that that was an impossible hope.

Though the idea of spending months away from Aemon’s side was a dreadful one, Lyanna knew their reunion would be worth the wait. It was already planned, Aemon would fly north, and she would place a child, to all the world a new brother or sister, in his arms, shortly after his firstborn child, a ‘cousin’, by Lady Catelyn. That the babe growing inside her was both her child and grandchild still gnawed at her in her private moments. No matter Aemon’s enigmatic comments that the Old Gods would approve of their arrangement, it flew in the face of Lyanna’s own beliefs, everything she had been taught and experienced of the merciless Old Gods.

Far too late for these doubts. Lyanna cursed herself as she left the kings solar. And Elia and I must be much more careful. It is said that the Red Witch saw visions in her flames, would her strange god show her the truth of Aemon’s activities the last few months? She hoped not, for more than her own sake.

She made her slow way to Aemon’s chambers, smirking when she realised that he was unguarded before she began opening the door. Before the door was even halfway open, she could hear the wet smacks of sex. Aemon had the beautiful Cersei Baratheon bent over his desk, her son was wildly fucking her, Cersei’s face slack and shrieks erupting from her throat. Neither noticed her entrance. Aemon was too intent on his pleasure, and Cersei did not seem entirely there at all. Lyanna knew the feeling well and she admired the scene of passion in front of her.

Finally, her patience snapped, and she made an exaggerated cough that made Cersei’s head snap up to her, a wild look of panic on her face as her eyes focused on her. Aemon merely laughed and clenched his left hand, the ring glowing blue-white.

“Ah. You’re just in time.” Aemon growled in a lust filled delight as he gave an almighty thrust that knocked the pitcher of water from his desk to crash to the floor and eliciting a loud yelp from the proud lioness. His mother suppressed a sigh and beamed wide at him as he continued fucking Cersei across the desk.

“What do you wish of me?” Lyanna asked in a teasing tone, and Aemon almost laughed, for he was sure his mother could guess as to his wishes at the moment.

“I’ve been fucking her like this for near an hour. I’m close. Very close, but the ring is holding the flood at bay. Get on your knees, lower your dress, and get ready.” Aemon commanded and he smirked as Lyanna let herself drop to her knees, peeling the straps of her grey gown as she did. She thrust her chest out, cupping her tits in her hands to present them for him. Cersei watched in shocked horror at the scene, but Aemon used the ring to overwhelm her good sense and kept her locked in place on the desk.

He crossed the room in four long strides, his cockhead angry and red, glistening with Cersei’s essence, the deadly ring glowing with blue-white light. He admired the view he had of his mother, utterly submissive before his eyes, just as he liked her, as he stood before her and jerked himself. His mother’s small hand reached out and gripped him around the head, massaging the ridge beneath in her palm and Aemon sent her a wicked grin before he gave an almighty roar and nearly collapsed in relief as one of the strongest orgasms he had ever known hit with full force.

The first blast hit her right breast and splattered outwards and downwards, he watched in wonder as rivulets of his hot sperm ran down her tits and stomach. He huffed in delight and pleasure when she caught the next powerful blast in her mouth, sucking on the head with all her might as Aemon twitched and growled above her as her tongue slurped the underside of his cock. Her mouth was swiftly full to the brim, his seed leaking out the sides of her mouth and running down her chin to fall to cover her breasts.

Aemon’s hand dropped to grasp the back of her head, and she noted the blue-white glow of his magic ring beginning to dim, and he shuddered as she forced her head down his cock, he bucked his hips she gagged as he forced his still hard cock down her throat. He knew she could taste Cersei on his cock.

Of all his lovers so far, Cersei had been the hardest conquest. He had carefully used the ring to seduce the woman over the course of the morning, switching between subtle waves of desire and an all out assault on her mind.

His cock gave one final twitch in his mother’s throat and Aemon stumbled backwards, breathing hard as he leaned against the desk, sucking in huge gulps of air as he basked in the triumphant afterglow of orgasm.

“What the fuck did I just witness?” Cersei demanded even as Aemon turned to grasp at her lithe waist. He lifted her from the desk and planted her in his lap, marvelling at the feel of her naked flesh beneath her fingers. He was glad once more that Cersei was in the capital.

“You asked for the truth, my lady. I am trusting you with this, not that you have much choice.”

“I suppose you are. The realm would be outraged, the Faith would call for your heads. But I’ll keep your secret, my prince. For a price.” Cersei purred as she shifted in his grip in his lap, Cersei reached beneath her to guide her son’s cock against her slit. Lyanna watched in lustful awe from her place on the floor, licking her lips and chin clean with her tongue as Aemon rested his cock against Cersei’s folds.

“What price?” Aemon growled using all his formidable determination not to plunge his cock forwards back into Cersei’s molten depths. He wasn’t penetrating her, not yet, and he caught his mother’s adoring gaze as she watched from her knees. This was a favourite tactic of his.

“You must fuck me like this whenever we cross paths. I’ve endured Robert’s bed for years; I want you to ravage me and make me yours, make me forget his touch.” Cersei demanded in a teasing tone as she bucked her hips, sheathing Aemon’s cock deep inside herself in one swift motion. Aemon’s head buried into her shoulder as her cunt enveloped him in between her velvety walls. Cersei had one of the tightest, most snugly fitting cunt’s he had ever experienced, a silken and hot tightness filled his sensations as he bucked his hips, seeking to penetrate her as deeply as he could, as deeply as she wished as her plump tits pressed into his chest.

“You both taste as delicious, by the way.” Lyanna interrupted with her own wicked smile as he fucked Robert Baratheon's wife, Cersei’s fingernails digging into his back. “I do hope you have some left for me.”

“Why?” Aemon gasped between breaths and behind closed eyes that snapped open to look down at her words. “It’s not like I can get you more pregnant, muña.”

A moment of panic settled on his mother’s beautiful face, as if she were taking his words seriously. As if I could stay away from you.

“Your father agreed. I will soon set forth for Winterfell.” Lyanna told Aemon with a smile. A look of dark delight, even triumph, took over her sons face even as his eyes dropped to her come splattered breasts. He detangled himself from a clearly disappointed Cersei and crossed to where she was rising to her feet from the richly carpeted floor.

“Good. It is vital that they be born there.” Aemon murmured against her lips as his tongue began probing her own. Cersei watched in half-interest from her perch on his desk, her hand dipping to curl two fingers within what must have been a thoroughly exhausted cunt.

“You still haven’t told me why.” Lyanna breathed into his mouth as his hand leapt to curl his fingers around her nipple. He squeezed tightly, thrilled at the brief battle of pain and pleasure on his mother’s beautiful long face.

“There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.” Aemon replied enigmatically as his fingers loosened, he gathered some of his come in his palm and turned to Cersei, beckoning her over with a crook of his finger. The woman quickly hopped from the desk and eagerly began licking and slurping at his hand. “The North is my future kingdom, my home. It is only right that my children be born in its greatest castle.”

Lyanna seemed to ponder that, but Aemon turned back to her and lifted her into his arms. She wrapped her legs around his waist and gasped as his cock slid home, filling her to bursting. The feeling of her hot and tight cunt, his favourite, stole his breath for a moment, a breath he only just managed to catch when she began thrusting her hips and bouncing in his grip. His lips crashed back onto hers as he fucked her ever harder, his cock beginning to swell in response to the pulsating massage of her inner walls.

He backed off when he felt the first tightening at the base of his cock and let her fall roughly from his arms, she fell to her knees where Cersei swiftly joined her before him. Lyanna turned to look at the beautiful woman, finding she had her beguiling green eyes locked on Aemon’s swollen cock. Cersei beat his mother to it and leaned into plant kisses along the shaft before descending on his heaving balls.

Lyanna took the opportunity to suck him into her wet mouth, bathing the head of his cock in her warm saliva which was soon leaking down to fall onto Cersei’s flushed face. Aemon watched utterly mesmerised as the two gorgeous women pleased him, marvelling again at the pleasure he found in women. Lyanna dropped her head down his shaft, taking as much as she could while gagging at the intrusion, her throat rippling around his cock, driving him wild with lust. His hand dropped to hold her roughly in place as he bucked his hips, slamming his cock into her wet and tight throat again and again until he noticed her eyes seemed far away, unfocused at she gazed up at him. When he finally let his hand drop from its place on her head, her mouth left him with a wet pop as she sucked in as much air as she could.

Cersei replaced her and was soon gagging as violently as she had been only moments ago. Lyanna took the opportunity to grab her by the side of the head, forcing her head down on Aemon’s cock again and again as the proud woman struggled in her strong grip, she was enjoying the thrill of power she must have been feeling as the proud daughter of Tywin Lannister choked on his cock.

Cersei came up gagging and retching, ugly rage twisting her beautifully flushed features. She turned to look at Lyanna even as her hand joined hers on his shaft, rubbing and pumping with a vigour that impressed and delighted him as he rushed towards another climax.

“I’ve always envied you, hated you, Lyanna. To see you like this, to know you’re no better, in fact that you’re worse than a common whore is very satisfying.” Cersei told his mother cruelly and Aemon grabbed her by the hair, tugging roughly to pull her mouth back to his cock.

“There’s nothing common about that whore, Lady Cersei.” Aemon warned before he heaved his hips forwards, his cock aching with the need of relief. Cersei’s mouth formed a perfect ‘O’ just in time for his cock to slip between her lips, sliding over her tongue. Aemon began huffing his pleasure as he used the blonde’s mouth for his pleasure, fucking her mouth and throat as hard as he had her cunt only moments ago.

Aemon’s eyes however were locked on his mother’s storm grey eyes, eyes so similar to his own, where he realised, she recognised the signs of his impending release and Aemon wondered if she envied Cersei the chance to finish him, for Lyanna always, always finished him with her mouth, claiming a perverse enjoyment at tasting her son’s seed in her mouth. He dimly wondered somewhere in the back of his mind whether Lyanna would push the lioness away, but she allowed their new partner her time. Aemon came with a roar, his hand joining hers on the side of Cersei’s head, holding her in place as his cock twitched and thrashed and spasmed as he finished inside her throat.

Aemon again stumbled backwards to rest against the desk. He was utterly spent. Even with the assistance of the ring, four orgasms in the space of an hour were too much. His well used cock ached as he reached down for his discarded trousers with a slack expression spread across his face.

“Clean yourself up and get out of here. We’ll speak before I leave.” Aemon told Cersei in a rough and harsh tone. The proud woman coloured, clearly not used to being dismissed, before nodding and dressing in a rush.

“Remind me why we need her?” Lyanna demanded as she left. Though he knew she desired the woman, that she wanted her in her bed, he also knew she despised any woman who would willingly marry Robert Baratheon. And she did not trust Cersei, there was something coy and sinister about her that she could not place, she had told him.

“I need eyes at Storm’s End. It was her or her daughter, she just happened upon us quicker than Myrcella. Do you object?” Aemon asked. “It’s rather too late to do anything about it, short of killing her.”

“Watching you fuck her was thrilling, Aemon. You know I trust you. Are you prepared to do what is necessary in the Stepstones?” Lyanna asked after shaking her head.

“Of course. My body is awash with anticipation of battle. I have never warred from a dragon’s back before; I am excited at the thought. Lyannax is, too.” Aemon confessed.

“Is the dragon close, then?” Lyanna asked, smiling wide at the news as she pulled her ruined dress from over her head, crossing to the chest to pull out a pair of her riding leathers she had wisely left in Aemon’s room. “Where did you hide her, by the way?”

“She’s been hunting along the White Knife since we left for the tourney, had a cave in a mountain near there.” Aemon replied with a smile as his eyes roved over her as she dressed, watching the way the leathers gripped her curves. “She flies south even now. I sent for her before the news even reached us.”

“Bloodraven has been keeping you informed, then?” His mother asked and Aemon nodded.

“He updates me every time I sleep.” Was all he said to that, he did not wish to linger on such dark topics. He did not trust Brynden Rivers. He did not know what he wanted, so he could not control the ancient wizard. He was just thankful that he was trapped in the far north.

“You must promise me you will be careful, Aemon. I cannot bear the thought of losing you.” Lyanna suddenly demanded as she crossed to him, leaning her head into his still sweaty chest. She looked up at him in his arms with such an earnest expression that Aemon felt his heart break for her.

“I will be as careful as I can be, muña.” He promised.

Chapter Text

AEMON I

Grey Gallows, the Stepstones

Cold air rushed past him, threatening to unseat him from the saddle and setting his black cloak to fly wildly in the wind as Lyannax’s wings beat in a steady rhythm. Only the tight chains kept him in place on his mount’s back, Valyrian steel effortlessly keeping him steady in his saddle.

Beneath him the open southern Narrow Sea spread out, with the island chain of the Stepstones making dark blots on the chaotic expanse beneath him.

He and his mount crashed through the dark clouds as a chill settled in on him. His clothes were soaked and sodden, yet he could not risk dropping too far from the cloud cover, and Lyannax was reluctant to fly high above them for long. So, he suffered, dropping out of the clouds only from time to time to reorient his dragon’s flight path.

The massed Iron Fleet were at anchor in the shallows outside Grey Gallows, mostly empty ships being resupplied after droppin a major force to land on Bloodstone, largest of the shattered islands.

The Ironborn forces on Bloodstone had been a part of his father’s original orders, seeking to supplant the pirate kings who held the islands in their sway. Rhaegar had reasoned that having the islands nominally under Westerosi control, even if that control was that of the bloodthirsty Ironborn, was better than leaving it, and the complex shipping lanes they controlled, at the hands of foreign criminals.

Aemon had intercepted and intervened in the decision. He had warged the raven delivering the news during his first stay at Winterfell, and he had carefully changed only a few words of his father’s demands to the Lord Reaper of Pyke. Rather than a small force, the entire military might of the Iron Islands was committed to the cause. Every Ironborn reaver who could swing a sword had filled the boats and ships of the rebuilt Iron Fleet, and set sail for the Stepstones, carving a bloody path south-east.

The Westerlands, the Reach, and Dorne, had all bled at the hands of the unleashed krakens. That had been Aemon’s intention, and he was glad the Ironborn had given in to their baser and more violent nature on the journey to the Stepstones. He wondered if his intervention had been necessary at all.

Now, he was finally going to reveal the full potential of his dragon’s power. Lyannax was flying at full speed, as eager as her master to unleash fire and death in combat for the first time. It was rather a shame that her brother’s could not join them, in a replication of the Field of Fire. But the black beast Syndor and the red dragon Banaves were both much too small to risk, their armoured hides still vulnerable, unlike his own, magically grown and strengthened, Lyannax.

As he made mental calculations as to their location, Lyannax suddenly dove from the cloud cover, and Aemon felt a rush of adrenaline pumping from his heart. His eyes spotted the first ship immediately, red hulled and way out of the bay, not yet at anchor as the black and gold sailed ship sped towards Grey Gallows.

Lyannax gave a mighty roar as she plunged down to skirt her legs in the rolling water. They came upon the ship, and he breathed the death-bringing word he had longed to utter.

“Dracarys.” He demanded and Lyannax immediately responded as they came up on the ship, bright red and yellow and orange flames erupting from her long snout. The flames hit the wood of the ship and soon spread, and he heard shouts of panic and ‘dragon!’ ringing out below him as Lyannax rose back into the air.

He looked behind him with a grim smile, even as he noted the few escaping small boats.

The first blast of dragonflame had split the ship in two and it was rapidly sinking. Yet not even the cold and stormy ocean gave respite from the magical flames. Lyannax took notice of the blackened bodies resting in the water, and of the escape vessals, and made to turn back, but a swift pulse of the ring refocused his mount.

“Kesā kisalbar aderī.” He called to his scaled daughter and the dragon huffed in response to his words, he fancied that she told him that she would hold him to his promise.

The next target was a cluster of ships that were at anchor, a group of ten. Each disappeared in the smoke and flame of his dragon’s breath as they flew over them, but arrows were beginning to fire up from the decks. The tumult and chaos had spread through the entire Iron Fleet here.

Magical flames turned the sea to boiling as arrows rained harmlessly against the armoured underside of his beast. The Ironborn had not been expecting to face a flying dragon, so they had no war weapons like scorpions that could threaten her. He felt invincible as he rushed through the air on her back.

It was a massacre as they dove and rose again and again as flames leapt from Lyannax’s maw. Ten ships, twenty, fifty. All burned beneath him as the inferno spread. He turned Lyannax towards the shore, destroying the wharves and berths in one fell swoop.

One last cluster of ships disappeared in a wall of flame, but not before one arrow, just one, rose through to strike him in the shoulder, penetrating the leathers he had been wearing and biting deep into his armpit. He cursed aloud in sudden agony as Lyannax descended on the already burning ship from where it had come from. A large helmet clad man stepped forth with a gigantic axe, gesturing towards the dragon and bellowing.  The man disappeared between her jaws before he even commanded it, blood fountaining from her teeth and dripping to the blackened deck. Their work was done, so he turned her back to their first target, the dragon scooping up the dead Ironborn and swiftly eating them whole before she turned back to the west.

AEMON II

He collapsed from the saddle in a heap, blood still leaking from his armpit where Victarion Greyjoy’s arrow had bitten deep. He was only dimly awake; such was the agony he felt. His left arm was a useless and blood drenched ruin as he tried to stumble to his feet, when he planted his weight on his arms to push himself up, his weight collapsed under him and his face hit the stone of the courtyard with a crash.

He was only dimly aware of Lyannax taking flight again, rapidly disappearing into the bright and clear blue sky as he turned to lie on his back. He was glad that she was seeking the safety of anonymity, but even now worried quite where she would go without his influence.

A team of red-cloaked Targayren guardsmen reached him and helped him to his feet, but all his strength was gone, and they had to carry him within the Red Keep. He was carried to his bedroom in Maegor’s holdfast where he promptly dropped into sleep for the first time in the week long journey from the Stepstones.

He was shook awake by the loathsome Grand Maester Pycelle, and as he turned, he saw his father along with Elia and Lyanna. His mother’s face was stricken with anger as she gazed at the wound on his shoulder. Elia had her arm around her waist, supporting her as they stood slightly back from the bed, while Rhaegar had taken a seat at the foot of the bed.

“Ah. Hello.” He murmured as he sat up. Pycelle began washing and dressing his wound with a curious gaze, poking and prodding with his ancient fingers.

“You shouldn’t lose the arm, my prince.” The grand maester told him and he nodded gratefully as he lay back to rest against the pillows.

“You promised me you would be careful!” Lyanna snapped at him before her façade of anger broke and her face creased in worry. Her eyes were locked on the bandages, though he swore her eyes kept darting to his naked abdomen. Elia, behind her, was far more open in her appreciation of his naked midriff, staring at him and even licking her lips from where her husband could not see.

“Ironborn boats were captured just off Sunspear.” Rhaegar told him in a casual, almost bored tone. “Their crews told a most curious tale. A white dragon had destroyed their numbers, before leaving survivors to escape and spread the tale.”

“Good. I noticed many small boats leaving in the carnage.” Aemon replied, wincing when he tested his arm, pain lancing from the wound and spreading over his entire upper body.

“What of the remaining Ironborn on Bloodstone?” Rhaegar asked.

“What of them? They’ll starve and die without support, or else they'll stay to complete the mission you gave them. Not even Balon Greyjoy is fool enough to risk my, our, wrath, by resupplying or rescuing them now.” Aemon replied in a strained voice. “All that matters is that news of Lyannax will spread on the survivors’ lips. The lords and ladies, the common folk, all will soon learn that we have dragons once more, if they didn't already know. Your dominance of these kingdoms is now complete.”

“How were you wounded?” Rhaegar asked as his eyes flit to his armpit.

“A lucky shot from the Captain of the Iron Fleet. Lyannax taught him the error of his ways before I even knew I was injured.” Aemon answered honestly.

“Victarion Greyjoy is dead?” Elia asked, excitement spreading through her voice as each word left her lips. “You’re sure?”

“I watched Lyannax eat him. It was not pretty. Some of this blood on me is his.” Aemon answered his stepmother’s question with a lingering gaze on her bosom. If his father had not been present, and if his arm had not been pulsing with pain, he would have had his way with the queens there and then.

“What of Euron and Balon?” Lyanna asked.

“I think Euron escaped, or perhaps he died in the flames, I’m sure the Silence was the first ship I attacked. Or at least that ship matched the description I had of it. Balon was not there, I’m sure, there was no grand flagship.” Aemon answered once more as Pycelle handed him a goblet of milk of the poppy to his good hand.

Aemon glanced down at the milky substance and made to throw it away, then a pulse of pain lanced down his other arm and he gulped the liquid down in three long sips. The potion would weaken the defences of his mind, but he was willing to run that risk. The only person who could take advantage of this was Bloodraven, and Aemon was sure their goals were still aligned.

Sleep overtook him swiftly, but not before Rhaegar shook his good hand.

“I’ll find some way to reward you, my son.” Was the last Aemon heard before his eyes enclosed shut, but the last thing he saw before slumber overtook him was his mother’s worried face.

RHAEGAR I

As Rhaegar washed down his dinner with a glass of Arbor Gold, his mind returned to his wounded son. Aemon had been successful beyond his wildest dreams in his assault on the Iron Fleet at Grey Gallows, but the angry wound on his shoulder pained even himself. It would be months of painful recovery for his second son. Rhaegar was glad of this, for he wanted to spend more time with him. Aemon had been all but avoiding him ever since he first returned from the East.

Lyanna kept glaring at him from opposite the table, her grey eyes focused and her beautiful long face twisted in a grimace of barely constrained rage. He was getting tired of it.

“What is it?” He asked her sharply . He knew where the ire was coming from, of course, any mother would be worried. But he did not know why it was directed at him.

“You shouldn’t have sent him. Not alone.” Lyanna snapped in response, her voice clear and high. He noticed Elia glance at her rival queen at her side, then he was surprised when she smiled at her and gripped her hand.

The change in their relationship was pleasing to see. Ever since the tourney of Riverrun, Elia and Lyanna had seemed to put aside their grievances. Rhaegar had always been aware of the gulf of ill feeling in his household but had never known quite what to do about it. Whatever had happened between them in Riverrun, Rhaegar was pleased at the now supportive friendship his two queens shared.

“It was Aemon’s idea. All warfare comes with risks, even war waged from dragon back.” Rhaegar replied dismissively yet was surprised again when Lyanna pushed her plate away in disgust.

“Our son lies injured, and all you can do is tell me that war comes with risks?” Lyanna scoffed as she left her seat. Rhaegar meant to leave after her, to attempt to offer his pregnant wife some comfort, but Kinvara placed her hand on his knee beneath the table.

Elia dismissed herself after the first course, leaving through the same door Lyanna had. Rhaegar hoped she would be able to find Lyanna, offer the comfort he could not, even as his hand crept up Kinvara’s stockinged thigh.

“What are you thinking?” He asked the Red Witch as he parted the folds of her red dress, dropping his hand to run against her hot and leaking cunt. His heart beat sped up as he felt the molten wetness between his adviser’s legs, caressing her with gentle probes of his finger. Kinvara gasped before answering.

“Your son consumes my thoughts. I rarely see him in the flames, I see Aegon far more often, but your son is a dragonrider, now.” Kinvara purred as he continued his attentions between her legs, his palm brushing against her clit as he crooked a finger between her sodden lips.

“We’ve had this conversation before, Kinvara. Aemon is loyal to me. His power is of no concern.” Rhaegar replied lazily as his head dropped to plant kisses on her neck. The Red Witch pushed him away.

“Aemon is loyal to your House, I am sure. But I do not know how loyal he is to you personally.” Kinvara warned and Rhaegar scoffed.

“I am the House.” Rhaegar growled. Kinvara merely smiled and gestured for him to follow. She led him to the king’s chambers, where she lived with him.

Rhaegar knew that part of him was damned for taking Kinvara as a lover. He was cavorting with a strange god, after all. Privately, the High Septon had made the concerns of the Faithful clear. The Faith had largely accepted his two marriages but seemed to have much less patience for his latest infidelity.

Yet, Rhaegar could not stay away from the beautiful Essosi priestess.

She stripped herself bare, only the ornate red necklace at her neck remained on her body as she turned back to him. His eyes were drawn to her long legs and the thatch of dark red hair that covered her mound, before they rose to her face where he found a pensive expression. He gestured her down with a hand and a smile

She dropped to her knees and crawled across the apartment to him, her hands making short work of his dark breeches. She planted gentle kisses against his already stiffening cock but backed away suddenly.

“I am more than concerned about Aemon. You must make him tell you how he hatched the dragons, how his white beast grew so quickly.” Kinvara demanded and Rhaegar huffed in frustration, his hand dropping to grip the woman by the head.

“I will.” He promised and sighed in satisfaction as Kinvara’s mouth enclosed around his head, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked his cock to full hardness. He groaned in delight as he felt his cock swelling in her mouth.

AEMON III

“I have finally seen you in my flames, you were older, but shrouded in ice and darkness. Only the light of R’hllor’s grace can save you.” The Red Witch spat at him and Aemon had to stifle a laugh from his position on his bed, a laugh that he regretted as pain crept from his wound. he flexed his left hand against the sudden discomfort, the ring glinting gold in the ealry morning light.

“Your Red God is a plague on this earth. I will have no part of him, why should I, when my own Gods ask for little and less?” Aemon sneered back, his eyes hardening and narrowing as he gazed at the tall woman. This he thought to himself idly, this is the creature that stole my father’s heart, turned him from two perfectly good wives?

She was pretty to look at he, he supposed. A small and heart shaped face gave her an air of innocence, her olive skin gave her an exotic appeal, and her large brown eyes were keen and bright. But she was nothing compared to Elia or Lyanna. Aemon did not understand why his father would set aside his wives to take up with a Red Priestess.

But there lay the heart of the matter. She had power, this woman. And the influence she had over his father worried him, as did her strange ability to see visions in her flames. The religion of the Lord of Light was growing in popularity even here in Westeros. It made Aemon despair, for it gave him another foe to face. One he had little clue how to confront, since he could not kill an idea.

His solution was as elegant and deceptive as any of his other plans, but would take decades to enact, even he may not even live long enough to see the results in full.

“What do you want, Kinvara? Why did your masters send you here?” Aemon finally asked in a pleasant, but questioning tone as he lay back on his bed, attempting to find a position of comfort even as pain spread from his left shoulder.

“I was sent here to spread the true faith, my prince.” Kinvara smiled back, speaking to him as if he were a child. Aemon turned from her to rest his head against his pillow as she left the room with a smile spreading wider on her lips. Before she closed the door behind her, he coughed, and she turned back to face him.

“Good luck with that, my lady.” Aemon told her with his own smile. “The night is dark and full of terrors.”

The door slammed shut behind her and his mother re-entered the side room from where she had been using his privy. His wounded state left him unable to fuck her as he would have liked, so mercifully she had been fully clothed when Kinvara had arrived, she had made some excuse of taking him into her personal care that had made him smile.

That she had only finished sucking his cock with a perfect technique, seeking to take his mind from his injury, which had worked only as long as her mouth was working upon his engorged member, moments before the Red Witch had crashed through the doors, alone as ever, was of little consequence for him.

“Do you not know some magic, to speed your recovery along?” Lyanna Stark asked him for what felt like the hundredth time that morning. He sighed deeply.

“I wish I did. I know many spells, but none of them can help stitch flesh back together. Most of them are meant to do the opposite.” Aemon replied in a bored and frustrated tone as she lay next to him on his right, her hand caressing his midriff.

“What did she want?” Lyanna asked as she kissed his cheek. “You need to shave, by the way.”

“What does she ever want? Me to join her in spreading her false faith, for me to pledge my life to R’hllor’s service.” Aemon answered in the same bored tone, even as he groaned at the feel of her soft lips against his rough and unshaven cheek. “And I shall, if it will make you happier.”

“A good hard fuck would make me happier, Aemon. But I fear I must do all the work, until you have recovered.” She murmured as her hand dropped to his cock, the small hand enclosing around the head and rubbing life back into him. She clambered atop him and gathered her skirts in her hands, pulling them up her legs before he reached between his legs to position himself against her moistoned cunt. "You know I'm leaving for Winterfell soon."

She was squatting above him, then suddenly let her weight drop all at once, stealing his breath as her cunt enveloped him in its welcoming embrace, giving him the same thrill of pleasure and satisfaction as always. As his mother ground her hips and rode his cock he swore he would never forget how she made him feel, even far in the future when Lyanna Stark was dead and gone.

Chapter Text

Aemon awoke in a panic as his door was hammered upon. Lyarra Stark shifted beside him, but did not wake. He was glad that his mother had left early that night, claiming fatigue, for there would be no explaining her presence in his chambers so early in the morning. As the door continued being knocked, he was glad again of his habit of locking his door every night.

“All right!” He called as he crossed to the windows, throwing the curtains wide open. It was still dusky out, the rising sun strangely dim in what must still be the early morning. “I’m coming.”

He dressed swiftly, his left arm still dimly aching as he flexed his wrist and hand against the cramp and crossed to the door to remove the bar before opening. It was Andryck, one of his father’s valets. The kindly old man had been a favourite tutor of his in his youth, for Andryck had a strange way of putting him at ease.

Finding him early in the morning, hammering on his door, did not put him at ease.

“Your father has summoned you to meet with the Small Council.” Andryck told him quickly and passed him a scroll sealed with his father’s seal. “He bids you not to open that until you have spoken with them.”

He clutched the furled scroll in his hand as panic settled in his heart. Had Rhaegar somehow discovered his liaisons with his wives? Was Aemon walking to banishment and castration? He did not know, but he stilled his beating heart as he walked beside Andryck and made the short journey to the Small Council chambers.

The room inside was brightly lit, and he found his father sitting at the head of the table, with Prince Doran Martell, the Hand of the King Jon Arryn and the Master of Laws Tywin Lannister waiting with him. He greeted each of them in turn, confused as to what would bring such great lords together, and how it might concern him.

“Aemon, good. I hope we did not wake you too early on such an important day?” Rhaegar smiled at him in a genial tone and Aemon felt a little more at ease. If there was to be scandal revealed, it would not be today.

Not on Aegon’s wedding day.

“Of course not, father.” Aemon replied with his own smile. “Though I am confused as to what could be so important.”

“The matter of your reward, my son, for sinking the Iron Fleet.” Rhaegar told him with a wider smile. “You solved a complicated problem for me, saved me hundreds of thousands of dragons in raising an army. It is only right that you be rewarded. In consultation with my advisers, I have decided to give you the North.”

Aemon was at a loss for words. Aemon had always planned to take the Northern kingdom through subterfuge, but here his father was handing it to him without him even needing to ask.

“Henceforth, you are no longer the Prince of Summerhall but will soon be known as the Prince of Winter. Summerhall will pass to Daeron. Lord Eddard and I have been in discussions with each other ever since you returned, while you have been recovering from your wound, Lord Tywin and I have negotiated with him as to the terms of such an arrangement.” Rhaegar went on as Aemon waited for the catch in the situation. “The North will continue to be part of my kingdoms, but under a similar relationship as to that we have with Dorne. It will become a principality, passing from you to your first-born son by Sansa Stark, when the two of you should have one. The new arrangement shall be announced to the realm after your wedding at Winterfell. Say nothing, until that day.”

And there it was. Aemon wanted to be king, not a prince. He was already a prince. But he was no fool. This move would make him one of the most powerful men in the realm, giving him virtual control of the largest, albeit poorest, kingdom his father’s seven. So, he simply nodded, before turning his head to look at Doran Martell.

“How does Dorne feel about this? Raising the North to a similar status is a big change.” He asked. Doran’s composure broke for a split second, and Aemon saw the venom behind his eyes, before a kindly look overtook his face.

“Dorne is grateful to you for avenging our losses to the Ironborn. We will not stand in your way.” Doran replied with his hands beneath the table. “Your dragon helps smooth matters over. It is rather hard to argue with your father since you revealed that beast. Dorne well remembers Targaryen dragons”

Aemon noted that Doran had mentioned only one of his dragons, for only a few select people knew he had more than one. But he accepted Doran’s words with a smile of his own.

“Your father is giving you a great responsibility, my prince.” Jon Arryn began. “The North will always be the Seven Kingdom’s first bulwark against wildling invasion, and there is always the threat, though now muted by the sinking of the Iron Fleet, of an Ironborn rebellion.”

“I know what the North is, Lord Arryn.” Aemon replied genially, but he had to fight the urge to roll his eyes at the almost ancient Hand. Tywin caught his eyes with an unreadable expression on his face before he smiled at him. His father then dismissed the Small Council but stopped Aemon from leaving with a raised hand.

“This does come with a price, Aemon.” Rhaegar told him. “Your dragons. You must teach Aegon how to tame and ride one.”

Aemon mulled that over for a moment, before he nodded his agreement. In truth, he had never planned for Aegon to ride a dragon, did not think his brother was worthy of such an honour, to say nothing of the future problems it might cause.

“It is his right as a Targaryen, and my future king.” Aemon replied.

“How would I know? I’ve never gotten married either.” Aemon replied in his most sarcastic tones as Aegon paced before him. He was amused beyond belief to see Aegon so flustered and out of sorts. He had always been so confident and poised. Now he was running around like a headless chicken, couldn’t seem to sit still ahead of his wedding.

“No, but you’ve been to battle. You’ve led men in war.” Aegon replied. Viserys snorted openly, nearly spitting the small swallow of wine he had taken out of his mouth.

“I don’t think the two things are comparable, brother.” Aemon managed to laugh out. “Ask father, he has much more experience at marriage than either of us could hope to have.”

“I can’t find father. I must make do with you two.” Aegon replied pitifully. Aemon was at a loss for words, though his own marriage to Sansa Stark was approaching, he had no advice for his elder brother. If Aegon were asking for sexual advice, there he could subtly help, making up fables of Lyseni whores, but a marital relationship was far beyond his experience.

He felt no nerves about his own impending nuptials, more a tingling sense of anticipation as the day closer. He was more looking forward to finally bedding Sansa, he still thought of the girl every day, usually waking to a rock-hard cock from his dreams of her blue eyes, red hair, and her pretty mouth. Lyarra would face his lusts with good grace, and Aemon felt a moment of solemnity when he realised his cousin would be journeying north with his mother. He would have to find a new bedwarmer.

“Just do your best to make sure she is happy, Egg.” Viserys finally managed to suggest to Aegon, after their uncle had recovered himself from his fit of snorted giggles. “Don’t worry about the rest.”

Viserys had been a late arrival, riding into the city unannounced before presenting himself before the court. Their uncle was often, and rather cruelly, called the ‘Forgotten Dragon’, for both Rhaegar and all his children were more spoken of, and Viserys had disappeared from Westeros under a cloud of ill feeling with Rhaegar to serve in the Second Sons for many years.

But Aemon had fond memories of Viserys from his youth, his uncle had been somewhat of an elder brother figure to both Egg and himself. Viserys would sneak them to secretly watch the Kingsguard at practice inside White Sword Tower, had taught him many of the secret passageways of the Red Keep, the same passageways that the Mad King had taught him as a young boy, and would always sneak him a treat if Rhaegar had been wroth with him.

Aemon was determined that Viserys would play his own role in the world that he would build. He owed him that, at the very least. To say nothing of the vital position his castle and lands, Dragonsreach, held beside the Rose Road.

“Ah you two are useless!” Aegon exclaimed and then cursed at length in the Braavosi bastard variant of High Valyrian. Aemon felt his eyebrows raise at that. Aegon noticed. “What? I am marrying a Braavosi woman, so I took your advice. One of the acolytes has been refreshing my knowledge of our mother tongue.”

“Oh, so you do listen to my advice. Sometimes.” Aemon muttered reply set a wide grin on Aegon’s handsome face.

“Sometimes, yes.” Aegon smiled back before he laughed. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You are marrying a gorgeous woman backed by one of the most powerful men in the entire world, not marching off to war. Just enjoy the day, brother.” Aemon told Aegon before he turned to open the knocking door. The servant behind it told them it was time for them to make their way to the Sept of Baelor.

Aemon was captivated by her as they spun around the dance floor, her silky Dornish dress sinfully soft beneath his fingers where he gripped her lithe waist. Princess Arianne Martell was one of the most gorgeous women he had ever encountered, and he already knew that he must have her. His eyes kept lingering on her rather large mouth where pert lips were begging to be kissed.

She was like a more buxom version of his elder sister, Rhaenys, or rather a younger Elia, though Aemon would never dance with his sister like this. The ill feelings between the two had been set aside for Aegon’s day, but there were limits to each of their patience. He spied her now, deftly dancing with her betrothed, his cousin Robb, the nominal Northern representation at the royal wedding.

Arianne’s dress was more revealing than anything else, her luscious and shapely tits all but spilling out of the flimsy and almost see through material as they spun across in an elegant courtly dance, the low cut making every man’s eyes, and more than a few women’s, his mother included, in the throne room turn to stare at the Dornish princess, and his eyes kept being drawn down to gaze into her cleavage by the curious necklace she wore. It was made of small black balls, chained together by brown links, each ball larger than its predecessor. It hung between her breasts in a way that was surely designed to draw the eye.

She had caught him looking. More than once. But she simply smiled at him as her hands were deftly caressing the back of his head and his shoulder, thankfully the uninjured one.

The orange dress clung to her shapely hips, though, and Aemon had to put serious effort into fighting the urge to drop his hands from her waist to cup her plump and pert arse. His hands were already dangerously low, though Arianne made no comment. Arianne simply looked irresistible, and he had already sent pulses of power towards her with his ring, though much like he had found with the princess’s royal aunt back in Riverrun, such manipulation was utterly unneeded.

They had already discussed matters in between dances. Aemon would make his way to her chambers that night, where he was determined to fuck the life out of this obviously confident woman, to make her howl his name from her full lips, to have her gag and choke on him until he spurted every drop of seed he had on her gorgeous face.

They had the matter of the wedding feast to get through first, however. Their dance ended and Arianne flitted away from him, his eyes resting on her arse as she glided away from him to dance with the Lord of Starfall, a bashful boy called Edric, who Aemon had found quite endearing when he had first met him.

He first noticed something amiss when Rhaegar’s eyes landed on him. His father beckoned him, and Robb Stark, to approach his seat in the middle of the table where he was flanked by his queens. Elia looked radiant as she watched him approach, her dress a yellow match of Arianne’s. His mother looked tired, seemed unfocused, no doubt her advancing pregnancy was sapping her reserves of strength.

Aemon’s eyes lingered on his mother’s swollen belly beneath her much more modest red dress, where his own child was growing inside her. The deceit of the situation thrilled and exhilarated him. She would be leaving for Winterfell soon, and Aemon dreaded her absence. And not just for the sex.

“Robb, Aemon. Word has just arrived from Winterfell. Lady Catelyn has given birth. You have a new sister, Lord Stark.” Rhaegar told them with a smile and Aemon felt something he had never felt before. He could not quite place this emotion; all he knew was that his first child had been born. Then he felt a tumult of things all at once: elation, worry, even dread, but he swallowed his feelings, his face a mask of almost indifference as he turned to Robb and clapped him on the shoulder before Robb pulled him into a deep hug.

“And my mother?” Robb asked as he released his hold on him. Aemon’s eyes landed on his mother, his eyes flicking to her belly once more. She must have been feeling similar things to him, he realised, for the child was her first grandchild. Not that anyone could ever know the truth of their relationship.

“Recovering well, the maester writes. The birth was easy, he said. Congratulations!” Rhaegar smiled back and toasted the young heir of Winterfell. Aemon stepped forwards.

“Did Luwin mention the babe’s name?” He asked. Catelyn as he hadn’t discussed the name of their secret child at all, hadn’t really discussed the situation much at all in truth. It was merely a consequence of their actions. The child would grow up as a Stark, loved by their family. That was enough for Aemon.

“Lord Eddard decided to honour your mother. The girl has been named Lyanna.” Rhaegar smiled back and Aemon had to fight laughter from his lips. What better name for his first daughter?

Aemon backed away then, running into his new good-sister. Saera Antaryon looked absolutely dazzling in a sea green dress, her smile wide as she pulled him close. As he spun into yet another dance he marvelled at the future queen of the Seven Kingdoms. She was truly beautiful, this Braavosi. Paler and fairer haired than most Braavosi noblewomen, her lithe form was enticing, nonetheless.

Then his mind returned to its usual topic of wondering as he danced with her. Sansa. He would be heading north himself soon, his father had ordered him to wed her before the end of the year, which was rapidly approaching as the days grew shorter. He caught Aegon’s gaze as he danced with his wife, his brother had a wide smile as he danced with Rhaenyra. I wonder if I will look that foolish on my own wedding day? Aemon wondered to himself as he released his hold on Princess Saera as the song ended.

His lips crashed into Arianne’s, tasting heated and spiced Dornish strongwine on her lips. He had allowed himself to get drunk over the course of the evening, so the kiss was rather messy, almost clumsy in his eagerness. But she made no complaint as their tongues began dancing and his heart began skipping beats as his hands roamed her body which was pressed almost impossibly close against his own.

He all but tore the dress from her, the flimsy orange material easily giving way before his brute strength, and he sent a brief clearing pulse from the ring to his mind, clearing himself of his drunken haze. He wanted to remember all this night.

Aemon felt anticipation rise and blood flow straight to his cock as they continued caressing each other’s lips. Arianne’s lips broke away from his to begin pecking and pressing against his shaven cheeks and he began to get lost in the sensation as she stood before him utterly naked.

“You’re clearly a man who knows what he wants, Prince Aemon.” Arianne purred into his ear as her hand dipped into his rich trousers, her small hand curling around the tip of his cock. “And such an impressive cock! My aunt was not lying when she described it to me.”

“I’d simply rather live on my feet than die on my knees, Princess.” Aemon groaned as her hand massaged his leaking cock, precome flowing over her groping hands. He watched in awe as she bought them to her lips where her small pink tongue lapped against her palms and her beguiling amber-brown eyes stared right into his very soul. Then her words hit him. Elia had told her of their dalliances.

Arianne groaned at the taste of him on her palm before smiling wider at his look of concern.

“I see I’ve managed to shock you. Do not worry, Aemon. She merely confided in me in a moment of weakness. Elia and I have always been close.” Arianne giggled as her drew his cock from his trousers, he shrugged them down and kicked them behind him as Arianne lowered herself to her knees. “I’m glad you have managed to give her some joy. Seven knows your father has never managed to please her.”

Aemon grunted when her large and plump lips kissed against his shaft, enraptured by the way they spread over his cock as she began planting kisses all over his shaft, before her mouth enclosed around his balls and the pressure of her sucking made him growl in pleasure.

“You’ve done this before.” Aemon commented as she suckled on his right balls, he felt a delicious rumble of amusement upon his ballsack as she repositioned herself on the other side of his cock, his left ball soon bathed by her mouth and tongue.

“Well, we have different attitudes in Dorne. Not quite so stuffy as you up here in the north.”

“We’re not in the North.” Aemon commented dumbly as her lips slip up his shaft. Another delicious rumble on his skin alerted him to her amusement.

“Everything north of the Red Mountains is the north, to me.” She muttered before fully sucking him into her mouth. His hand crashed downwards before he knew what he was doing, tangling into her elaborately braided black hair, upsetting the careful order of her plaited and smooth hair. As her tongue lapped at the underside of his cock, he swore he had died and gone to the seven heavens.

She was by far the most skilled of his lovers, he realised as her mouth worshipped his dripping cock. Only his mother and Lyarra could compare, and only because they had more experience and knew his wants better than this new partner. But he lost himself in the bliss all the same, groaning deep in his throat whenever she would take him deeper, not quite swallowing him into her throat, rather settling into a delicate and maddening rhythm with her bobbing head.

“This is a truly magnificent cock, Aemon. The best I’ve ever encountered.” Arianne told him when her mouth left him and her hands replaced it and he felt pride bursting in his heart as her hands rolled and pumped him. As much as he hated to admit it, knowing he was larger than other men pleased him, amusing him and his ever sore and prickly spirit.

He reached down to cup his balls, angling his cock against her lips once more and she laughed before taking him to root and stealing his breath. He felt his cock throbbing inside her velvety throat, the muscles ripping and caressing his member as she began struggling to breathe. His hand kept her there for a long moment before he released her and she came up sputtering, drool and his come leaking from her lips to fall onto her large breasts and spread down her toned abdomen.

“You’re a great cocksucker, Arianne. I usually last much longer.” Aemon growled in the aftermath of his orgasm. He sent a quick pulse of rejuvenating energy from the ring, feeling his cock swell back to full hardness before Arianne’s awestruck eyes.

“I’m sure you do. Am I better than my aunt?” She teased with a smile as she licked her lips and her hand gathered his seed on her hands, which she bought to her lips with a wide smile even as she rose from her knees before him. She led him by his cock towards her large bed, tugging and fondling him with every step. His eyes were locked on her arse as she walked, each step giving a delightful jiggle of her plump arsecheeks. “How do you want me, my prince?”

“You’re more enthusiastic than her, that’s for sure.” He laughed. “Lie on your front. I want to watch your arse as I fuck you.”

Arianne obeyed with a delighted smile as she positioned herself on the bed, leaning on her arms beneath her head. He walked around the large bed and clambered on as he pulled his tunic over his head, wincing momentarily as his left arm flexed. The wound still pained him some days, but Pycelle had told him such lingering pains were to be expected of such a deep wound.

He lost himself in the feel of Arianne’s arse as his hands roved freely over the mounds of flesh, all his desires from earlier when they had danced together so closely. Her skin was dusky and brown, soft and gentle beneath his roaming fingers. He gave her an experimental slap on the cheek, eliciting a groan of delight from her mouth ahead of him.

“Again!” She demanded over her shoulder as his hand crashed against the other cheek, he repeated the slaps several times before his patience snapped, his hand reaching down to pull her arse into the air. He sheathed himself inside her all at once, groaning as her molten depths enveloped him. She was tight and wet around him, causing a thrill of pleasure to course from the tip of his cock that spread throughout his entire body as she tensed back at the sudden intrusion. His lips met hers again as she crooked her back upwards against him. “Fuck that’s so deep!”

A savage grin spread from his lips as he sucked on her tongue and he bucked his hips, ramming his cock even deeper than before as she crashed forwards back to rest her face on her arms again. She began saying his name, uttering it under her breath as he fucked her with all his strength and might. He felt her cunt fluttering around his cock and revelled in the triumph of knowing he was making her feel as good as he did.

His hands tangled back in her now freely flowing hair and he jerked her back up to his lips, tasting spice once more on her lips and tongue as she demanded that he fuck her harder. He had to use the ring to fight off an early orgasm, determined to please the goddess before him.

The wet smacking sounds of sex filled the room in a symphony of lust, her moans and groans filling his ears and making him feel almost as good as the snug caress of her cunt around his cock. His mind was full of lust as he pummelled into her again and again, her desperate cries of pleasure urging him on. Her hand reached behind her to stop him and he paused with his cock buried to the hilt deep within her, making her feel every inch of his fearsome cock.

“Don’t you ever tire, my prince?” She breathlessly asked him with a coy smile as she spun beneath him, scooting down the bed to rest her legs on his shoulders. She reached down and ran his cock against her dripping folds before allowing him to penetrate her once more, her eyes rolling backwards at the new angle.

“When I’m in bed with a beautiful woman, no.” He boasted as he rested his hand on her pelvis, pushing harshly down with his strength. Arianne screamed his name again as he began moving inside her once more.

“Sansa Stark is going to be very pleased with you as a husband. A pity you’re already betrothed.” She groaned as she writhed beneath him,, her tits swinging with every thrust of his hips, her impossibly large and dark nipples hardened in arousal. His mouth enclosed around one of them before he even knew it was happening and Arianne's moans deepened at the added sensation.

A fantasy swiftly took root in his mind. He could become his father, in a dark reverse of his actions twenty years previously. He could publicly spurn Sansa, and leave with a Arianne for the sands of Dorne, where he could happily spend the rest of his life fucking this insatiable woman. But his wandering mind was soon full of the image of his redheaded cousin, and he felt a momentary shame at even entertaining the idea.

He had a duty to perform before he sank fully into a life of hedonism with his various women. An ancient god to slay and armies of the dead to burn. The fantasy was gone before it even fully formed and he crashed forwards, pushing Arianne’s legs from his shoulders as he kissed her once more.

“Yes. A pity.” He murmured against her red lips as seed erupted from his cock once more, coating her insides and leaking down to the black bedsheet.