Chapter 49
Down in the deepest bowels of Summerstone, Melisandre entered the private chamber that her Lord, King Harold had provided to her. The chamber wasn't much to see. It was a large, stone room that was square in shape. The torches on the beautiful white walls were out, leaving the room nearly pitch black. In her dainty hand was a silver candle holder with a half-spent, white candle that was burning. The single, small flame did its best to light up the room, which it did surprisingly well considering the gleaming, white walls were quite good at reflecting light. Melisandre placed the lit candle on a small table near the door. The flame flickered from the movement, causing the shadows to almost dance along the walls.
The beautiful Red Priestess slipped the dress straps off of her shoulders and let her red, silk dress slide down her voluptuous body and pool at her feet. Stepping out of the pile of silk, she walked barefoot to the opposite end of the chamber where a pile of fresh hay had been placed by servants at her command. She stepped onto the hay and found the sensation unpleasant against the soles of her sensitive feet. However, the discomfort was easily forgotten. She had not come here for pleasure. Melisandre lowered herself down until she was flat on her back. She closed her eyes and whispered a hallowed prayer to R'hllor, The Lord of Light. As she spoke her last word, the flickering light of the candle grew stronger until a small inferno blazed on the silver candle holder. Shadows danced and spun around the room as Melisandre brought her knees in and spread her legs apart. Her fingers grasped handfuls of hay, and she crushed the long, golden strands in her straining grip. Her back arched, and Melisandre screamed in agony.
Suddenly, all the shadows in the stone chamber disappeared. Not even the Priestess of R'hllor had her own. Melisandre choked out a pathetic cry as she felt her insides burn. The pain grew dull, and she breathed heavily hoping that it was coming to an end. She screamed again as the pain flared uncontrollably. Her back arched again, thrusting her tits high into the air. Her body spasmed wildly, causing her breasts to shake and bounce. Beads of sweat glistened on her sweet body, contorted in misery and unrelenting torture. Every instinct in her body was begging her to scream stop, to put an end to her suffering, but the love for her Lord was far beyond her own physical distress. Tears rolled down her cheeks when the scratching sensation began. It felt as though a thousand cockroaches were scratching at the walls of her womb, begging to be freed. Then, another wave of pain began. Her eyes clenched shut, and she grunted. The muscles in her stomach cramped as she pushed with all her might. Something dark and foul began dragging its greasy body down her inner tunnel. The sensation wasn't pleasant, like when her Lord stretched her insides with his perfect cock. No, this was far from that.
A muffled hissing sound could be heard in the quiet room, and Melisandre could feel the vibrations of it in her body. She clenched her teeth shut tightly and squealed as her insides felt as though they were being scoured. Opening her mouth, she screamed again when her lips were spread open by small, thorned fingers. Her opening was torn and ripped as the shadow child forced its way out, wiggling and screeching like a goat being slaughtered. Its scaled body sliced her soft, delicate skin apart just before it finally slipped out and rolled down the pile of hay and onto the cold, stone ground. A skid mark of blackened blood left a trail from her between her legs all the way to the flailing creature that was flopping around on the ground. By then, Melisandre had pulled herself together. With a sweaty face, she called out, "Be still and follow my command!"
Though in serious pain and completely exhausted, her voice carried with authority. The flailing creature rolled onto its belly and pushed itself up with its long, spindly arms. Its shadowy nails dug grooves into the white, stone floor. The smell of brimstone and blood hung heavy in the air. The dark creature looked at its mistress, and Melisandre saw that light could not touch it. Its features remained shrouded by shadows even as the candle burned bright.
"The three heirs of Tyrell, the cripple, the Gallant, and the Knight of Flowers … Kill them all … Kill them quick and remain unseen. Go!" Melisandre shouted. The foul creature chattered its razor teeth excitedly before it dove for the door. As it hit the ground right in front of the door, its body turned into a greasy, black smoke, and it silently melded into the slim crack of darkness between the white, stone floor and the bottom of the wooden door. The moment the creature disappeared, the shadows returned to the room. Melisandre shakily stood up and hissed in pain as she slowly made her way to the burning candle. Lifting the candle up, she once again called out a prayer to her God and threw the candle into the blood-soaked pile of hay. As if soaked in whale oil, the pile burst into flames, filling the room with a near-blinding light. Melisandre did not look away from the light. She held her arms aloft and bathed in it. Stepping forward, she jumped into the inferno and remained until the flames died down. When there were only ashes and embers, she uncurled herself and stood up. Melisandre smiled when she felt that her injuries had been healed. She shook her head from side to side, causing ashes to spill out from her hair. Perhaps a bath was in order, she happily thought while pulling her dress back on.
The Dread Lord of Essos
"I'm terribly sorry for your loss," Harry said as he consoled the two women. Margaery was genuinely saddened by the death of her father. She had always been the apple of his eye. Alerie was sniffling on the outside while she lightly dabbed at the corner of her eye with a silk handkerchief that Harry provided to her. On the inside, however, she was as happy as she had been in a very long time. She knew that eventually, she would be forced to return to the Reach where she would remain with her husband. With him gone, her eldest son, Willas, would become Lord of the Reach. No doubt Mace's overbearing mother, Olenna would be quite pleased to have her return to Essos with King Harold. The two women had never gotten along very well, and Alerie would be very pleased to return to the White City if only to be rid of the old bitch.
"How did it happen?" Margaery sniffled, also wiping her eyes.
"He heroically died in battle," he lied. Harry knew that a man like Mace would never die heroically. Still, he lied for Margaery's sake.
"And my sons?" Alerie asked.
"Willas is preparing to take over his Lordship of the Reach. Garlan and Loras are returning from the battlefield with your husband's body. Both of you are expected to return immediately," Harry told them. Margaery nodded while still wiping her eyes.
"But how are we …?" Alerie began asking before Harry cut her off.
"I will escort you both to Highgarden. At dawn, we'll board my ship and set sail. I wish to pay my respects as he is put to rest," Harry said, lowering his head slightly while laying it on thick. Margaery threw him a watery smile of appreciation. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask. The servants will help you pack your things."
After a bit more consolation, Harry was back in his office making plans. A knock on the door made him look up. "Enter," he called out. The door opened revealing Melisandre's smiling face.
"My Lord," she said, dipping her head in respect. "It is done … or rather, it will be done," she told him. At Harry's look, she explained further. "Mace Tyrell's three sons. They will soon be dead."
"Oh? How exactly?" Harry asked, wondering what the woman had done.
"By something I learned long ago, from the Shadowbinders of Asshai. A beast of shadow. A servant of light," she said, smiling as she walked around him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Soon she was laying soft kisses along his jaw and nipping on his earlobes.
"And you are sure it will succeed?" Harry asked her, not bothered by her use of blatantly dark magic. Harry had studied the art of shadowbinding and had an idea of what she was talking about.
"The shadows will not unbind until it has accomplished its task," she answered, and Harry nodded. Not a moment later, Melisandre was straddling his lap and serving her Lord in a different way.
The Dread Lord of Essos
It wasn't long past the point where everyone had turned in for the night. Harry had just gotten into bed when his door slowly crept open. A long sliver of light formed through the cracked door. The sliver grew larger as the door opened further, and in walked Margaery. Harry had a feeling that one of the Tyrell women would join him that night. It was only a matter of who. Now that he had his answer, Harry sat up as she sat down on the edge of his bed. "Are you alright, Margaery?" Harry asked, pretending to be concerned. While he knew that she was sad, he also knew that she was a strong girl who would be fine.
"I'm sorry if I woke you," she said softly in her sweet voice. "But I didn't want to be alone tonight," she confessed. It was just another way to tug on his heartstrings, Harry suspected. Margaery was very good at emotional manipulation. There was no doubt in his mind that she would use the death of her father to further her ambitions, especially when it came to someone as rich and powerful as him. Harry, of course, didn't mind at all. This was a very harsh and unforgiving world. You either did whatever was necessary to come out on top, or you would end up like the rest, living as sheep. Margaery was definitely not a sheep.
"Yes, I imagine you wouldn't," Harry said, placing his hand on top of hers which was resting on her lap. Margaery quickly placed her other hand on top of his, creating a kind of hand sandwich. "Would you like to talk or …?"
She answered him by leaning in and kissing him softly. Her soft kiss quickly turned into something much more passionate. Margaery then broke the kiss and rested her forehead against his, breathing heavily. She then tilted her head up slightly and looked him directly in the eyes. Harry caught a quick peek of her mind. As he suspected, she was using the opportunity to try and gain more affection from him. She was hoping that he would become more protective of her and sympathetic to her plight. It was something that her grandmother had taught her. Even so, she genuinely liked him and enjoyed being with him. Margaery loved their time alone together, especially when they spent that time in bed. She was very annoyed and jealous that her mother was always trying to climb into his bed. That night, she slipped a sleeping drought into her mother's tea so that she could have him all to herself. Harry found the whole thing very amusing. Margaery was the definition of a "go-getter".
"Take me to bed," she responded firmly, leaving no question as to what she wanted from him. Harry didn't bother pretending to be a gentleman who didn't want to take advantage of the situation. Instead, he grabbed her by the waist and flipped her slim body over him so that she was now lying on his other side. She continued to look into his eyes as he opened the sash of her silk robe. As he pulled the two sides apart, he saw that she was completely nude underneath. A moment later, the robe was tossed aside, leaving the pair naked in bed. Harry brushed his fingers down her chest and over her nipples. Margaery gasped lightly, and her nipples grew rock-hard. His fingers traveled further down and over her belly. She bit her lower lip when he toyed with the rim of her belly button. Her fingers threaded through his hair when he leaned in and laid kisses all over her perky breasts.
In desperate need of pleasure, she pushed his head down, letting him know where she wanted his lips. Harry happily followed her lead. He kissed down her slim belly and over her smooth mound. The scent of her wet womanhood had his cock straining. As he kissed her thighs, her legs parted, giving him access to her body.
Margaery gripped his hair tightly as he nipped at the soft skin of her inner thighs. His breath against her quivering pussy had her blood boiling. As he sucked hard on her delicate skin, she almost forgot about the terrible news she had received only a few hours before.
The death of her father was a major blow to her family as a whole. Losing the Lord of one of the Seven Kingdoms was never a good thing, but to do so while a major war was being fought could spell disaster for the Tyrells. That wasn't even considering the fact that winter was settling over Westeros. There were a lot of unknowns waiting for them back home, and she was nervous to discover them. She was positive that certain Lords, some of them ruling lesser Houses in the Reach, were already plotting to kill her brothers and forcefully take her as a bride. Other Lords were no doubt planning to outright kill the entire Tyrell bloodline. It was much easier to take control if none of the ruling family were alive to fight back after all. She wondered if assassins were already on their way to slip a dagger into her side or perhaps slip some poison into her drink. The thought had her stomach twisting.
Because of all the uncertainty, she went back to what her grandmother had taught her. Quickly find the best solution and use your feminine wiles to accomplish it, she would say. So Margaery did what she had been taught. The answer to most, if not all of her problems was Harold himself. He was magnificently wealthy and powerful. He controlled the vast majority of food being produced, and as such, he could make or break a Kingdom on a whim. If Margaery had him on her side, no one in their right mind would attempt to make a play on her, and by extension, her family. She let out a moan as his lips moved closer to the junction between her legs. Lifting her legs up, she placed her feet on his back and gently moved them up and down his smooth skin. She could feel the hard, flexing muscles in his back as he began sucking on one of her lips.
Since her arrival to his city, she had gone out of her way to seduce him. She was hopeful that all her efforts would pay off. Still, it hadn't exactly been a chore, much to her delight. Margaery considered herself extremely lucky that Harold was incredibly handsome and an excellent lover. She was very eager to keep working him to put herself and her family in a better position, both politically and financially. At that moment, however, she just wanted to forget about her problems and let him coax orgasm after orgasm from her tight, young body.
The Dread Lord of Essos
"Of course, Father … for the family," Cersei smiled at her father, Tywin Lannister as he told her the good news. He was to begin negotiations for her hand in marriage. Who he would be negotiating with was unknown. Cersei understood that to mean that he would sell her off to the highest bidder. All she could do was smile and agree. Her father grunted and waved her away. Cersei stood up and quickly left his office without another word. As soon as the door closed behind her, her soft smile turned into a foul look of disgust, as though the shifting wind carried the rotting scent of carrion to her. "Move aside!" she barked at a young servant who was carrying a basket of cleaning supplies. He yelped in fright and jumped to the side, letting her pass by.
Any who saw the look on her face as she walked down the cold halls back to her room instinctively stayed away. They knew that trouble was afoot. As the door slammed behind her, Cersei walked up to her bed and snatched one of her pillows. She pressed her mouth against the side and furiously screamed in anger. The muffled scream went unheard by anyone else in the Red Keep. Once she had gotten over her initial rage, Cersei flung the pillow across the room. She took a deep breath and began to pace back and forth across her spacious room. She had been expecting this, no doubt. She had, however, hoped that her father would act as a decent man would. She hoped that he would remember that she was in fact his daughter and that he would possibly even treat her with the smallest amount of love and respect. Now she knew that she was asking a bit too much from him. Cersei snarled in fury just thinking about the old man. All her life she had tried to win his affection to no avail. He only cared for Jaime, that much had always been obvious. Now, she no longer cared what he thought of her. He would do what was best for him, and she would do what was best for her. And what was best for her?
"I'm coming home, nephew," she told herself as she stood in front of her vanity, looking at her reflection in the mirror. That was what Seven Swords was to her … home. It was a mistake for her to return to Westeros. She saw that now. There was nothing she could do for Tommen. Her only hope was that her father was able to see him through these tough times. Maybe when she returned to Essos, she could convince her nephew to offer her son even more aid. That was a very real possibility.
She was very grateful that she had taken steps to counteract her father's plans weeks ago. Looking around the room, she shook her head. There was nothing there for her. She couldn't take much of anything with her. She had a small chest packed and stored away, ready to be taken at a moment's notice. This was the perfect opportunity to strike. She had heard about Mace Tyrell's death, and she noticed that her father was more preoccupied than normal. Stark's army had grown bold with the sudden attack on the Tyrell camp. He was likely worried about the growing threat. He was also likely looking for anything that he could exploit. While he wasn't paying attention, Cersei would slip right through his bony fingers. Cersei smiled to herself and stood up. She walked to her door and opened it up. Looking from right to left, she spotted a servant down the hall. "You, boy! Come here!" she called out. The boy looked like a deer caught in a headlight. "Now!" Cersei lashed out, clearly annoyed at the boy's behavior. The boy trembled but ran to her all the same.
"Y-Yes, Mi'lady?" he asked, bowing his head.
"You know of the servant Erron?" she asked him. The boy nodded quickly.
"Yes, Mi'lady. I do," he shakily answered.
"Go fetch him. Tell him to see me at once," she said in a no-nonsense kind of voice. The boy nodded and ran off in the opposite direction. Cersei waited in her room. A quarter-hour later, there was a knock on her door. Cersei opened it revealing a young man no older than twenty namedays. "Tonight. You know what to do," she told him.
The young man nodded silently and walked away. Cersei closed the door and prepared her nerves for that night's journey. Hours passed until just before the midnight hour, there was another knock on her door. Cersei nearly dashed to the door. When she opened it, the same young man was staring back at her.
"It's time, Mi'lady," he told her. Cersei closed the door behind her and followed the young man who led the way with a burning candle in hand. Their journey down into the dungeons of the Red Keep was silent. They walked beyond the dungeon cells that were currently occupied. Cersei covered her nose as the smell of stale piss and shit filled her nostrils. Men filled many of the cells, laying flat on the stone floor while snoring or uncomfortably rolling from side to side. Cersei paid them no mind. They were nothing but peasant rabble-rousers. Her father would have them executed or possibly work them until they dropped dead of exhaustion. She walked faster, hoping to get far away from the horrid smell as fast as possible. Only a couple of minutes later, they were far enough away that she could no longer smell them. Oh, how she longed for the crisp, salty breeze of the White City. Soon, she told herself. "This way, please," she heard him say. Cersei sped up her pace until she was nearly touching his back. He led her to the far corner behind a stack of empty barrels.
She heard the sound of metallic jingling and watched as he pulled out a large, metal ring with several large keys attached. It was then that she noticed that they were standing in front of a wooden door. He stuck the key into the keyhole and turned it with a bit of force. She heard a click before he pulled the door open. The area behind the doorway was completely without light. They only had the single candle to light their way. Cersei didn't know what was in this room. There were old, musty-smelling boxes that probably hadn't been touched in years. They dodged between them until they reached the back wall. "Allear! Cristof!" he called out quietly. Suddenly, Cersei saw two shadowy figures emerge from behind the stacked crates. Her heart began beating faster.
The two men quickly joined them, and Cersei watched as they jammed what looked to be two metal poles with hooked ends into the wall. Then, the two men began pulling. They grunted harshly, and Cersei could see their muscles straining in their strong forearms. The wall suddenly gave way and pulled outward. Erron pushed the wall to the side revealing a tunnel with her chest sitting on the floor. Erron walked around the chest and knelt down. When he stood back up, he had a proper torch which produced way more light. "Come! I have arranged a ship with King Harold's traders. They wait for your arrival," he told her. That was all she needed to know. Cersei joined him, and behind her, the two other men closed the secret passage behind them all before lifting up her chest. "Put this on so that you are not recognized, Mi'lady," he said, handing her a gray cloak. She put it on and pulled up the hood. All four made the long trek through the tunnel until they reached the end. Erron dunked the burning torch into a bucket of water, causing the light to go out with a hiss. Before her eyes could get used to the dark, another door was opened and moonlight flooded in.
"Hurry, Mi'lady!" he called out. She slipped out of the passage as did the other two. Her heart burst with joy when she realized that she was outside of the city walls. She looked around and found that she was just east of the harbor. She could smell the unpleasant scent of the Blackwater Rush. The two other men joined them, still carrying her chest between them. When the passage was sealed behind them, they all made their way to the waiting ship. Their payment was a passage to the White City where they would hopefully be able to live a better life.
The Dread Lord of Essos
He couldn't believe his eyes. Cersei Lannister had come out of a secret passage that was hidden in a recess between two large rocks. He had been camping right near the entrance the whole fucking time, and he never knew. He ducked down lower and hid. Three other men were with her. There was no doubt as to who it was. The moon was full, and he could clearly see her beautiful face. Her long, golden tresses spilled out of the dark cloak that she was wearing. Having been born in Lannisport, he was well aware of what the Lannisters looked like. The Lannisters of Casterly Rock made a spectacle of themselves every time they visited the port city. This was definitely her.
He still remembered when his family was run out of town by some fucking cousins of the Lannisters. They wanted his family's meager plot of land to build another fucking tavern, like the city didn't already have enough. When his father protested, he was arrested and dragged away. That was the last time he had ever seen his father. He, his mother, and his brother quickly left the city, lest they end up in the same dungeon cell. Eventually, they made their way to the North where he grew up and eventually became a guard. When war broke out, he was called to defend the North, which he happily did. Anything to get away from the frigid cold. He was placed in the Red Keep's harbor to act as a spy since he was one of the few who could read and write. Every day he reported about the comings and goings of the harbor, who he saw, and what they were doing. He never expected to see Cersei Lannister sneaking out of the castle.
He wanted nothing more than to run up and slip a knife into her belly, but he thought better of it. Instead, he watched and followed quietly. They climbed over the large rocks until they quietly slipped into the late-night hustle and bustle of the harbor. He was hot on their heels. He followed, pushing his way through the thin crowds until he watched all four of them walk up the gangplank of one of the black ships. He knew these ships well. They came and went by the hundreds every week. They all supposedly belonged to the so-called Bastard King of Essos or whatever ridiculous name they called him. He was a Lannister as well, and that was all he needed to know. Once Cersei was safely on the ship, the gangplank was pulled up. An hour later, the ship was gone. He chuckled merrily. Though he couldn't get his revenge on a Lannister in person, he could still get it in another way. He was certain the Starks would be very happy to have their own secret passage into the castle.
Chapter 50
"My Lord! Breakfast!" the young servant called out for the fifth time. He was hesitant to enter the young Lord's tent without express permission. Still, he couldn't just leave his food outside. It would freeze solid in half an hour. Taking a deep breath, he turned to his side and slid through the tent flap, shoulder first. As he turned around, his heart jumped into his throat. The tray he carried slipped from his grasp and tumbled to the floor. A loud bang of the metal tray hitting the ground was followed by the sound of pottery shattering as the clay bowl broke into a hundred pieces. The young servant took a step backward until he was leaning against the thick fabric of the tent wall. The scene before him would haunt his dreams for years to come.
Blood was everywhere. Droplets stained the walls and ceiling, and a massive pool was situated at the side of the bed. The bed itself was the stuff of nightmares. Not a speck of white was left on the usually clean linen sheets. It was completely red and dripping with blood, like a battlefield tourniquet that had been discarded for a new one. The blanket was off to the side, shredded so that its goose-down feathers spilled across the bed and floor. They too were caked in blood. Tangled in his blood-soaked sheets was the mangled body of Garlan Tyrell, the former Lord's second son. His body was twisted and broken. His mouth was frozen agape with his final horror-filled scream. Eyes that once shown brightly were now wide open in shock and dread, faded and fishy, glossy and dead. His belly was split open like a hog being slaughtered. His entrails spilled out of his body and hung over the side of the bed, where they formed a grotesque pile. Another organ, perhaps his liver, was resting next to his head, also torn and ripped. Garlan's neck was opened in a jagged tear, almost like he had been attacked by a rabid dog or a wolf. Unable to take being in there for another second, the servant left the tent and vomited his morning stew. His head was swimming, and his stomach was churning. Strangely enough, for a few moments, his mind was almost a total blank. It was a few minutes later when he snapped himself out of it and ran for help.
The Dread Lord of Essos
Randyll Tarly had seen more than his fair share of horrors in his storied life, but the sight of Garlan's disfigured body made him turn his head in disgust. "Mother have mercy," he said, barely keeping down his food.
"What could have done this?" one of his men behind him asked in shock. Outside the tent, he could hear at least two others retching and heaving.
"I've spoken to the night watchmen, My Lord. None of them heard screaming or anything out of the ordinary," another man spoke up.
Randyll rubbed his coarse hand over his face and sighed. Things were not going well for the Reach. Because of Mace's buffoonery, they were forced to pull the Reach's army all the way back to Tumbleton until Willas Tyrell formally took over as Lord of the Reach. What happened with the army after that was up to him. This would only complicate things further. Answers would be demanded, and he had none to give.
"MY LORD!" another voice shouted from outside. "SER LORAS … DEAD!"
This certainly captured Randyll's attention. He quickly pushed past his men and exited the tent. A wave of coldness struck his face, and the frosty grass crunched under the soles of his leather boots. He walked three tents down where the entrance was surrounded by men. "Out of the way!" he grumbled loudly. The men jumped aside, not wanting to get on his bad side. Randyll Tarly was a very harsh man. Some would even call him hateful. Threatening to murder his own son if he refused to join the Night's Watch tended to color people's opinions of him. Not that he cared what others thought. He only cared about his family's line and legacy. His son, Samwell, was a fat, little nothing that sat around all day and read books. He couldn't put his family's future into hands like that. Unfortunately, he wasn't sure that his family would have a future if he didn't find out what the fuck was going on. He entered the warm tent and found a similar scene as the one before.
Handsome Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers and the third son of Mace Tyrell was naked in bed, his limbs twisted around that of another nude man. The word man, when it came to describing the second victim, was used loosely. In reality, he probably wasn't a day past fifteen namedays old. Both men were locked in a lover's embrace. Both men were torn to shreds. Blood covered every surface, and like before, their insides were now outsides. The unknown lad had half of his scalp ripped off. Laying on the ground by the opposite wall was the chunk of flesh with the shock of long, golden hair that had been so violently wrenched from his head. Staining the bright blonde hair looked to be greasy, black oil.
"Have all three of them wrapped in blankets and placed outside," Randyll stated with authority. He was now the one in charge there at the camp. He would have to look for any scrap of evidence before sending a Raven to Highgarden. He just hoped that he could find someone to place the blame on.
The Dread Lord of Essos
The previous night, Willas limped up to his room and sat down on his bed. With tired hands, he removed his clothes and his knee brace, and he got ready for bed. Since his father's death, he had been working fourteen hours a day to get things in order. He couldn't wait for his mother and sister to return and hopefully help relieve him of a bit of the load. His two younger brothers were camped in the woods near Tumbleton along with the rest of his army. A decision on that would need to be made soon as well, he thought with some trepidation.
Wincing, he slowly walked toward the fireplace, his lame knee aching. It had begun hurting him more than normal since the weather had turned cold. Bending down, he grabbed two large pieces of firewood and tossed them into the flames. The night was cold, and he didn't want the fire to die too soon. As the pieces of wood hit the glowing red pile, hundreds of tiny embers lifted up into the air and danced around the room. Willas turned and stared at them for a moment, just as he had done when he was a small child. He used to love throwing rocks into the campfires and sending embers flying everywhere. He sighed tiredly and reached up to scratch his head. Before letting his arm drop, he stopped short. His shadow … the arm of his shadow hadn't lifted when he raised his. He lowered his arm and lifted it again. Once again, his shadow just stood there. Willas suddenly felt incredibly uneasy. Dropping his arm, he stepped to the side. His shadow didn't move an inch. It just stood there against the wall, looking directly at the burning flames as though it had been painted on. Willas was about to take a step forward when the head of his shadow snapped in his direction. He gasped and stumbled backward. His knee twisted in torturous agony, and he fell to the cold, stone floor in a painful heap. Crying out, he grabbed his knee, all thought of the shadow forgotten. That was until the shadow began walking in his direction.
"What dark sorcery is this?!" he yelled out in fright, trying to scoot back. Every movement felt like a knife to the knee. "Stay back, foul creature!" he yelled again, his voice cracking in a frightened manner. As he watched and trembled, his shadow morphed into that of a small, misshapen child. It became more than just shadow as inky, black oil dripped from its clawed hands. Its mouth opened, revealing rows of rotten, razor-sharp teeth and a long, serpentine tongue that was coated in purplish pustules. The smell of its breath was rancid, and Willas gagged loudly. Wanting to get as far away from it as he could, Willas gathered every ounce of willpower and rolled over. The pain was excruciating. With his back to the creature, he pushed himself to his feet and was just about to run to the door when he felt it jump on his back. He then felt the razors tear the flesh off his back.
Willas screamed as his legs gave out. He tumbled forward, and his face landed right into the dancing flames. His hair caught fire, and he inhaled superheated gases from the fire. His mouth closed and he gasped out a pathetic gurgle as he rolled out of the fire. The skin of his face was already blistering, and his eyes had been blinded. He felt his stomach sliced open, and a clawed hand reached in, grabbing his insides. When the creature began pulling stuff out, Willas's body bucked and began going into shock. He was grateful that he was already nearly dead when the shadow beast began tossing his guts around the room. He didn't feel a thing. He didn't even feel it when the beast bit down on his neck and tore out his throat. His body wouldn't be found until around noon the following day.
The Dread Lord of Essos
"What shall we do, old friend?" Varys asked his longtime friend, Illyrio Mopatis. They had just received news from what was left of his Westerosi spy network. Mace Tyrell was dead. How it had happened was still unknown to them, but that mattered little. Illyrio tapped his fat chin with an even fatter finger.
"A single mistake could ruin all that we have worked for," he stated and Varys nodded in agreement. Things had been going poorly for their plans for a while now. The peasant revolt, the death of Viserys, and the blatant abduction of Daenerys all had delayed their goal, and all of it could be placed at the feet of one man, Harold Hill. How a bastard from the Westerlands could achieve half of what he had done was beyond either of them. Had Varys had any inkling of what kind of a man he would grow up to be, he would have manipulated him onto his side. Either that or had his throat slit. Sadly, even the Spider wasn't all-knowing. Their only saving grace was that he seemed content to stay on his side of the Narrow Sea. Oh, how he wished that he could get better spies within Seven Swords. The few that he had told him next to nothing. Most went quiet after a few months of reporting.
"We may never get another chance," Varys told him. "The Seven Kingdoms are in complete disarray."
"It will take time," Illyrio told his friend, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a perfumed, silk handkerchief. "Close to a year," he calculated. Varys already knew this.
"I will attempt to stir up a bit of trouble. I still have a long reach and many of my little birds are still happy to chirp … for the right price," he added. Illyrio chuckled causing his double and triple chins to jiggle. Gold was not something that they needed to worry about.
The Dread Lord of Essos
Margaery curiously opened the door to her private quarters in Harold's luxuriously decorated ship. She couldn't believe the speed of the ship when she was told of how quickly they would arrive back home. However, she wasn't sure if there would be a delay or not. Less than an hour after setting sail, she was warned to stay inside of her room. A storm was brewing. Being safe and secure in her room, she didn't hear a thing going on outside. The boat wasn't even rocking that badly. She had experienced sailing through a storm before, and her face remained green long after it had passed. This didn't feel anything like a storm. She opened the door and looked into the hallway. It was abandoned. Slipping out of her room, she quietly crept to the door that led to the ship's deck. She opened it.
Before she knew what had happened, the door caught the wind like a sail and was thrown open. Her grip on the handle held firm, causing her body to be thrown onto the wet and icy deck. Her body skidded toward the mighty bow as the ship dipped low, riding a massive wave down. As the bow hit the trough, a massive spray of water and foam whipped across the deck. Margaery spat the hair from her mouth. Her elegant bun had been blown apart, and now her hair snapped wildly in the fierce winds. She wiped the hair from her eyes, and she saw what kind of a storm they were truly facing. As the ship rode the next wave up, her body began skidding backward. Hoping that she would somehow slide back into the safety of the cabins, she closed her eyes and hoped for a miracle. Instead, her back slammed into the hardened wood that made up the outer walls of the cabins. The air was knocked from her lungs, and she began wheezing and coughing. Shielding her eyes so that she could see, she spotted several of Harold's deckhands trimming the sails and securing the deck. Fluffs of snow shot by so fast that they looked like a steady stream of whitish blurs. The deck was spotted with patches of discolored ice, and the wooden railings were coated in layers of ice, two fingers thick.
She tried to push herself to her feet to get back inside, but the smooth soles of her boots couldn't grip the slick surface of the deck. Her dress caught the wind and blew her forward, just as the ship rode the crest and began tipping downward again. Her body slid even faster this time, and as the ship banked left slightly, her body went along for the ride. The thick, frozen rail was coming up much faster than she would have liked, and when she slammed into it, she was going to be in a world of hurt. She cried out and closed her eyes. Suddenly, a hand snatched her bicep and yanked her to her feet. Margaery's eyes snapped open, and she saw Harold, her savior. He didn't say a word as he pulled her to the cabin and wrenched the door open. Margaery didn't need to be told what to do. She ran in, shivering harder than she ever had before. She heard the door slam shut as she blew rainwater from her sweet lips.
"I told you to stay inside," Harold told her. He didn't sound mad, but he didn't sound amused either, possibly because he was drenched from head to toe. Margaery looked down at her dress. It clung tightly to her feminine figure, and her hair was dripping wet. A puddle was forming underneath the pair.
"Sorry," she apologized, her teeth chattering. "I didn't think the s-storm was t-that bad."
He didn't say anything. He just led her back into her room and closed the door behind them. The room was warm and comfortable, but her clothes were cold and wet. Harold fixed that when he started undoing her dress. Once undone, he peeled the clinging material down her body and waited for her to step out of it. When she was freed of the cold dress, he sat her down on the bed and removed the boots and socks from her feet. Nude and on the bed, she was hoping that maybe he would like to take advantage of the situation. Instead, he grabbed a big, fluffy towel and wrapped it around her quivering body. He then grabbed another and began drying her hair, not caring that he was likely cold and wet as well.
"The storm is very bad," he finally answered. "It's the first winter storm of the season and a particularly violent one. It's almost like the Gods don't want me coming to Westeros," he added. This time there was amusement in his voice. She looked up at him and blushed slightly. He looked quite handsome with his hair all messy and wet. Margaery stood up, letting the towel fall from her body. She was still shaking slightly, but she wasn't sure if her body was shivering from the cold or trembling from being so close to him. Her soft, smooth skin was goosebumped, and her nipples were erect, crinkled, and hard.
"We need to get your clothes off or you'll catch your death," she quickly told him. Harold didn't argue with her. He let her strip him down. When she finally pulled down his trousers, his magnificently long cock sprang out, hard and ready to go.
Harry held back a smile as Margaery pushed him onto her bed. He hadn't been lying when he said that the Gods might not want him in Westeros. There was little doubt in his mind that the storm was the work of that seven-faced god or possibly the Drowned God. Westeros was their stronghold, and they didn't want him anywhere near it. Too bad for them, Harry thought to himself as Margaery straddled his waist. "I need to keep you warm," he heard her say. His hands found her hips as she ground herself against him. Those Westerosi gods better watch out, he thought. Harry Potter was on his way.
The Dread Lord of Essos
The trip was a bit longer than expected due to the bad weather. They first made their way through the Stepstones and around the southern coast of Dorne. Harry stood on the deck of the ship as they passed the desert kingdom. He wasn't sure what to do about them just yet. He really hadn't had much contact with them. The only things that they bought from him in great quantities were firewood and ice. Perhaps things would change now that winter was taking hold of the continent.
They then sailed through the Redwyne Straits, up the west coast of Westeros, past the Whispering Sound, until they reached the Mouth of the Mander. They sailed his ship up the large river until Highgarden could be seen in the far distance. Once they were docked, the moment they left the ship they knew that something was wrong. The Tyrell women were met almost instantly by Highgarden's resident Septon. Waddling up in his white robes and seven-stranded belt, he did not have a pleasant expression on his old, grizzled face.
"My Ladies …" he said, bowing his head. "I bring you tidings of the most grievous nature. Your son, Lord Willas … He was found dead in his room, murdered."
Neither mother nor daughter could believe it. Alerie cried out, placing her hand over her chest while Margaery clutched at her mother's dress as though she were still a young child. She demanded to see her son's body and was quickly whisked away. As they left, the old Septon turned and shot Harry an unmistakable look of hatred and disgust. Melisandre was by Harry's side, hiding the smirk that was so desperate to spread across her ruby lips. Over her trademark red dress was a red cloak lined in white fur. "Would you like me to gut the little shit, My Lord?" she asked quietly, hugging his arm to her chest.
"Maybe later," he replied, amused by her antics. Only a moment later, the castle Maester walked up to him and bowed.
"Thank you for escorting them home, Your Grace. You are, of course, welcome here at Highgarden," he said graciously.
"Thank you for the warm welcome," Harry replied.
"I believe the welcome will be much warmer inside, Your Grace. May I show you and your Lady to your rooms?" he asked, shivering in the harsh wind.
"You may," Harry replied with a small smile on his face. You had to watch out for Maesters. They were a tricky bunch that were only really in it for themselves. Especially the older ones. His grandfather had taught him early on to never fully trust them.
"Then right this way," he said, extending his arm in a grandiose fashion. The three of them chatted as they made their way to the beautiful, picturesque castle while Harry's drones unloaded hundreds of tons of supplies that were to be a gift to the people of Highgarden. It wouldn't hurt to grease the wheels of the locals, he sneakily thought as the Maester sang praises of the castle's rich history and beauty.
Chapter 51
It was well past midnight and only the most hearty of men were still out and about. A few were drunkenly stumbling back to their homes in one of the many slums of King's Landing while others peddled their black market goods. There were fewer guards walking around than there were when Robert sat on the throne. The past several years hadn't been good to the capital city of Westeros. What few guards were available were huddled in their thick cloaks as they did their best to stave off the unrelenting chill of the night. A bitter wind from the North drifted across the open sea and right over the city, bathing every street and back alley in teeth-chattering cold. As such, the guards who were on duty found any nook or cranny that offered the slightest amount of relief and snuggled in for the long night. After all, it wasn't like anyone would be climbing over the city walls.
Inside the Red Keep, it was much of the same. The castle guards walked their patrols slowly and tiredly. The biting chill had sapped them of their strength and had made them sleepy and slow-minded. Everyone of importance was asleep in their warm beds except the Hand of the King, Lord Tywin Lannister. He was still awake, just finishing up his work. He had been mentally raging since he found that his daughter had fled the castle. How she was able to sneak out, he had no clue. He had everyone questioned, and no answers could be found. This only made him angrier. Obviously, someone in this castle knew something, he thought to himself. And those cocksuckers were clearly lying to him. Unfortunately, there was little that he could do about it. Cersei was already gone, and there was no use crying over it. He would have to change his plans around, but not by much. In truth, Cersei held very little value these days. It was more about the principle of the thing. He did not like being disobeyed, especially in trying times like the present. He had a hard enough time training a child to be a King, he did not have the time to worry about his servants stabbing him in the back, let alone his only daughter. If he ever came across her again, she would know of his displeasure, that was for sure. Until then, he simply had to move forward.
The Dread Lord of Essos
One by one, hundreds of the North's best fighters climbed through the secret passage and into the Red Keep's dungeons. Lord Robb Stark was the third to enter the dungeons. They listened quietly, not hearing anything other than a few rats squeaking nearby. "Torch," Robb called out. The man in front began striking his knife against a piece of flint, sending sparks onto a stick with an oil-soaked piece of cloth tied around the top. When the cloth burst into flames, the man grabbed the stick and held it high into the air, sending light all around the room. More and more flooded in as Robb pushed forward. It took them a while to find their way out of the labyrinth of rooms, but eventually, they found the main door back into the castle proper. Knowing there would likely be a guard outside of this door, they acted quickly. One man pulled the door open as fast as possible while Robb lunged forward and wrapped his hand around the man's mouth from behind. As quick as a snake striking, he buried the blade of a dagger directly into his heart. His muffled scream of pain seemed louder than it actually was. As the guard's body went limp, Robb pulled him back through the doorway and out of sight. "We move forward as quietly as possible," he told his group of men.
Robb had brought several groups that would act independently of one another. They each had missions. His was to go for the King. As he and his men moved up the castle, other groups continued on to each floor. The largest group made their way out of the castle to take control of the city, killing anyone they met along the way.
The Dread Lord of Essos
Tywin Lannister quickly drank down the last bit of wine that was in his cup. This wine was a bit more floral than the last shipment they received. He preferred the fruitier varieties, but still, beggars couldn't be choosers. It was his grandson Harold who supplied him with wines from all over the world. It was the least the little bastard could do after raising the boy. Tywin was just about to get up and go to bed when he heard tapping on the window. At first, he thought that it was just beginning to hail, so he ignored it. Then, he heard the tapping again. He stood up in confusion. He was in his chambers in the Tower of the Hand which was way too high for anyone to actually climb. He opened the window and was met with a blast of icy, cold wind and a spray of light mist. Something black shot in just before Tywin slammed the window shut. "Shit!" he cursed under his breath as he wiped the droplets of water from the front of his shirt. He ignored the intruder until it cawed angrily.
He looked over and saw a bedraggled raven with many of its feathers crooked. Tied to its leg was a message covered in wax. All thoughts of sleep forgotten, Tywin grabbed the bird in a not-so-delicate manner and pulled the message from its foot, ignoring the enraged squawk. He hastily unwrapped it from its wax coating and unrolled it.
'Robb Stark and his men have entered the Red Keep through an old tunnel. They intend to take the throne before the sun rises,' the message read. There was no signature.
For a quick second, Tywin brushed it off as a jest. How could the Starks enter the Red Keep unnoticed? Then he thought better of it. It was better to raise the alarm and end up looking foolish rather than do nothing and lose your head. He quickly made his way to the guard that was stationed near the entrance to his tower. "Ring the bell! Raise the alarm and gather your men. Send guards to the King's chambers. Have the entire castle searched for intruders," he growled. The guard snapped to attention and immediately did what he was told. Within a few minutes, Tywin was hurriedly making his way to Tommen's room, collecting every guard that he could find along the way.
The Dread Lord of Essos
Robb Stark quickly pushed the thick, oak door open as his men finished slitting the throats of the Kingsguard who were guarding King Tommen's door. Robb slipped in, and though he couldn't see very well in the low light, he could clearly see the young, blonde boy asleep in his bed. Laying on his back, Robb saw his chest slowly moving up and down. With his dagger in hand, he silently crept up to the boy. His stomach twisted in disgust, but he knew that he must. "Forgive me, lad," he quietly pleaded before driving his dagger right into the boy's heart. His small body barely jerked as he pulled the long blade from his chest. He stared at the bloody blade, hating what war did to men like him. Suddenly, he heard a disturbance behind him. A scream from one of his men. He turned just in time to catch an arrow in the neck. It pierced true, entering the windpipe and exploding out the back. The arrow ran out of momentum halfway through. Robb stumbled, his hand flying up to his neck. He grabbed the shaft of the arrow as blood gurgled in his throat. As loud as he had ever heard, a bell began ringing, and he knew that he had been betrayed. By whom, he did not know. 'I will never know,' he lamented, falling to his knees with blood pouring down his chest. His body fell onto its side as he took his last few breaths.
The Dread Lord of Essos
As soon as the door shut behind Tywin Lannister, the forgotten raven flew off of his desk and transformed mid-air. The black bird morphed and took the shape of a handsome, young man with black hair and dazzling green eyes. As Harry's feet touched the ground, he immediately went into his grandfather's desk, searching through his paperwork. It was only a few minutes later that he found what he was looking for. Harry waved his hand and made magical copies of everything. Battle plans, troop numbers, hidden garrisons, secret supply roads … He got everything. 'These will be a nice gift for the Northern army,' Harry thought.
For his newly-created plans for Westeros, he would need both the North and the Westerlands weakened significantly. That was why he was secretly playing both sides. No matter what, neither Robb nor Tommen would escape the night with their lives. At least, that's what everyone would think. As heartless as Harry could sometimes be, even he wouldn't condemn his little cousin to death over such selfish plans. That was why, lying in Tommen's bed, was a pig Transfigured to look just like the boy. The real Tommen was in a deep, magical sleep. He would deliver the boy back home and keep his identity hidden until everything had blown over. Perhaps one day in the future, he could rule the Westerlands or something. Until then, he could spend his childhood just being a kid with his mother.
There was no doubt in his mind that Robb would achieve his goal that night. Harry had cleared out most of the guards all the way up to Tommen's room. Harry went invisible and began making his way to the room. Almost there, he heard the alarm bells beginning to ring. When he finally got there, he saw his grandfather looking over the dead body of Tommen while Robb lay lifeless on the cold, stone floor, an arrow buried halfway into his neck. A pool of blood had formed around him, and Harry was certain that Robb Stark was dead. Nodding in satisfaction, he disappeared, letting everything else play out on its own that cold, winter night.
With Robb Stark gone, he would need to find anyone else who could make a claim for Winterfell. Sansa's brothers were the obvious ones. Harry hadn't been keeping close tabs on what was going on in the North. The only thing he knew was that Sansa's brother, Jon Snow, was at Castle Black. Her sister had been missing since she escaped King's Landing during Joffrey's mad reign. She too would need to be found. Thankfully, he had drones stationed practically everywhere, and he had trade ships that visited every remote corner of Planetos. He would find her, sooner rather than later most likely, he thought.
The Dread Lord of Essos
'Horseface Arya … If only they could see me now,' she thought to herself as she wore the face of a beautiful, young woman who had lost her child at birth and had asked for the gift. She stared at herself in the mirror. Her beautiful, chestnut hair was done up in a bun with a long, thick, silver pin holding it in place. Her body had soft, feminine curves that would draw the attention of any man … and even some women, she thought with amusement. She continued to gaze at her new face. Sight … What a luxury, she told herself. It was only when something was taken away, that one could understand just how valuable it truly was. That was true for her sight, but then again, it was true for a lot of things. 'Family,' quickly came to her mind. Arya Stark shook her head to rid herself of the thoughts. This was not the time.
She ran her hands down her slim sides and over her widening hips. She was ready to go. Leaving the House of Black and White, Arya walked the streets of Braavos with confidence. The winter winds blew hard from the north, nearly unraveling the bun of hair on her head. She pulled her cloak tighter around her young body. As she walked, she could feel the tension of the people as they went about their daily lives. Soon winter would fully be upon them, and the crucial harbors and ports that they rely on would be frozen over. Contrary to these beliefs, the leaders of the city had assured their citizens that the harbors would remain open. The black trade ships that visited daily would continue plying the city with their wares. Arya had heard that the owner of these black ships had other ships that were much bigger. The leaders called them Icebreakers, and supposedly, they would break the ice apart and keep the trading lanes open. That meant food, furs, leathers, medicines, and most importantly, firewood would continue being traded to the city.
At first, Arya snorted to herself. How often do promises go unkept, she thought. But then, she remembered who owned these black ships. The Dread Lord was what many of the sailors and sellswords called him as they sang his praises or told tales of his various atrocities. Such a strange name she had thought. After a bit of digging, she discovered that the Dread Lord was actually a man named Harold Hill, the bastard son of Jaime Lannister. Arya's hand clenched into a fist. The Lannisters were on her list. She owed them a hefty debt which she was eager to pay back.
One thing could be said though. The Dread Lord was powerful … powerful and wealthy, and he apparently had more gold in the Iron Bank than the next ten richest kingdoms combined. As such, he had tremendous influence in the city, which he rarely if ever used. However, it was the Iron Bank that cut the deal with the newly-minted King, and if the Iron Bank told you something, you better believe that it's true. That didn't stop the people from worrying though. Every day it was getting colder and colder, and the traders coming from further north were already complaining about cake ice forming in the Shivering Sea. It wouldn't be long until everything was iced over.
Arya pushed those thoughts from her mind as she came upon the first bridge. She would have to cross many more before she reached her destination. Once she was on the mainland, she continued west until she reached the canal where she paid a boatman to take her south a ways. When they reached the junction of two canals, she told him, "This is as far as I go." The man docked along the side, and Arya hopped out.
Again heading west toward the Happy Port, she was forced to listen to dozens of catcalls from drunk and lustful sailors. She didn't mind, however. She had heard much worse things since her escape from King's Landing. Arya could smell her destination before she could actually see it. After losing her eyesight, she could only rely on her ears and nose, and the sounds and smells of the Satin Palace were unmistakable to her. Blind Beth, the poor, little beggar girl was what the locals had called her. What they didn't know was that she was collecting information to pass along to the Kindly Man. Disguised as Beth, she had infiltrated all but the most wealthy of areas in Braavos, and she could recognize them all by their smell alone. The Satin Palace was much less offensive than other brothels and taverns. The brothel was scented in fragrant perfumes that the lovely, young girls wore to attract their wealthy clientele. The place was quieter than other places she had visited. The girls spoke in soft, sweet voices as their satins and silks rustled. Even though she could identify the location by its scent and sounds, she was still happy to have her vision back.
Coming down the lane with a slight limp was a man that she knew well. She had spent ten days following him and learning his routine. Behind him was a group of four men that stayed close, but not enough to crowd him. These were his bodyguards, and he never went anywhere in public without them. Every three days, the man would visit the Satin Palace and hire one of his favorite girls. Once he had sated his lust, he would leave and return to Ragman's Harbor where he would board his private boat and sail around the island. He would stop at the Purple Harbor and exit his boat before walking the short distance back to his luxurious home. There were very few opportunities to get at him. That's why sometimes, you had to make your own luck, Arya happily thought. The man entered the brothel, and she patiently waited. No one wondered why a pretty, young girl was hanging out near the brothel. They probably figured that she was a whore trying to steal business away from them. That was fine with her. Less than an hour later, the man came out with his four guards in tow looking much less tense. He began making his way west toward the harbor. Arya followed slowly, keeping her distance. They walked over the short bridge and were about to cross in front of the Happy Port when a group of a dozen or so men jumped into the lane, knives in hand.
She couldn't hear what they were saying, but she didn't need to. It was amazing what will happen when you spread certain news to certain people, she thought sneakily. A wealthy man with minimal guards was an easy target for thieves, or at least they thought. His four men fought quite valiantly, cutting down several in the short time it took her to arrive at the scene. The rich man was walking backward, clearly afraid. Arya was only ten steps away when she reached up and pulled the silver pin from her hair. Her hair unfurled and cascaded down her back where it was caught by the wind. It blew back and fanned out as she walked by. With a short jab of her hand, she pricked the man with the needle shart tip. She heard him hiss slightly, but she kept walking. Wrapping her hair back up, she stuck the pin back through, taking heed not to jab herself while doing so. His guards never noticed anything out of the ordinary as they fought off the would-be thieves. By then, a crowd was beginning to form, but Arya just walked by. Once she was a safe distance away, she turned and looked. The rich man was starting to stumble forward. His face was sweating, and she could see his hands trembling violently. He clutched at his chest and dropped down to one knee. Those near him rushed in, thinking that he was having a health-related episode. In reality, a very potent venom was rapidly shutting down his organs. Arya continued to watch as he was laid on his back. Suddenly, his back arched, and he yelled in pain. This happened three times. The fourth time, his back arched, but he did not yell. He collapsed with foam dripping from the corner of his mouth. His eyes which were once bright and seeing were now fishy and dull. His body twitched one last time and never moved again. As the city guards came rushing in, Arya felt that it was a good time to return to the House of Black and White. The gift had been given and received. She had no more uses for this face.
The Dread Lord of Essos
"Is there anything I can do for you?" Harry asked Margaery as they casually walked through one of the rose gardens at Highgarden. Margaery looked tired and stressed, though she attempted to look strong. Her arms were wrapped around his as she pressed her chest against his bicep.
"With my father and brothers gone, that leaves me as the ruler of the Reach … at least for now," she added. Harry nodded.
"There will be many plotting to get their hands on the title. I have no doubt that several Lords of the Reach are already making plays for Highgarden. Some might offer you their sons or even themselves for marriage in exchange for safety and security. And with your Army still away …" Harry told her.
"There is little I can do to stop any of it," she finished. "How I wish that I could find out who targeted my brothers. Was it one of my father's bannermen? Was it an assassin hired by the North or perhaps the King? I may never know," she sadly shook her head.
"I ask again … Is there anything I can do for you, My Lady?" he asked her. Margaery smiled and held him tighter.
"Are you able to keep the wolves away while I try and settle my family's affairs?" she asked him. "I would be very grateful, Your Grace." A shadow suddenly passed over her, and Margaery looked up. High above her, the black silhouette of a dragon was circling overhead.
"I believe that can be arranged," Harry smiled and wrapped an arm around her slim waist. Margaery melted into him as he held her possessively.
'With Harold here, nothing can touch me,' she concluded which gave her a deep sense of security. "Will you stay with me tonight?" she asked him, locking her big beautiful eyes on his. "I don't want to be alone."
Harry smiled kindly at her. "Your wish is my command, My Lady," he teased, and Margaery smiled sweetly. She rested her head on his chest and listened to his loud, thumping heart. Her eyes closed, and she felt his arms hug her tighter.
Harry kept himself from chuckling. Her mother had said those exact words to him last night, and he obliged her by sharing her bed. It seemed that neither of them could do without him. 'Highgarden is practically mine already,' he thought to himself amusedly as Margaery cutely nuzzled his chest with her cheek. Hopefully, the rest of Westeros would be as easy to take.