The Northern Tyrant [Game of Thrones] Chapter 37 - King’s Arrival, Ladies’ Talk, Pounding Vale & Giga Chett

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"Ha!"

Small Paul thrust his blade strongly. 

"Huh!"

Small Paul slashed the heavy sword with ease. 

"Ugh!"

Small Paul rolled to the side, dodging. 

That was Small Paul's life ever since he arrived at Ramsgate. His training regime was designed by Lord Wylis himself. It was made to be as simple and easy to follow as possible. Sword slashes, basic leg work, basic responses, and how to stand menacingly. 

It was clear to everyone that Small Paul would never see a true battlefield. He wasn't made for it. If sent into battle, he'd be the easiest target. Still, when covered in fine, full-body armor, with the visor down, he looked intimidating. 

In simple terms, he was the scarecrow of Ramsgate. His job was to make rounds with the town's guards; maybe smack a few thieves on the face. Small Paul did those things easily. He was also good at following basic commands. 

If told to stand, he'd stay standing unless told to move. 

"Paul, get inside and put your armor on. You’ll be at Lord Wylis’s side when the King arrives."

A commanding order came from the guardhouse at the outer courtyard. Squire Chett stood there, already dressed in dull-silver armor, a dark grey cape on his back, marked with House Kaiser's sigil of two wings and a fisted gauntlet. Ramsgate was still in the process of standardizing armor and sigil markings.  

"Aye." 

Small Paul dropped his fighting stance instantly and moved, humming something to himself as he did that. 

Chett sidestepped and allowed Small Paul to walk through the door. Remaining behind, he looked around at the outer courtyard of the castle, already decorated to the brim with hanging lanterns. Lord Wylis had personally made those new hanging lamps, made of hardened paper, shaped like stars and round moons, with candles enclosed inside. 

It was morning now, but at night, those lamps illuminated and gave a very dreamy sight. The same decoration covered the entire town in varying degrees. The taverns were more decorated than regular homes. The castle was the most decorated, of course. 

Not just the outside, it was even more lavish inside, with curtains hanging around, sigils of House Kaiser and House Baratheon everywhere. Candles, decorative lamps everywhere. The Great Hall had been turned into a feast hall, where long tables were set, and a single head table where the King would sit. 

The hall was the most impressive place. There, ropes covered the ceiling, each rope going from one wall to the opposite wall. On the ropes hung countless decorative lamps, some even shaped like Stags, others shaped like Fists; moons, stars, and more. Fire torches rested against each pillar. Each table had its own candelabras, made recently by the blacksmith. 

Chett was personally nervous because Lord Wylis had given him the responsibility of managing the feast, which was more like a festival. His duty was to keep the castle clean, decorated, and safe from being burned down, and of course, to host the feast. It was a nerve-racking task for him. 

My lord, please find a steward soon.

He could see that his lord had grand ambitions. The town was growing fast, but with that came increased responsibility. The town still didn't have a master-at-arms. The castle didn't have either a steward or a chamberlain. 

Naturally, many of those responsibilities fell upon his shoulders. 

Chett devoted himself from dusk till dawn. First thing after waking, he would meet all the patrolling guards of the town to know if anything had happened. Then he'd eat and train himself, then prepare to report to his lord. After that, he'd either be given work by the lord or he'd go on his own to train the men, patrol the castle, inspect the kitchens, and then do some reading on his own to grow his mind. 

Sighing, he looked at the sword tied to his hip, his new blade, a gift from Lord Wylis for his promotion to being a squire. Its pommel held the mark of House Kaiser, and the blade was a gorgeous, glowing silver. The scabbard, as well, was covered in intricate patterns. 

Yet my lord wants to make a better blade. 

He longingly stared at his blade, lost in thought. He remembered that time Lord Wylis offhandedly said he knew how to make steel nearly as strong as Valyrian steel. Domakus, he believed, was the name; he wasn't sure. 

I can't wait to see it with my eyes. 

Being a squire, he knew almost everything about how wise Lord Wylis was. The medicines made with the Maester. He'd also seen the printing press, a magical apparatus from which he personally benefited, as he could now possess a few books of his own without ruining himself. 

Of course, he also knew about the realm-wide most wanted woman Lord Wylis hid in his castle. He was the only man to know about it after Lord Wylis and Brandon Stark. He rather liked them as they all treated him so kindly, without any prejudice or ego. He'd also asked Lord Wylis why he took so much risk. 

To that, Lord Wylis had only said 'This is the right thing to do' and 'I cherish them'. Naturally, he knew the children Lord Wylis sired with many of them. It was strange at first, but ever since that night Lord Wylis brought the Frey bridge down, he didn't care. 

If any man in the world deserved all those famous beauties, then it was Lord Wylis. Gods, he felt his lord didn't have enough children. After all, if Lord Wylis was so mighty, his kids would be at least half as good. 

The realm has no idea what’s coming.

He almost grinned to himself, imagining the future where Lord Wylis's sons dominate the Seven Kingdoms. 

Perhaps, he was a fanatic about serving Lord Wylis. Perhaps, he trusted his lord blindly. Yet all of those accusations sounded like compliments to Chett.

"Paul ready."

Chett turned around. And there Small Paul stood, like a wall of steel, his armor one of the select few customised. It was fairly basic, however. The only thing that stood out was the etched sigil of House Kaiser on the armor's chest plating. His armor had it too. 

“Best we’re off. Lord Kaiser waits at the docks already,” Chett said, moving out ahead. “We’re lucky men, you and I, to be chosen for this. He means for us to stand behind him, and he’ll name us to the King as well.”

Chett himself was a tall man, as tall as Brandon Stark. Small Paul was a few inches taller than him, and Lord Kaiser was the tallest amongst them all. 

The two walked out of the castle and passed through the cleaned streets. Chett gave one last look, making sure everything was prepared well. Before long, they arrived at the docks where the lord's ships had been moved away. In their place now was the King's flagship anchored. The gangway was yet to be placed.

"My lord." 

“Right on time, boys. Stand behind me and try to look fearsome. The King will be stepping off shortly.”

Chett nodded and stood on the right behind his lord, while Small Paul took the left. Only they were armored, Lord Wylis was dressed in noble robes. 

"Understood, my lord."

"Paul ready."

####

Wylis was tired, but still looking forward to it. He'd worked hard to make sure the 'A Tyrant's Feast' quest would succeed. He'd planned a whole festival around it; the theme was Christmas. He didn't have modern lights and materials, but he'd improvised. 

Lyanna, Elia, and Rhaella were also hidden underground, including the children. 

"Be proud but humble," Wylis advised Anna, standing right beside him, acting as his wife. In her arms was Magnus, the chunky boy, looking too big in her embrace. Thankfully, he couldn't speak that well, hence no fear of him blurting something out. 

On his left was Ashara, proud and dressed in a beautiful, House Dayne-themed gown and cloak. Cute little Arthria was also dressed up, in her arms. At the same time, Wenda was also there, with two children, and also Ros, who was pregnant but it didn’t show yet. 

He wasn't ashamed of having so many women and children. And he had no desire to hide them from the world. He was proud of each one of them, and they were all a part of Ramsgate. 

Thud!

At last, the gangway was set. A few men marched down first, armored, donning House Baratheon colors. Then appeared Ser Barristan Selmy in the lead, helmet off, but alert. 

Wylis met Barristan's eyes to see if there was any animosity between them. But the knight just bowed his head and stepped aside after walking down from the gangway. 

Man looks older than his age. 

He remembered having countless opportunities to kill Barristan Selmy during the Battle of the Trident. But he'd held back, letting the man live. He liked him to a degree; there was genuine honor in him, and he also helped Brandon survive in the Black Cells. 

"Wylis! You towering ox!" 

There came the King's booming voice. Wylis looked back at the gangway and smiled, measuring Robert's physical condition. Not much had changed. He didn't look fat, nor filthy. His beard was groomed, and there was his warhammer hung on his hips. 

"Welcome to Ramsgate, Your Grace." Wylis took a knee. He may be a future Tyrant, but for now, Robert was the King of Westeros. "I hope the journey was less boring than I remember."

"Seven bloody hells, it was boring." Robert clapped his meaty hands on Wylis's shoulders, hauled him up, and crushed him in a bear hug. "Talking to Jon bores me stiff in one Small Council. Imagine weeks of the old goat droning on."

Jon? 

Wylis stepped back from the embrace and looked behind Robert, as more and more figures emerged from the ship. Other than two more Kingsguards, one Ser Mandon Moore, and one Boros Blount, there were also a few soldiers donning the colors of House Arryn. And sure enough, Jon Arryn finally emerged, behind him was…

Why is she here? 

Lysa Arryn was also there, dressed to impress in that wide-necked gown, tits half out, face full of smiles, in her arms was a baby boy, less than a year old. Of course, Wylis saw the resemblance to himself. It was his seed. 

But still, the woman he hoped to see was missing. 

"You didn't bring the Queen?"

Robert snorted and flicked his hand like he was swatting a fly. "Left the miserable bitch back at the keep. This journey's for me and whatever fucking peace I can scrape together. Gods know what screaming fit she'd throw if she came along."

Wylis sighed. He knew Cersei was indeed a bitch, not without a flaw. But what Robert was doing was equally bad. At least in public, he should have maintained a semblance of a working relationship.  

“And I see no sign of Ser Jaime. Last we met, he was forever asking to cross blades with me.”

"Bah! That golden-haired little cunt! I tried to drag the bastard here, but he whined on about guarding his bloody sister. The pair of them, nothing but a festering headache!"

"..."

Oh, Robert, you blind fuck. He sure is protecting her; her cunt from you. 

Shaking his head, he eyed Robert's warhammer. "Can you still swing this thing?"

"What, you think I hauled this hammer along for a fucking parade?" Robert grinned. "There's not a titsucker in all Seven Kingdoms who can meet me steel-on-steel except you. Barristan just twirls and waits like some courtly twat. I want the crash of steel, the rush when you push and fight for the upper hand. Get ready, Wylis, I'm putting you in the dirt this time."

Wylis expected as much. 

"Don't think I'll go easy because you're the King," Wylis said, grinning back. 

Robert howled in laughter and looked at Anna at last, finding her short frame peculiar when Wylis was even taller than him. "This the lady?"

“Aye.” Wylis slipped an arm around Anna’s shoulders, fond but carrying a pinch of guilt for putting this on her. “This is Ellyn. And the boy’s mine. Magnus.”

"How old is he?"

"Two."

"Gods!" Robert exclaimed, marveling at Magnus's size. "Look at the size of him! Bigger than two lads his age put together. You've got giants' blood in you."

Anna bowed courtly with the bend of her knees, like a proper lady, just as she'd been taught by Lyanna. 

"Bob-bob…"

Magnus curiously stared and tried to reach for Robert. Out of curiosity, Robert handed his finger and…

"Seven hells!" Robert cursed again, the gods once again at the target. "Lad's got the grip of a warrior!"

Wylis knew that much. Magnus was inherently different from all other children, his children. Being a trueborn, Magnus was better in every way. 

"Now I'm jealous. I pray to the Gods that the golden cunt I married shits out a son even half as good as this lad here," Robert mumbled dismissively and stepped forward. 

"..."

Wylis had nothing to say about that. It wasn't his fault that the time Robert should have spent rutting Cersei, he was going around the realm. 

Finally, Robert moved to Ashara, recognising her right away. 

"My lady. I can't decide if Wylis is the lucky one or if you're the one who struck gold. I'm sure he's treating you well. Is this?"

"Yes, she's Arthria, Your Grace," Ashara introduced. 

Robert nodded, doting eyes gazing at the girl. Arthria was simply so cute and pretty that whoever saw her only felt mesmerized. Her charisma was no joke. 

Then, Wylis introduced him to Wenda, who had two of his sons in her arms. Once again, Robert showed a hint of jealousy, both in terms of Wenda's beauty and his two big sons. Finally, there was Ros, whose pregnancy Wylis revealed. 

"Trying to raise yourself an army of sons?" Robert said, snorting as he sighed. "As soon as I get back, I'll have Cersei give me a few proper ones of my own."

All the best, my friend. 

After that, Wylis met the rest of the entourage. 

"Lord Arryn." He felt awkward, but since the old man initiated it, he gave him a brotherly hug. "I didn't know you were coming."

“This is as far as I go, Lord Wylis. I'll make my return to King’s Landing from here. I wished only to see Ramsgate with my own eyes. Lysa will continue to visit Winterfell to see her sister.”

Came here to drop off Lysa, I reckon? What the hell are you doing, Jon? 

Wylis just nodded and then greeted Lysa. The way the woman stared at him with those big blue eyes almost made him nervous. She wasn't even trying to hide it. The heat on her face, it was as if demanding to be thrown on the ground right then and there and just be taken. 

"My lady, welcome to Ramsgate. I hope you'll enjoy your time here."

"I will."

"..."

He avoided looking into her eyes and moved to Ser Barristan. 

"I don't recall that beard being this long, Ser Barristan."

“Hah. Nothing more than the years passing, my lord. It is an honor to see you once again.”

Wylis clasped hands with him. 

"Likewise. Let's proceed to the castle now." He moved away, back to Robert's side. He also introduced Chett and Small Paul. "I've arranged a few of my finest carriages to take us to the castle."

At Wylis' command, Chett whistled, and quickly five stagecoaches arrived in a row. They were the newly produced stagecoaches with the suspension system, wheels covered with round iron strips. They were luxurious, roofed, with seating for a max of six people inside, face-to-face. They were all colored black around the roof, and the middle to bottom part was painted dark red. While there were windows, they had no glass for now.

"Lord Arryn, let's go together."

At his word, Robert was led to one of the carriages, joined by Ser Barristan and Ser Moore. At Jon's order, Lysa was sent away in the same carriage. Meanwhile, the other carriages were used to haul the King's servants and luggage.

"I knew of them only by rumor until now," Jon Arryn muttered, as Wylis led the old man to one of the carriages. Just the two of them. "A beautiful piece of craftsmanship, Lord Wylis."

Soon, they started moving. Although Ramsgate lacked good roads, it didn't matter much because of the suspension. 

Not that Wylis or Jon Arryn cared about it. They had better matters to discuss. 

"Why, my lord?" Wylis asked, looking at the old man. "Why bring Lady Arryn here?"

He noticed the way Jon's jaw tightened, his eyes shifted. 

As expected. Don't tell me Lysa really made him agree to it. 

Last time he was at Riverrun, he'd met Lysa there and gotten physical with her. She was heavily pregnant, so he didn't go too far, but back then, he'd told her that he'd give her what she wanted if Jon allowed. 

Now, Jon was there with her. It couldn't be a coincidence. 

“Thank you, Wylis,” Jon said softly. "Robin is strong and beautiful. I have not seen Lysa so happy since our wedding. I could never give her that joy…"

"That's enough, my lord. We swore to never speak of this again." Wylis stopped him. While he wasn't against the idea of siring more children with Lysa, he didn't want it to happen by souring his relationship with Jon. Lysa wasn't worth it. 

Silence fell between them. The creaking carriage filled the air. 

"Wylis… she wants more."

"..."

Wylis didn't like it. But he had to act, at least. He understood Jon's trouble. 

"We quarreled. She… locked herself in her bedchamber and didn't come out for a week. I couldn’t look upon her weeping face. The fault was never hers that she wed a greybeard like me. And so I come to you again… I know how she longs for a litter of children. If I cling to her, I fear she will find someone else, someone unknown. Someone who may wound her deeply. So I decided that it's best you… With you, at least I know you keep your word.”

The small pauses Jon took, the audible gulps. Wylis could only imagine how humiliating he must feel, asking a man to bed his own woman. Yet at the same time, he wasn't able to sire children, and that wasn't Lysa's fault. 

Wylis sighed, rubbing his face. Lysa was obsessed with him, that much he knew. The woman had never been given much attention from the opposite sex her entire life. Out of nowhere, he entered her life and gave her a son. He knew himself that he was a desirable man in name, fame, and body. 

But that also meant Lysa wouldn't just give up. 

“My lord… even if I agree now, she may return one day wanting more,” he said, making sure Jon understood the true gravity of what he was permitting. “If there is a second, why not a third? Or a fourth, or more still? How long will you pretend not to see it? I fear the end of it. One day you will despise me, and think of me as the man who stole her from you… your better half."

Jon shook his head strongly, smiling wryly. “Better half, you call her? Mayhaps she is, Wylis. I fear I am the lesser part now. I’m old, near seventy, and the years have not been kind. All I ask, truly, is that Lysa be happy. If five babes is her wish, so be it. If more or fewer, the choice must be hers. I have only this one small plea left in me. Grant me that one promise.”

Fuck! So that's what you want? I'm your retirement plan? 

Wylis finally realised Jon's true intention. Still, he didn't feel any deceit in it. Yet, as a nobleman and a knight, giving someone his word meant a lot. 

But as much as he felt disgusted by his own greedy mind, reminding him of 'ten' years he may earn from Lysa, he nodded. 

"Very well, if it is something I can do."

"Watch over my child... your so... Robin. Lysa, unaided, can’t mold him into the Lord of the Eyrie. Given my age, I doubt I will see him even grasp a blade. You... half the realm may brand you nothing but a brute, yet I know otherwise. All who battled beside you know otherwise. Wisdom in you surpasses the sharpness of your steel. If it falls to you, I can find some peace. Simply steer Robin, and if anyone..."

Wylis didn't let him speak anymore and put a hand on his shoulder. One reason was that they had arrived at the castle. The other was that he was already planning to do that. After all, Robin was his son, as well. Even if a bastard, he had no desire to abandon him. Moreover, Robin was absolutely loyal to him and the heir to Eyrie. 

Looking for a way to secure his legacy, huh?

House Arryn was dead, Jon knew it since his cock stopped working. But at the same time, Jon didn't want the legacy of House Arryn to be tarnished. Even if he had to place a bastard on the seat, Jon was ready. As long as his legacy was guaranteed. 

"My lord, I don't father children for some sick entertainment. I cherish each one of them as my own. Let us never speak of this again. I’ll guide and protect Robin as my own," Wylis said and opened the carriage's door. "Let's move now. My castle has a private hot spring. You and Robert may bathe there. And one more thing, my lord. I must speak with you later on a serious matter.”

Just because he was personally willing to take care of Robin didn't mean he had to do it for free. He really wanted that patent registry made and backed by the Crown. But discussing that could wait. 

Jon Arryn didn't move for a moment, as if emotional. Then the old man shook his head and followed Wylis. 

Meanwhile, Wylis saw Lysa getting off the other carriage. Her first instinct was to look at him. 

He sighed to himself. He remembered her being obsessed with Petyr, but her obsession with him seemed to have surpassed that.

Probably drenched in heat down there already. 

####

Meanwhile, under Ramsgate Castle, the three women sat together by the hearth while the children played around them with toys. Only Viserys was missing, who usually spent his time alone with his practice sword.

Rhaella was busy knitting something with her hands. Elia and Lyanna each read a book. 

"They must have arrived by now," Lyanna muttered, being the most restless one, not as used to sitting in one place for too long. On top of that, Magnus wasn't with her. 

"Calm yourself, Lyanna. Have faith in Wylis," Rhaella warmly said. “Hiding us like this likely annoys him as much as it does you. But it is necessary. Robert Baratheon has never been known for wisdom or patience.”

Lyanna sighed and relaxed back in the chair, looking at the two women. She eyed Elia, the dusky Dornish princess, the only woman in the room who wasn't intimate with Wylis. Weirdly, it made Lyanna feel unsettled. Yet, she knew Elia was drifting towards that direction fast. She'd caught her in the act of almost kissing Wylis, after all. 

"Your Grace." Lyanna looked at Rhaella. 

"I'm no grace anymore, Lyanna. Call me by my name. It is kinder that way.”

Lyanna smiled, warm. She liked Rhaella a lot; the woman was older than all of them, mature, and loving towards all of them. Above all, she found Rhaella's closeness to Wylis the least disturbing. 

"May I ask you something, Rhaella?"

At Rhaella's nod, Lyanna spoke, though her eyes kept Elia in check at the same time. 

"Why did you fall for Wylis?"

A soft chuckle ended up leaving the ex-queen's lips. Her eyes, filled with adoration, as if reminiscing about something, looked towards the ceiling. "Fate, I suppose. I still remember the first time I saw him. The maids opened the doors to my bedchamber, and when I stepped out, he was there, assigned as my guard. I was frightened at first. He seemed enormous, like a mountain, broad enough to swallow me in his shadow. But then he smiled. There was warmth in it. Concern, too, when he looked at me. I couldn’t help myself. I felt drawn to him.”

Rhaella told the whole story of how she and Wylis started speaking with each other using that pipe connected from her bechamber and the guard's chamber below. She told them the words Wylis spoke to her. All the support he gave her made her dull life colorful. Her frozen lips smile again. 

She hadn't known she was in love at that point. But the night he had decided to escape, everything changed. The moment they shared and his declaration. That he'd kill the Mad King if she wanted. Or his invitation to run away. 

"I was a fool… I should have run away with him."

Silence fell between them. 

"What about you, Lyanna?" Rhaella asked. "You've known him the longest. How did you fall for him? If I remember, he must have been a stableboy back then."

Lyanna instinctively giggled at that. “Oh, he was worse than that. Back then, he was no broad knight, all muscle and pride. He was fat as a pig, truly, and not very clever either. For most of my childhood, I barely spoke to him. I only knew his name. Wylis, the stableboy. Then one day he fell ill, and when he woke, there was something different about him… A light in his eyes I had never seen before.

“I grew curious and began to follow him. Before, he worked as if he didn’t care at all. He was always being scolded, always lazing about. That stopped. He woke before dawn and slept long after dark. He cleaned the stables, tended the horses, then ran the grounds until he dropped. I saw him cry out at the sky when he fell from exhaustion. I saw him lift heavy logs and train with them. I saw him take a large stick and swing it like a sword, again and again and again until his arms couldn't move…"

The smile on Lyanna's face was unmistakable. Her eyes were dreamy, unfocused, as if she saw all those memories in her eyes. Her fondness for Wylis was far more than just love or physical attraction. No, her fondness included respect, admiration, and more. 

“I once fled Winterfell on horseback because I was angry with my Father. I had just learned I was to be betrothed to Robert. I was furious. Wylis saw me take the horse. All of Winterfell went mad searching for me, and I did creep back after dark. No one scolded me because I said I had been hiding in the Godswood. But the next day, Wylis was not in the stables. The day after, he still was not there…"

Lyanna's eyes grew watery suddenly. 

"I asked around and learned what had happened. He knew I was the one who took the horse, yet he said nothing. The stablemaster thought it stolen and had Wylis flogged until he was barely awake. Then the guards threw him in the dungeon. I told my Father everything so Wylis could be freed. He hadn't eaten, he was beaten bloody, and still, he was exercising in his cell.

"I asked him the next day why he didn't tell the truth. You know what he said? He said, 'I knew you'd return. And you looked like you needed a moment alone.' And then he smiled. I slapped him for it, and he only laughed harder and said, 'Thanks to you, my lady, I've finally lost some weight'."

Lyanna gulped for a moment and resumed. Telling them what happened afterwards. How she started to follow Wylis around everywhere. Slowly joined him in his everyday training. Before she knew it, the big-bellied Wylis turned into broad-chested Wylis. 

"Before long, we were sparring together, always trying to outdo one another. We loosed arrows, raced our horses, laughed like children. I never even noticed the moment I fell in love with him. I thought maybe he felt it too, but Gods, I could never be certain. Then one day we crossed that line, and after that… Well, you know the rest. All I know is that even if Robert hadn't started the rebellion, Wylis would have killed everything in his way to get to me."

And she knew she was absolutely right about that. 

Rhaella nodded to that. Having seen his resolve when he suggested killing the King for her. She doubted him back then, but now she knew he'd have truly killed the King for her. 

Instinctively, Rhaella's hand landed on her belly as she caressed it.

"Rhaella?" That motion didn't go unnoticed by Lyanna. She got up, excited, and walked over. "Are you?"

Rhaella nodded, a blush on her pale cheeks. "I'm with… his babe."

"Oh! That's wonderful!" Lyanna squealed and hugged Rhaella. But while doing that, she also noticed a darkened expression on Elia's face. 

Huh? Jealousy?

####

Great Hall, Ramsgate,

Robert was truly enjoying himself. He took a bath with Wylis and Jon in the hot spring, and when night fell, it was finally time for the feast. 

The entire castle and the town lit up with lanterns and torches that Wylis had designed. The castle alone was a sight to behold, with decorations everywhere. The feast itself was limited as only Wylis, some of his men, and Robert's entourage were to attend it. No other noble had been invited. 

It was a scale Wylis could control fully. 

Huh. Like moth to a flame. 

In his seat beside Robert, Wylis looked at the map in Tyrant's Fief feature. There were many blue dots, denoting allies. But there were also more red dots than before, signaling enemies. They were all outside the castle, at least. 

"Seven hells! What is this?!" Robert roared, sipping a cup of Honeyed Mead Sour, a cocktail Wylis had made for the occasion. It had lemon juice and honey in it. There was also an Applejack-style punch. 

On top of that, each cocktail was served chilled with ice. It was a taste of what Wylis wanted to spread all across Westeros, at least as far as he could reach. 

"There are a few more surprises, Robert," Wylis said, pushing another cup towards the King beside him. 

What he knew about Robert was that he loved food, fucking, and fighting. He couldn't provide fucking in that castle, but he could fight him later, and move him with food right now.

Already, Robert was half-drunk, enjoying the moment. There were also a few bards who were playing smooth music, without any singing. The ceiling was lit with lanterns of various shapes. It was beautiful. 

Tyrant's Squire probably won't be satisfied with just this. 

Wylis still had plans. One last feast at the end of Robert's visit that would exceed any other. That there was still time for that. 

"Your Grace. My lord."

At last, the cooks arrived holding covered trays. In no time, the table Wylis sat at got covered with food. Once the servants lifted the lids, Robert gawked. 

"What is this?"

Wylis grabbed a piece, showing how to eat. "Take a bite, Robert. Don't be a wus."

"What did you say?!" Robert scoffed and snatched the piece from Wylis' hand itself and gave it a bite. 

Crunch!

Hah! They all react the same.

Robert's eyes were wide, his body frozen. Then he gave another bite, and more crunches followed. Then more, and more, and before long, only the bone was left. 

"That, my King, is called crispy fried chicken."

Crunch!

Crunch!

Right then, all the others took a bite. And it wasn't just limited to that table. The same type of chicken was served to everyone in the hall. 

Ting!

Huh? That's an achievement? 

[Hidden Quest Completed - Foodgasm!Description - Create history with a new food recipe. Goal - Teach Westeros the miracle of the crispy fried chicken.Reward - Super Chicken Farmer Skill]

What's that? 

He quickly tapped on the name of the skill. 

[Super Chicken Farmer Skill - 5 YearsDescription - Tell which hen and rooster is superior in the flock with a single glance.]

That… is pretty good. 

He quickly thought of what would happen if he only selected the best hens and roosters and fertilised eggs. After a few generations, wouldn't he have the biggest chickens in the world and hens that give the biggest eggs?

"That one's called onion rings." Wylis pointed at what Robert was eating next. "Do this. Dip it in this sauce."

One after another, Robert ate everything. Honey-glazed ribs, apple fritters, donuts. There were also crispy pork cutlets. He also introduced garlic cheese bread. Too bad he didn't have potatoes, rice, and tomatoes; he could have made so much more. 

And there were no more hidden quests either.

But still, what he'd shown was plenty.

"Seven hells! I bloody knew coming to see you wouldn't be a dull chore. There's always some amusement following you about," Robert roared, too piss-drunk to even sit upright.

Wylis entertained him, his eyes focused on the men before him, making sure nobody was plotting any trouble. It was getting late at night, and everyone was drunk. 

Right then, from the corner of his eye, he noticed something annoying and interesting. Ser Boros Blount, the Kingsguard, had also sat down. The ugly, fat bastard looked drunk, laughing, and annoying Small Paul, who was just busy eating his fill alone. 

Why even bring filth like this along? 

“Ser Barristan.” Wylis turned in his seat to the Kingsguard behind Robert’s chair. “It seems Ser Blount has had enough. Send him off. If he makes a mess in my castle, I won't care if he wears white or thinks himself Aegon returned.”

"Blount? Where's that fat fuck?" Robert barked, burps included. "That whoring drunkard!"

"..."

Wylis silently stared at Robert. The irony in the King's words. 

"Robert, you should rest now. I’ll need you standing come morning if you mean to spar with me."

Thud!

Robert slammed the cup of his finished cocktail and rose to his feet, nearly collapsing if not for Wylis' support. 

"Gods be damned! Near forgot that. Aye, can't be piss drunk against you. I'll have yerr… ass eat dirt come morning… Wylis…"

As Robert started slurring his words, Wylis dragged him away to the prepared bedchamber. The entire way, Robert rambled about how much fun he was having, and how much he missed being around him, Eddard, and Brandon. 

Clearly, being the King was proving much more boring than Robert had expected.

"Wylis… my brother…"

Wylis put Robert on the bed while Ser Barristan helped with the quilt. 

"My brother… those were… the day-zzz… Seven hells…"

"..."

But the days have changed, my friend. 

Wylis sighed and left, leaving Ser Barristan to stand guard outside.

####

After guiding drunk Robert to his bedchamber, Wylis threw all the unwelcome guests out. He only allowed the Kingsguards, Robert, Jon, and Lysa to remain in his castle. Being who he was, with his fame and overbearing size, nobody challenged his decision. 

Finally, he guided Anna to the basement. He secretly used Earthbending, making it seem like the stone wall before them was a secret door. Then he led her inside to rest for the night. Anna was, after all, a mother. It was cruel to keep her away from Alric and Alden. Moreover, Lyanna would kill him if he kept Magnus away from her for too long. 

At last, he locked all of them in the underground chamber and returned upstairs to sleep in his own bedchamber. Already, he knew who was going to visit him, and he was prepared for that. 

Can't be helped at this point. 

If Lysa wanted another babe, now was the right time to give her one, as Jon was also in the castle. This would ensure nobody would question the birth.

He removed his coat and tunic, sitting half-naked in his room, waiting.

Knock! Knock!

Here she comes. 

He opened a slit in the doorframe and looked outside. As expected, there she stood, biting her lips, nervous, eyes blown, legs rubbing. It would be a lie to say she didn't look good. Childbirth had framed her body more curvy, tits heavy, hips wide, and face deliciously full. 

Her untied hair was combed that night, draping over her shoulders. Green earrings hung on her ear, and her silky, deep red gown seemed too luxurious for the occasion. An off-the-shoulder, full-sleeved gown. It seemed smaller for her size as half of her tits overflowed from the top, and it clung to her hips so tightly it seemed ready to tear apart. 

"M-My lord?"

At her near begging chirp, he opened the door and let her walk inside his candle-lit room. He stared at her swaying hips. The gown was too tight. 

"Is Lady El—"

"I sent her away," he said, hinting to her that he was just as ready as she was. 

The smile Lysa gave showed that she understood his meaning. Wylis wanted that. If he was going to do it, it was best she remained obsessed with him. That would make it easier to control the Vale in the future. 

And she's not bad to look at either. 

He noticed dots of wet stains on her chest where her nipples must be. That reminded him that she was probably still lactating, as their son was just a little less than a year old. 

"T-This is…" Lysa murmured, rubbing her hands together nervously, gazing up at him, and then down as if he'd eat her. But she'd walked in there herself. 

What's with the games now? 

Wylis strode towards her, stopping only when his shadow eclipsed her. With a gentle finger, he touched her chin and raised her head. 

"I-I… This… I wore my… wedding gown… for you."

"..."

No wonder it's so tight on her. 

Gently, his broad palm spread over the side of her face. He looked at her breasts, overflowing. He couldn't lie, he was aroused, her body was an appetizing dish. And the whole ‘wedding gown’ thing seemed like her way of fully submitting to him.

"Then, you don't mind if I ruin it? Maybe… tear it apart?"

"Umh…" Lysa nearly moaned at his words. "H-Have me however you want… h-have me… just have me."

He felt her gulp under his hand on the neck. He noticed her shivering legs. 

"Lysa." He spoke her name in a rumbling voice and leaned down to kiss her lips. "You belong to me now. Do you know that?"

Once again, he felt a gulp. Her entire body seemed to shake in excitement, her blue eyes wide. 

"Y-Y-Yours… Only yours."

His palm slid lower, leaving her jaw to wrap around the slender column of her throat. He covered most of it with one massive hand. Gentle for now, never squeezing. He could feel her pulse hammer wildly against his fingers.

Then his mouth claimed hers, his tongue plunging inside without warning, tasting the wet heat, the steam of her breath. Her tongue surrendered to him instantly, letting him plunder. He kissed her deep, ruthless, owning every corner of her mouth.

And then he broke it. Leaving her gasping, lips swollen and shining.

"Then."

Both hands moved to the wide neckline of her gown. Fingers curled into the silk on either side of her chest, knuckles brushing the soft upper swells of her tits.

Trrrrr!

The fabric gave way with a long, satisfying tear. He ripped it apart in one brutal motion, hands pulling outward, splitting the gown straight down the middle from neck to hips. Silk parted like wet paper. The ruined dress loosened instantly, sliding off her shoulders, slipping down her body, pooling around her ankles.

Lysa stood frozen, statue-still, skin flushed from throat to thighs. Naked now, except for the green earrings and the dripping need between her legs. No smallclothes. Her chest rose and fell in quick, shallow pants. She didn’t cover herself, didn’t flinch. She reveled in it.

Wylis knew her submissive streak ran deep, something masochistic, something that craved the ruin. The signs were there.

His eyes raked over her. Pale skin glowing in candlelight, full breasts heavy and glistening, nipples flushed and wet. A thin trail of milk was already beading at the tips.

“Oh? Lactating?” 

He reached out, large hands scooping her tits from underneath, lifting their delicious weight. Then he squeezed. Warm milk trickled out in fine streams, dripping over his fingers, sliding down the curves of her breasts.

"Does that mean I own you, Lysa?"

"Yes! Y-Yes!" The words burst from her, dripping with desperation.

"Kneel."

She dropped instantly. Her knees hit the pooled gown with a soft thud, silk cushioning the stone. Flushed, gorgeous, her pale skin blooming red across her chest and cheeks, fluffy thighs pressed together, trying hard to quell the ache between them. Her entire body screamed, ‘Take me!’

Wylis left her there, kneeling in trembling silence. He went to the table, took up a fresh quill, and dipped it deep in black ink. Then he returned, towering over her once again.

He gripped her chin, tilted her head back until her throat arched. Then pressed the quill to her forehead, and wrote across her pale skin in bold, dripping strokes.

“Do you know what I wrote?”

Lysa shook her head. 

“Owned.”

Her eyes grew wide, sparkling, as if taking pleasure in that depravity.

His property. His breeding mare.

The ink gleamed wet against her pale skin, and Lysa shivered, eyes fluttering half-closed in bliss.

“Say it. Letter by letter.”

“O… W… N… E… D.”

Wylis tossed the quill aside, and it clattered somewhere in the shadows. His hands moved to his breeches, yanking the ties free, shoving the fabric down. His cock sprang out, fat as her wrist, girthy beyond reason, longer than her own tear-streaked face. Veins pulsed along its length, the swollen cockhead already leaking a thick bead of precum.

He gripped the base and slapped it across her face. 

Smack!

A heavy meaty smack rang against her cheek, her lips, her closed eyelids. The sound echoed in the quiet room.

"Lick it."

Wylis closed his eyes and let the sensation wash over him. 

Her delicate hands wrapped around his shaft. Both of them, as though cradling something precious. Then her warm tongue lapped at him like a starved kitten at cream, long flat strokes from the thick root all the way to the dripping tip. Her spit coated his cock, dripping down his balls, falling in long sticky strips, pooling on the floor.

"Stand up."

He fisted Lysa’s auburn hair and yanked her to her feet.

"Oooooh! My lord!"

She rose with a soft cry, a pure cooing surrender.

Woosh!

He spun her and threw her onto the bed like she weighed nothing. 

She landed face-down on the furs, belly-first, a sharp gasp punched from her lungs. Her ass lifted instinctively, thighs parting, pussy already dripping, reddened lips glistening.

He straddled her soft thighs from behind, knees sinking into the bedding on either side of her. His spit-covered flesh sword slapped down against her soaked core, making her gelatinous flesh tremble.

"Lysa, how many babes do you want?" he teased dangerously, just wanting to hear her say it.

"More, more… more… all of them." The words spilled from her in a frantic, broken chant.

"..."

Wylis didn’t bother with more questions. She was clearly beyond reason.

He nuzzled the purple head against her entrance and pushed in, slow and merciless, making her feel every invading inch. Her reddened pussy lips parted around him like wet silk tearing, stretching wide, flesh spread thin to swallow the first thick inches. 

Her walls fluttered in protest, clenching tight against the intrusion, twitching hot and frantic. She was soaked but still so fucking snug around him, her cunt fighting every ridge, every vein.

He felt it all. The exquisite resistance, the way her inner muscles spasmed and sucked, greedy despite the strain. Finally, the brutal middle girth splayed her petals, and she keened, high and broken. 

“Ah—"

He pulled back just a fraction, watching her pussy lips cling desperately, dragging along his shaft, trying to keep him buried. Creamy slick coated his rod already, gleaming at the base.

"Alright, let's make another one then."

He slammed forward. Deep, brutal, burying half his length in one punishing stroke.

"Yessssss!"

Lysa’s back arched off the bed, a raw scream tearing from her throat. 

Her walls clamped down hard, rippling, milking, protesting, and begging all at once. Milk leaked from her tits, smearing across the sheets. Her hips bucked uselessly, pinned under his massive weight. Her scorching flesh stretched around him, puffy and angry-red, clinging for dear life.

Lysa was going mad, utterly mad. Every inch of her screamed for him, his towering bulk, his rough hands, that monstrous cock she’d dreamed of every cursed night. She had fought Jon for this single hour, lied to his face, all so she could crawl back to the only man who ever truly filled her. It was all she begged the Seven for. 

And now he was here, inside her, and the wait had shattered what little sanity she had left. The first real thrust completely split her open.

"Ungh!"

Her fingers clawed the sheets, knuckles white. Gods, he was too big, impossibly thick, stretching her noble cunt in sinful ways. The burn bloomed low in her belly, hot and vicious, like her insides had shifted around him. Every ridge dragged against her soaked walls, scraping pleasure into her soul. She loved it, loved feeling like the filthiest whore, used and owned.

She gulped, tears spilling, body trembling as he dove deeper. 

The swollen tip finally battered her cervix, then pushed past it, forcing in that last brutal inch; she nearly blacked out. The pressure was unholy, a deep ache that bloomed into white-hot ecstasy. She felt every pulsing vein, every throb of his cock, stretching her so wide she could feel her own heartbeat twitching around him.

Her whole body convulsed in helpless spasms. She’d seen how massive he was, and now it was buried inside her, claiming every crevice. The thought alone sent her spiraling.

"Aaaaaaah… Please–! Ahhh!!  I’m… coming!"

She came before he even started to move. Just the sheer fullness, the stretch, the knowledge that it was him inside her, tipped her over. Her hips bucked wildly, thighs shaking, and she gushed around him like a broken dam. Wet, lewd sounds filled the room as her nectar poured down his shaft, soaking his balls, dripping onto the bed.

"Look at you, Lysa. No wonder Lord Arryn gave you to me," Wylis growled above her.

"Yes! I'm yours!"

"Seems you need to be taught a lesson."

"Yes! Punish me! I'm a whore! Filthy… filthy whore!"

"..."

She’d said it herself, begged for it, and that was enough.

"That's right."

He leaned over her soft, trembling back, one arm curving around to shove his thick thumb between her lips. He hooked it, pulling her head up and back, forcing her spine into a deep arch. She scrambled to brace herself on shaking arms, tits swaying heavily.

Then he fucked her.

No mercy, no gentleness. Just brutal, pounding thrusts that drove the breath from her lungs. Her snug cunt gripped him like a fist, slick and greedy, milking every inch even as he battered her cervix like a battering ram. Her walls fluttered and spasmed around his cock, trying to keep him, trying to pull him deeper, and it dragged him right to the edge.

He didn’t care if he broke her. That was what she craved, what she’d begged for with every tear and whimper. Whatever life she’d lived, whatever twisted her into this feral, obsessed thing; he wasn’t going to question it. He was only going to give it to her.

Plap! Plap! Plap!

The bed groaned under his weight, sheets bunching under each savage thrust. 

Wylis pulled out almost to the tip, letting her feel the sudden emptiness, the moist, gaping flesh, the cold air. Then he slammed back to the hilt, hips slamming hard on her ass, balls slapping wet against her clit. A little desperate wet puff forced from her stuffed cunt around his meat.

Squelch! Spfft! Squelch!

The squelching was filthy. Her cunt was a mess now, dripping in thick strands every time he pulled back.

Lysa already came twice, once from the stretch alone, once more when he’d started moving. The third was building fast, her walls starting to tremble wildly again, clamping down as she needed him to stay inside forever.

"Ugh… I'll… put a babe in you. Is that what you want, Lysa?" he snarled, hips snapping harder.

"More than anything… Please, put it… in meeeeeeeeeeh!"

Her voice rose into a singing moan as the climax ripped through her. Her whole body seized, thighs quaking, cunt spasming so violently it nearly pushed him out. Her eyes rolled back, mouth open around his thumb, drool and tears mixing on her cheeks.

She was gone. Completely, blissfully gone.

Wylis couldn’t hold back any longer. He collapsed forward, broad chest flattening against her sweat-slick back, crushing her into the bed. His hips brutally slammed into her one final time, and the first thick jet erupted inside her.

His flesh sword pulsed violently, swelling even thicker as he unloaded. His balls drew up tight, emptying everything. His batter flooded her womb, painting her walls white, and spurted around his buried shaft in creamy white rivulets, leaking out in gushes every time he twitched. The excess poured down her thighs, turning the bedding into a dark, sticky mess.

He could feel her walls fluttering, greedily drinking it down, and still more overflowed, smearing across his groin. To Lysa, this was her reward. Her most desired prize.

Ting!

[Name: Lysa Arryn née TullyAge: 21Occupation: Lady of the Eyrie, WifeCurrent Loyalty: 100%Status: Impregnated]

Ting!

[Tyrant’s Title Acquired]

[Tyrant’s Title - Breeder of House TullyDescription - Beyond love, beyond adoration, there is pure submission. Renjouce, Tyrant, the fish has been tamed. Effect - Making love to Lysa Arryn née Tully will make you stronger by 0.08% each time.Effect - All Tully are now genetically fearful and fond of Tyrant's blood.Current Loyalty - 100%]

Huh? Tully? Not Arryn?

Wylis stayed buried inside her for a few moments, breathing hard against her nape, letting the last weak pulses empty into her overflowing cunt. Then, he slowly pulled out. He rolled off her and fell onto his back beside her, chest heaving. His cock still half-hard and glistening with their combined mess.

"More."

The word came from Lysa like a growl.

She didn’t wait, didn’t rest. She pushed herself up on shaking arms, crawled over him, and knelt between his spread thighs. Her face was pure obsession, eyes blown wide and glassy, cheeks flushed, lips parted and wet. She wrapped both small hands around his softening shaft and started to stroke him.

"More… mmmmhhhh~"

Her mouth engulfed him in one desperate plunge, throat opening wide, taking him deeper than should have been possible. She frantically fucked her own face on his cock, manic and sloppy. Her tongue swirled, spit and cum bubbling at the corners of her lips. Her face and hair ruined, tits dangling, dripping.

"Aaagh! Fuck! Calm down!"

Wylis groaned, toes curling, hips jerking upward involuntarily. He was hypersensitive after spilling, every drag of her tongue and suck of her throat like fire on raw nerves. 

His hands shot to her hair, trying to slow her, but Lysa only moaned around him and redoubled her efforts. She sucked harder, deeper, as though she could wring every last drop from his balls and then force more out.

His knees buckled. It was too much; too hot, too wet, too fucking good. And still his cock swelled again in her throat, back to that brutal hardness despite the ache.

“Mmm… More.”

Lysa pulled off with a wet pop. She madly climbed up, straddled his hips, and without hesitation, impaled herself on his cock. All the way in, while grinning.

"Ehhh… yesssss… so good and deeep… mmmmh… yes yes!"

"..."

She was dancing on him already, squatting over him, hips rolling in filthy circles before her ass started bouncing. Her tits jolted wildly, milk dripping in fine arcs with every slam. Her eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy, mouth open in a constant stream of moans.

She came again almost instantly, shuddering, clenching, and gushing around him. Then again. And again.

Wylis felt everything, every squeeze, every hot ripple. His cock was sore, oversensitive, throbbing with a deep ache, yet still rock-hard, still hungry. The friction was maddening. 

She's gone feral. 

"Not so easy,"

He tried to push her sideways, to get on top of her instead, to take back control and fuck her at his own pace…

Knock! Knock!

What the… At this hour? 

Annoyed, he slipped out of Lysa and got off the bed. He donned his breeches quickly and then threw the quilt on Lysa. 

"Hide under it."

Finally, he unlocked the door and looked out through a gap. 

"Ser Moore? What happened?"

It was one of the three Kingsguards who came with Robert.

"My lord…"

Wylis frowned. He'd never seen a Kingsguard stutter before. Not unless they feared him for some reason. 

"Speak properly, Ser Moore."

"My lord, uh… Ser Blount tried to rape Lady Ros but—!"

Before the Kingsguard could even finish, Wylis had grabbed his sword resting beside the doorframe in his room. He stepped out, eyes red with fury. 

"Where is that filth? I warned all of you—"

"He's dead! He's dead, my lord! Your squire killed him before he could harm Lady Ros."

"Chett did?"