Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and works; all other characters and worlds belong to their respective owners. I'm just playing with them.
Betad by Malcolm Tent, Mike God of Lore, Marethyu, Priapus, Beans
The Unbound
Chapter 19: A Day in the Baratheon Household
— Cersei Baratheon —
"A Kraken! He killed a fucking Kraken!" Robert bellowed as she hid her amusement. Robert stared in disbelief, reading the message again as if it would change matters. "Stannis? Boring, 'no fun allowed on Dragonstone' Stannis, killed an actual Kraken. With a sword?!"
"They're calling him the Krakenbane. Countless people saw him do it," Cersei agreed.
"But… it's Stannis," Robert mumbled, his worldview currently upside down. She couldn't tell if he was proud, jealous or just plain confused. "Stannis!"
"Orys trusted him to take down the Greyjoys, and that is exactly what he did. For all that his… lack of flexibility has made him unpopular, his dutiful nature cannot be denied," Cersei admitted. She didn't overly like her oft-scowling goodbrother, but he'd brought the Greyjoys' second rebellion to a swift end.
He was already on his way back, with the entire Iron fleet captured and filled with imprisoned Ironborn. Rumours of occult rituals aside, this had been a powerful victory for House Baratheon.
"…where's my bloody hammer? I'm going North, I'm going to beat the Boltons to death with my own two hands," Robert decided with a frown as he looked down at his belly. "Damn it all, Orys is right. I need to work off these bloody feasts. No fucking Bolton is going to get the honour of slaying the Demon of the Trident!"
Watching as Robert stormed through the Red Keep, she chuckled to herself. She'd have to make sure that Robert had people there to keep him safe, as despite everything she did not wish for him to die chasing glory. In truth, once the crown was off his brow, he'd rapidly returned to the younger Robert she could remember. It had truly been a heavy weight, even if he'd done his best to ignore the way it had been crushing him. He was happier, healthier and just more pleasant without the weight of a crown on his brow.
Meanwhile, Orys was truly blooming with that weight. He wore the crown like it was meant for him. She supposed it was the difference between being a King by necessity and being born and raised for the role.
She'd been busy, spreading his legend to every bard in the seven kingdoms, making sure poets were writing epics about Orys the Blessed. Orys trusted her alone with the truth, and she intended to ensure that his gamble with the Faith did not become a double-edged sword.
Moving through the Red Keep, she gave the latest addition to the staff a look. Lady Brienne of Tarth, Knight of the Mother, straightened up with an embarrassed look on her face. The floral wreath on her head made Cersei sigh, giving Myrcella a stern look.
"My Lady," Brienne said, bowing deeply. She was well aware of the strangeness of her position, that the eyes of the kingdom were upon her. Orys had tasked her with the protection of his beloved little sister, and Brienne had thrown herself fully into the task. She was a true fanatic, seeing Orys as the man who'd brought her impossible dream into reality.
Cersei's pride briefly screeched at the fact that she was no longer 'Your Grace', now merely the Queen Mother. Instead, she silenced it with a calm smile.
"Ser Brienne," Cersei greeted. It was an easy thing to say and made Brienne straighten up proudly every single time. There was talk of making an official title for female knights instead of Ser but for now, she was Ser Brienne of Tarth.
She examined the tall woman, a curious look on her face. Brienne was not blind or unaware of the source of her curiosity. Brienne of Tarth was not a beautiful woman.
She had a flat, crooked nose, uneven teeth, short scraggly hair. Her mouth was wide and her lips swollen. Her only positive feature were her eyes, which were a deep blue.
Or, that was how she had appeared when she had been knighted. Now, her nose was fixed, her hair more lush. Her lips were full and attractive and her teeth seemed to be slowly fixing themselves. She'd heard that someone had even asked for Brianne's hand of late, and not just for the political benefits of having the Knight of the Mother for a wife. Brienne had refused, dedicating herself to the Seven and their Blessed King, but it was clear that the blessing of the Mother had done wonders to the tall, muscular woman. Orys had given her this blessing, and it was good that Brienne understood that he was the only one who deserved to benefit from it.
"Has Myrcella remained out of trouble?" Cersei asked, moving on without mentioning it.
"Mother!" Myrcella complained, her Valyrian Steel tiara glinting in the light. A gift from Orys, one that she wore even to bed.
"She has, my lady," Brienne agreed easily. "Beyond skipping her lessons to take a walk through the gardens."
"You said you wouldn't tell her!" Myrcella whined playfully.
"I said I wouldn't mention it, if I wasn't asked. I also said I wouldn't lie to the Queen Mother for you, my Lady," Brienne replied simply.
"We'll talk about this later, Myrcella. Have you seen Tommen?" Cersei asked, watching her only daughter pout. Myrcella had certainly enjoyed having Orys back the most, if only because Orys put a stop to Joffrey's bullying. She should have done it herself, but instead she'd enabled his cruelty by using him as a replacement for the son that her father had stolen away.
Now, Myrcella would run to Orys anytime Joffrey tried to push them around, and Orys would stop it. It had put a divide between Joffrey and Orys but that was a one-sided fight.
"He's in the Royal Sept. It's the only place he ever is anymore," Myrcella replied.
"Thank you. Ser Brienne, please escort my daughter to the library. Today she was supposed to be learning the Houses of the Stormlands. Have the librarian find a fitting tome. She isn't to leave until I come for her," Cersei ordered plainly, amused by Myrcella's whining as Brienne was quick to agree.
In truth, Orys' clear affection for Myrcella had caused a wave of suitors and fathers wanting to betroth their heir to the Blessed King's little sister. She'd rejected them all, and convincing Robert to do the same had not been difficult. Well, convincing Robert to not play the great game had never been a challenge, had it?
She'd made sure to take care of the diplomatic rejection instead of Robert bellowing that the little shits weren't good enough for one of his kids. He'd slowly started to spend time with Bella and the newly arrived Mya, and encouraging his paternal pride was not hard. In truth, she just pointed out how Eddard Stark was with his daughters, and that did the trick. Robert's obsession with all things Stark had never truly died.
She was half convinced if he had gotten to marry Lyanna Stark, he'd have taken her name.
Entering the Royal Sept, she spotted Tommen speaking with the High Septon. The fat old man had been a frequent visitor in the Red Keep and she knew that the Septon of the Royal Sept was not pleased to have him effectively take over. And yet, nobody would risk causing a scene when the Faith was seeing stars from the new King's status.
The High Septon proved why she had let him keep his job as he bowed to her, excusing himself as Tommen noticed her and froze.
"You seem to be here often, Tommen," Cersei greeted, watching her youngest son's face.
"I had questions, with everything that Ory- His Grace has done," Tommen replied softly. He always was the softest of her children, even compared to his sister.
"His Grace? Did Orys not tell us to refer to him by his name?" Cersei prompted as she took a seat on the stall beside him. "And you didn't think to ask your brother himself?"
Tommen didn't answer for a while, going silent.
"You know he isn't going to reject you, Tommen. You've been avoiding him since he returned," Cersei pointed out.
"I didn't mean to but- well, I was scared he'd be like Joffrey, and then when he wasn't he was always so busy and it felt wrong to disturb him," Tommen admitted. Unlike Myrcella who would burst into Orys' study or forge whenever she pleased.
"True, Orys does work hard. Sometimes I think he works too hard," Cersei agreed fondly, fixing Tommen's hair. "But he is still your older brother, and you should get to know him before we leave for Storm's End."
Something about the way Tommen reacted to her words made her eyes narrow.
"What is it, Tommen?" Cersei asked, trying to coax the answers out of him.
"I-" Tommen started, trailing off. In truth, even to her Tommen had been an almost forgotten son. It took until this moment for her to realise that she really didn't know much about her youngest son. In hindsight, she could see why her father had decided to raise Orys away from her.
She'd neglected two children, and the one she'd raised became a little monster.
"Go on, Tommen. You're a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, you shouldn't hesitate so much," Cersei lightly scolded.
"Can a Prince become a Septon?" Tommen finally asked, and instantly her eyes shot over to the High Septon who was just far enough away to listen in while he busied around. The fat man froze, sensing her glare.
"What has brought this on?" Cersei asked, entirely prepared to find a new High Septon after this one mysteriously fell out of a window.
"Orys," Tommen admitted. "Seeing him forge with the Smith's Blessing, and heal with the Mothers. It's… inspiring. I've never known what I'm supposed to do. I'm the spare of the spare, and- and I was fine with that!" Tommen quickly explained. "But Orys will have children soon, everyone says so. And then Joffrey will, and I won't even be the spare anymore. I just thought- maybe I could do something I wanted to do, instead of just being… well, like Uncle Renly."
He was terrified of her. His posture, his rapid speech. Her son was scared to admit his dream to her. She could see how he'd come to this decision. Joffrey had tormented him, and now the eldest was back and everything was going better, while everyone claimed Orys was beloved by the Gods themselves. It would inspire anyone truly interested in the Faith.
"I don't believe it has ever been done before," Cersei admitted, watching his face fall. "But that does not mean it cannot be done. You realise that this is not a small decision? Certainly not something to be done without truly considering everything."
"I do," Tommen agreed, his spirits lifting as she stroked his hair.
"If this is what you truly want, I won't stand in your way and neither will your father," Cersei promised, amused at the greed in the High Septon's eyes.
The fool hadn't realised that she had just found his replacement.
"But first. It is going to be dinner soon, and Orys will be eating with the family now that the tournament is over. You will be sitting next to him," Cersei decided, seeing his nerves. "You can't expect to be able to give sermons if you are too shy to speak to your own brother, Tommen."
Her tone was teasing, but she could tell that her point had landed. Giving the High Septon a nod, she watched the fat man relax as she spent time with her youngest son.
Something she intended to do far more of, because while the High Septon was guaranteed to take Tommen under his wing, she intended to make sure that Tommen knew where his true loyalties lay. Not with the Most Devout, but with the one the Gods themselves had blessed.
As dinner began that evening, she made sure to whisper of Tommen's new dream to Orys who gave her a thankful smile. Soon enough, he was seated between Myrcella and Tommen as the pair (mostly Myrcella), harassed him with questions. Joffrey scowled deeply at the inclusion of Bella and Mya who sat near their father, but she had placed herself next to Joffrey for the sole purpose of keeping him in check.
When Joffrey eventually left, storming off, she followed behind.
"Joffrey," Cersei started, surprised when he cut in.
"What? Should I sit there and listen about how Father is so proud that his whore daughter learnt basic table manners? She even managed to stay at the table instead of on or under it this time! Or maybe I should be in awe at how well the other bastard can ride a mule?" Joffrey spat out, half fury and half frustration. "When he isn't babbling about Orys the Blessed, of course."
"Do not raise your voice to me, Joffrey," Cersei warned, and she saw a flash of fear cross his face at the sheer displeasure painted across hers. "You believe that your father's praise is misplaced?"
"I-" Joffrey started, but she didn't let him speak.
"Orys has done more for the kingdom in his short reign than Robert did in years. As for Mya and Bella, Robert is simply eager to get to know them. But this isn't about them, it's about you wanting that praise for yourself," Cersei said bluntly. "But answer me this, Joffrey. What have you ever done that is praiseworthy? Bella has learnt the proper noble etiquette in a short amount of time. Mya has made a good living for herself. Tommen is dedicating himself to his spiritual studies. Myrcella is quickly going through her own studies. Orys is managing the entire Seven Kingdoms. You want to be praised, but you have made no effort to do anything worthy of praise. Do you think I have not seen, not heard, the way you treat your betrothed? The daughter of the Warden of the North?"
Joffrey didn't respond, a mulish scowl on his lips. She regretted not pushing Sansa to marry Tommen instead, but that was no longer viable with Tommen's newfound desire.
"Sandor, take Joffrey to his room. He's tired and needs some sleep. I will come to collect him in the morning. Nobody else is to allow him to leave," Cersei ordered.
"Understood, My Lady," Sandor grunted. It was more than he'd have said before. It seemed his brother's death had done wonders for the man's personality. He had gone from quiet, highly unpleasant and dangerous to merely quiet, unpleasant and dangerous.
Well, she hadn't hired him for his linguistic talents.
Joffrey was becoming an increasingly large black spot on a pristine Baratheon dynasty.
— King Orys Baratheon —
"That's cheating."
"You said to not hold back, your Grace," Barristan says simply, uncaring that he'd just kicked his King in the shin. I'd been watching his sword, not his footwork. Of course, the last time I watched his feet he'd headbutted me instead but I did tell him not coddle me.
I am well aware that Westeros is a militant kingdom. No matter how blessed I may be, the highborn of Westeros won't respect a King who can't hold his own on the battlefield. Archery helps, but if I want their full respect I need to know my way around a blade.
Barristan is a tough teacher, but fortunately Uncle Jaime made sure to give me a solid foundation to work with.
Arya's giggling makes me stare at her, unamused before I grab a handful of mud and toss it at her. Orys the Blessed, everyone.
She dodges, not quite fast enough to escape my divine aim, and the cat in her arms hisses violently. She found a new member of her pack, an old, black tomcat with one ear. Mother thinks it probably belonged to Princess Rhaenys but all I know is that it's an old, angry cat that hates everyone but Arya and me.
I might need to cross myself off that list after hitting it with mud.
Despite its unpleasantness, Balerion is a deadly hunter of rodents and it turns out that Hircine cares not for the scale of the hunt, only that it occurs. A cat hunting a mouse is just as much a hunt as a man hunting a deer.
So, we have a new divine hunter in the Red Keep. We've never been so rat-free. I decided to allow it because mother explained that Balerion once scratched Joffrey so deep that he cried for days, escaping all attempts to catch him. Nymeria and Lady seem to accept Balerion well enough. Sansa's direwolf is less wild than Arya's but it still needs more exercise than Sansa herself can give it.
In truth, I'm glad to see her smiling again. Arya has been quiet after word reached us of Winterfell. Jon may have been a bastard, but he was a beloved family member and it hit both Arya and Sansa hard. Lord Stark raised Jon beside his other children, he was a true brother to them.
"You can do this, Orys!" Margaery cheers.
"I appreciate the faith, but you said that the last four times and four times, Barristan the Bold has put me on my blessed backside," I reply with an amused sigh. Despite my words, I get back into position, Uncle Jamie's and Barristan's words echoing through my mind.
I'm glad for the simplicity of training. It's physically exhausting, but after the non-stop swarm of people wanting my time and attention, it's a relief to get manhandled rather than having to deal with the requests and desires of every minor house from Dorne to the North.
I've been working my mind often, but it's left me with little time to train my body. Hircine's blessing has prevented me from getting too soft, but if I want to live up to my father's example, I've got a long way to go.
Plus, Margaery likes watching me get hot and sweaty.
Sometimes, I think I'm more like my father than I'd care to admit. On the bright side, I can heal my wounds. On the downside, Barristan realised he could push me twice as hard because I could heal the wounds.
My hours of bruising beatings are interrupted by a loud shout, Barristan stopping mid strike to look over to the source. Without even turning, I already know this is somehow Joffrey's fault and I just give him a nod.
"How dare you!?" Sansa's voice shouts, her usually soft, polite tone filling the air.
"I think that's enough for today, Ser Barristan. You have my gratitude," I say softly, giving him a nod as I grab the cloth offered by Margery and clean my face.
I already know this is going to be a pain when I see Joffrey holding a reddening cheek, Sansa's hand outstretched. Ooh, she got him with her nails.
Joffrey seems genuinely shocked at the fact that Sansa has struck him, before he snaps and lunges at her, throwing a clenched fist at her face.
"Sandor, restrain him," I shout as I jog over, but even the Hound can't stop the first three blows from landing, having been a small distance away. Joffrey slams his fists into Sansa's face again and again, madness on his face as Sandor pulls him away. He even hits Sandor but… well, Joffrey is a frail boy and Sandor is Sandor. "What in the Seven Hells is going on here?"
"She struck me! Me! Her betrothed!" Joffrey snarls, blood on his cheek where her nail broke the skin. "I am a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms and she slapped me!"
"Sansa?" I prompt, approaching her slowly. Her face is bloodied, but I call upon Mara's light and place my hand on her cheek, the glow engulfing and healing her wounds.
"He- he said Winterfell deserved to fall! That my bastard brother deserved to die," Sansa replies, fury in her voice. She's got a little wolven rage inside her, hasn't she? "So yes, I hit him. And I'd do it again. I, sorry, your Grace."
"Sandor?" I ask, and he just nods.
"He said worse than that, but aye, that's about it," Sandor confirms.
"Sansa, I realise that what he said was entirely out of line, but do not lower yourself by resorting to physical violence," I scold lightly, seeing the shame on her face. "Joffrey, I realise you're not the best with women, but mocking their recently deceased siblings is not a good courtship method. Nor should a man be so quick to strike a woman, have some self-respect."
"Self-respect?!" Joffrey spits, pulling his arm away from Sandor. "How is letting someone disrespect me self-respect? She struck me."
"And if Father heard your words, he'd have struck you harder. The sacking of Winterfell is a tragedy, a weakness exploited by cowardly traitors. It is not something to be made light of, and stop throwing a fit like some crying maiden. You're a man, aren't you?"
"Shut up. I'm not going to take this from you. Everything was perfect until you came back. The sickness should have done the world a favour and killed you," Joffrey spits, beyond reason.
"And leave you on the throne? No, I don't see that as a boon for the realms. We've had a mad king, we've had stupid kings, and we've had cruel kings, but I don't think we've had a mad, stupid, cruel king yet. I wonder what your epitaph would be, maybe Joffrey the Cunt," I reply, unamused by his screeching. "Sandor, since my brother has decided to be a whining maiden, I believe the Maidenvault will suffice as a nice place for him to think about his actions. Ser Swann, can you inform my parents of this development?"
Getting two agreements, I watch as Sandor drags Joffrey away. I'm going to reassign him, Sandor is too skilled to be wasted on Joffrey. I'm going to pretend that the way Sansa is biting her bottom lip is from nerves, not arousal.
"Sansa, I realise that Joffrey started things verbally but escalating matters is rarely a good idea," I sigh. "You realise that you will also have to be punished."
"I know," Sansa admits, head held high. "I'd still do it again."
I ignore Arya's cheer.
"Go to the rooms your family are using, for now," I order, getting a curtsy from Sansa before I turn to her friend who has been lurking nearby. "Jeyne, go with her."
"Can I go too?" Arya asks with a wide smile.
"You can do what you want," I admit, well aware that she wants to celebrate Joffrey getting slapped. Something tells me Myrcella will love this story just as much as well. Arya's impish smile makes me roll my eyes as I shoo the group away.
"Is it wrong that I am glad for Sansa?" Margaery asks quietly. "If someone said that about Highgarden or any of my brothers…"
"I don't blame her, but this is still going to be a nightmare to deal with," I admit. "Joffrey isn't likely to forget this, and when he isn't blaming me, he'll be blaming her. I wouldn't be surprised if this ends their betrothal entirely."
Margaery takes my hand, giving it a squeeze as I give her a smile.
"Careful. I'm still sweaty and coated in mud, I don't want to ruin your dress," I warn, but she just smiles impishly.
"Oh, getting sweaty with you doesn't sound too bad," Margaery replies softly. "But if you ruin my dress, you'll just have to peel it off me."
Her voice is quiet but the tone sends a shiver through me as I give her a hungry look. Once more, I'm glad for the professionalism of Barristan the Bold as he finds the most interesting practice sword in the world, examining it from all angles.
"Minx," I whisper, watching as she adjusts her posture and with one hand, tugs on her dress slightly to cause her already low cut cleavage to become far more pronounced, even showing off a hint of nipple. Moving one hand into her dress, I gently caress her bare breast as I kiss her, glad for a distraction.
With a teasing smile, she takes my hand and leads me into a small storeroom not far from the training ground.
Ah yes, nobody will wonder why Ser Barristan the Bold is guarding a supply cupboard. As Margaery slips her dress off entirely, suddenly I can't remember why I care.
— Margaery Tyrell —
As she tossed Orys' sweaty shirt away, she captured his lips the moment it cleared his head, before pressing her nude body against him.
She did not fear Arianne stealing him away anymore. She wasn't doing this because she wanted to truly 'secure' him for herself. No, this was because she wanted him.
His hands came to her buttocks, his fingers digging into her perky flesh as she pressed her small breasts against his chest.
Moonshadow had given her a lot of advice. It was truly nice to have an older, far more experienced woman to discuss this with as her mother and grandmother certainly wouldn't approve-
Well, actually her grandmother might approve if she could spin it as a manipulation and her mother might approve because it was the Blessed King. Honestly, she was half convinced her mother would join her if given a chance. Her faith had gone from devout to fanatical after the display of power in the tournament.
But the point was, she didn't want to ask them for advice and Moonshadow was a true expert in more than just sexual arts. Braavosi Courtesans were more than just beautiful. The best ones were expected to be cultured, talented and intelligent. Often more educated than the highborn who could pay to bed them. Moonshadow had a truly vast amount of knowledge and Margaery appreciated her wisdom.
But right now, she intended to put the teachings of her courtesan mentor to use in the most physical way as she extracted Orys' cock. It was as big as she remembered from her last, admittedly amateurish and failed attempt to pleasure him, her fingers not even touching as they wrapped around it.
"Margaery," Orys moaned into their kiss, and she could sense his hesitance. Not that he didn't want her, but propriety and desire were warring within. He'd once explained that Tywin Lannister had raised him with Tyrion, the manwhoring imp, and Robert Baratheon and his infamous wildness as an example of what not to do.
"Relax, we aren't doing… that yet. Not when our wedding is in a matter of days," Margaery reassured him, pushing him into a frenzy of desire with her cajoling.
Her wedding was going to last seven full days, each one dedicated to a different member of the Seven. Maybe it was sinful, but she wanted to skip to the seventh night.
Her fingers slowly danced along his length, admiring the sheer size and weight of the cock that was going to ruin her on their wedding night, before she made her move. Orys was taller than her, so she had to rise onto her tiptoes as she parted her thighs and slid the erect phallus between them, trapping it with her smooth thighs, her arousal leaking onto him as the topside of his cock ground against it.
Her original plan had been to use her mouth, but Moonshadow had pointed out that it would be hard for an amateur to handle such a… prodigious shaft and it also wouldn't give her any pleasure. By purely giving, it would make it seem more manipulative or submissive.
Which oddly enough did sound like something her grandmother would say.
"Fuck," Orys groaned into her mouth as she began to move her hips. Her own words were lost to her gasping, followed by a giggle after she pressed her hand to her mouth to silence a loud moan. They were still in a cupboard in the training yard, after all. Maybe she should have waited for a chance to get him alone, but she didn't regret her impatience.
"I just said that comes later,' Margaery giggled, kissing his neck. "Just relax, my king. You do so much for the realm, let me do something for you… and for myself."
His hands on her ass squeezed softly before one moved up and around to caress her breasts. Her pussy was drenched, coating his shaft with her arousal as she sped up her gyrations, squeezing down on him as best she could.
Every movement sent a shiver through her body. If merely rubbing herself along his cock felt this good, she truly couldn't wait for their wedding night.
She lost track of how long they spent, kisses and wandering hands blurring the minutes, but she could feel the way he was twitching between her legs, his groans into her mouth growing deeper and needier. She'd already cum, every sensation causing a muffled moan, but Orys wasn't far behind.
"Go on, cum for me," Margaery whispered, kissing his neck. "I can't wait for you to be able to cum inside me. To feel this big fat cock filling me up. For now, finish for me, Orys, cum all over my thighs."
Orys groaned, his humping speeding up before he let out a satisfied sigh as his balls churned, his seed bursting forth as he pulled back. The first spurt hit her stomach, before the second landed directly on her pussy, intermingling with her small, trimmed bush of thin brown hair. Each spurt coated her legs and thighs, dripping down her body as she watched in awe at the immense amount of seed he was painting her lower body with.
"Fuck," Orys repeated. "I think I needed that."
His words were accompanied by a quiet laugh, which she returned.
"Soon," Margaery promised, both Orys and herself as she made her decision and picked up her dress. It reached her feet, so as she shuffled it back on, she covered her nude, cum-stained lower body with another impish smile.
"Why do I feel like I'm back at Casterly Rock, trying to sneak out while Grandfather isn't looking," Orys joked as he redressed himself.
"I won't tell if you don't," Margaery replied with a mischievous grin as Orys opened the door and peeked out.
She saw him freeze before he straightened his back up and stepped out of the room, leading her behind him as she saw what had stopped him. The eyes of Robert Baratheon, Eddard Stark and around a dozen other knights and servants stared back at them.
"Carry on," Orys said, giving them a regal nod as he led her away. Two teenagers, coming out of a closet, with rumpled clothes?
Robert's rowdy laughter followed them as they slipped away, before they stopped and looked at each other. The silence lasted all of a second before they both burst out laughing, Orys running a hand through his hair and making it look even wilder than her hands already had.
"Ah, fuck it," Orys said, pulling her in close for a deep kiss, uncaring of the servants around. "I'll see you at dinner tonight?"
"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Margaery agreed, giving him a second kiss before she walked away with her head held high.
Why should she be ashamed?
She needed a bath, but first… Moonshadow. She needed to show her mentor just how much Orys came because it was far more than Moonshadow had said it would be.
She truly believed Moonshadow's experience, but Orys was clearly exceptional in more ways than one.
— Sansa Stark —
In truth, she was well aware that she had gotten off extremely easily. She'd just struck a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. Sure, Orys was the King and his eventual sons would be the ones to inherit the throne but Joffrey remained the next in line for now.
So being sent to her room was a slap on the wrist. That she was sent with Jeyne and Arya (with Arya quickly gathering Myrcella for them to gossip), meant that this was barely a punishment at all.
Her father had made it clear that this wasn't over, but he also planned to leave her punishment to her mother who was apparently close to King's Landing, having met with the runners Orys sent. For now, she had more lessons with Septa Mordane and restricted privileges.
She was expected to apologise as well, but only if Joffrey also apologised. Her father would never say it, but she was almost certain that he was proud of her, at least a little.
Arya said it was the coolest thing that Sansa had ever done. Sansa didn't disagree. Of course, Arya had also grabbed Lady to stop Sansa's direwolf from jumping to her defence. She'd learnt from the last time Joffrey attacked a Stark. Clearly he hadn't learnt his lesson.
She had. Never side with a pompous little shit over her own family.
Orys had once asked her if she'd still have sided with Joffrey when he turned his rage onto her. She'd not wanted to admit it was a risk. Now? She'd struck Joffrey defending her family, if only from his verbal insults instead of the physical threat Arya attacked him over, and Joffrey had tried to beat her like a wild animal.
As the door opened, the gossiping cut out instantly as the Queen Mother entered.
"Mother, Sansa was only-" Myrcella instantly started. It amused Sansa to see Myrcella jump to her defence as she had once tried to jump to Joffrey's.
"I know. I've spoken to Orys, Sandor and Ser Barristan. Leave us," Cersei ordered, her tone brooking no argument. Myrcella hesitated, but Sansa just gave her friends and sister a reassuring smile.
As they reluctantly left, Cersei took a seat in the chair that Myrcella had just vacated.
"I know you said keeping my cool was important, but I couldn't. Not when he was slandering my captured home and fallen brother," Sansa admitted without prompting. She'd never been as close to Jon as the others, tainted by her mother's opinion of bastards, but the moment she'd heard the news that he was gone? She'd realised just how much she'd cared for him.
He'd died a warrior's death, helping her mother, Bran and Rickon escape. He was a Hero of Winterfell, and she could not, would not, stand by and let him be insulted by Joffrey.
"I know. You're young, and with youth comes emotional reactions. Even your father, a truly stoic man, has been moved to request that Orys allow him to acknowledge Jon as a true Stark posthumously," Cersei admitted. "I'm not here to punish you. I'm certain your parents will handle that. Do you regret not changing your betrothed for Tommen?"
Sansa went silent at her blunt question, taking a moment to reflect.
"Maybe," Sansa finally decided.
"It would have been more convenient, in truth. I would have found a way to sideline Joffrey, maybe to the Wall. He's proven that he cannot be trusted with power," Cersei replied softly. "It'll only be a matter of time until he finds the entire Stormlands unfitting for him. He's coveted the crown all his life, and every step further from it is making him worse. But now? Tommen has decided to become a man of the faith, and I don't want to take that from him."
"I was supposed to help keep his worst tendencies in line, but I don't think I can," Sansa admitted. Cersei just laughed quietly.
"That may have been an impossible task. Perhaps if Orys was less… spectacular, Joffrey would not be reacting so poorly, but as Orys shines brighter, Joffrey's shadow grows darker," Cersei reassured her. "But that doesn't mean you can't help deal with Joffrey. It only means we need to swap tactics."
"How can I help?" Sansa asked instantly. Orys was doing a lot to help her people, first with the Ironborn and now against the traitorous scum who had taken Winterfell. She couldn't help with either of those, but if she could lift even a little of the weight from him, she would.
"Originally I'd hoped you'd become Joffrey's confidant. The pillar he could lean on, and it was working. I've seen you calm him, multiple times, preventing him from making scenes, but it's not enough," Cersei admitted. "As I said, Orys' rapid rise has plunged him into a pit of jealousy and rage. Instead, we need to defang him entirely."
"What do you mean?" Sansa asked, a thoughtful frown on her face. She couldn't say she didn't like the idea.
"You have seen how Mace Tyrell is, haven't you? A browbeaten man who can't wipe his buttocks without asking Olenna first. Joffrey, for the good of the realm, needs to be… emasculated," Cersei explained coolly, a look of disappointment crossing her face. "He will be the Lord of the Stormlands, but you will be the one holding the power."
Sansa's eyes widened, her mouth dropping in shock at the blunt confession of Cersei's plans.
"Is that even possible?" Sansa asked, picturing a world where Joffrey answered to her, a shade of a man.
"It is. Robert adores the idea of having a Stark Gooddaughter, and I intend to keep my husband alive as long as the Gods will permit given his size and recklessness. It gives us time to position you as the true power in the Stormlands," Cersei reassured her. "To make sure that when Robert passes, the Stormlands' sworn houses see you as the true power, instead of Joffrey. It won't be easy, but a good relationship with both Robert and Orys will make this smoother. I can teach you how to control Joffrey. It wasn't something I wanted for him, but I fear his current path leads to him doing something incredibly foolish in the pursuit of his impossible dream. Even if Orys died today, I wouldn't permit Joffrey to become King. He'd drive the realm into ruin. If nothing changes, at best he'd do the same to the Stormlands in his petty cruelty."
"It'd be a loveless marriage," Sansa realised. She hadn't lost her love for romantic stories with true knights and chivalry, but it seemed her story wouldn't be one.
"That's what lovers are for, dear," Cersei replied bluntly. Once more, her eyes shot open in shock. "Be subtle, and ensure you drink Moon Tea to prevent any bastards, and you can find your love elsewhere."
"Are you suggesting-"
"Women have needs, both physical and emotional. Joffrey, it seems, is determined to ignore both. It is not a betrayal when his cruelty and immaturity led to it," Cersei assured her. "Which leads me to my second point. I fear that Joffrey's… madness may pass down to his children. Fortunately, he has a handsome older brother and your children can remain Baratheon."
"Wh-what?!" Sansa squawked, her face going bright red.
"Do not pretend you haven't imagined it. I don't blame you, Orys certainly outshines his brothers. For Tommen, it's driven him to seek a humble life, for Joffrey it's driven him to rage," Cersei soothed. "It's just a thought, dear. For now, let's talk about the weapons a woman can wield and grow you some thorns of your own."
She shouldn't be listening to this… she shouldn't.
"Teach me."
— King Orys Baratheon —
Once more in my forge, I work away at my next creation.
I will forever deny that I decided to do this now to escape the gossiping. It turns out, one of the Tyrell cousins heard Margaery discussing my… size and now the entire Kingdom has seemingly heard it.
Arya called me Orys the 'Very Blessed' before Eddard clipped her ear.
The giggling and stares are driving me a little mad, and there's nothing better for working off that tension than hammering away at something. Margaery is busy so my forge will have to do.
The whispering of the Most Devout doesn't even get a second glance at this point. Any time I forge, it's basically a holy event to them and I've gotten used to working with an audience. On the bright side, they're funding basically anything I want to make. Today, they're right to think it's religious, a golden light shining upon my forge as I work.
It takes me hours to finish the detailing of the large golden chalice, lifting it and placing it on the waiting pedestal. It's too big to drink from normally, and even my muscles strain under its weight as I step back.
"It's beautiful, Your Grace," the High Septon says. He seems to have a lot of free time on his hands, given how often he's been here.
The Septons and Septas admire the chalice, the golden iconography on the outside relating to the Mother and several stories of her deeds, both from this world and from Lady Mara's own mouth.
"It isn't quite done yet," I say, gesturing for them to step back. Moving forward, I close my eyes and extend my hands, my palms faced upwards as I call on Lady Mara and Lord Zenithar.
Their light flows from me into the chalice, enchanting it and imbuing it with the powers we decided on as it begins to fill with crystal clear water. As the light show ends, I open my eyes and the last wisps of golden light fade from my gaze as I let out a tired sigh of satisfaction.
"Now, it's done," I say simply. "Behold, the Chalice of the Mother's Mercy, and the healing waters Lady Mara has conjured within."
Please, for the love of the Gods, don't expect me to heal every cut and bruise. I'm so damn busy. I want some me time.
The gasps and awe fills the room, and I can feel the faith flowing from each of them as I rest against the side of my forge with a satisfied smile.
"Will you be making an artefact for the Smith?" one of them asks, but I only laugh before gesturing behind me at the massive forge.
"What do you think this is?" I ask simply. "Only the truly faithful can lift the chalice, as only those chosen by Lord Zenithar can work my forge. I plan to keep this in the Grand Sept, for its safety. I believe Ser Bonifer the Good is close, with his Holy Hundred? I intend to test him, to see if the Gods will accept him as one of their Knights. He'll make a fine guard for the Chalice, as I intend to have a new building constructed near the Grand Sept to house the Knights of the Seven and their followers."
I barely have a chance to finish before they're opening up their coin pouches to pay for this new building to house their holy chivalric order. They aren't permitted to have a Faith Militant, but if one of their knights happens to have a hundred loyal soldiers following him, there's no reason to dismiss them. They might be known for their zeal but they aren't sworn to the Faith, so I can allow it, throwing a bone to the Faith. Lady Nocturnal's eyes are everywhere, and this is exactly what the Most Devout are hoping for as this takes the Knights from seven to one hundred and seven even if the hundred are only men-at-arms.
Their pious nature will make them adequate guards for the divine artefacts that I forge. As long as I make sure they see me as the true word of the Gods, not the High Septon or the Most Devout.
Running my finger along the rim of the chalice, I admire the waters for a moment before I step back and let the faithful, whipped into a frenzy, adore their holy artefact.
This will increase the Faith's power, having a divine artefact that can grant miracles, but I intend to make sure everyone knows that it came from me. I'm just letting them hold onto it as long as they play nice with the Crown.
— Bonus Scene — Robert Baratheon
"But it's Stannis," Renly said.
"That's what I said!" Robert agreed as the pair shared a look before downing their wine. "Maybe… maybe the reports are exaggerated?"
"It's Stannis. He could have fought the Drowned God itself and his report would be as dry as the Dornish desert," Renly pointed out. "He can't overexaggerate, he doesn't have the imagination."
"Damn it, you're right," Robert agreed. Stannis didn't exaggerate. It was why he never bothered to check the reports Stannis gave him, they were so damn dry.
Even his bloody after action report from this epic battle, with a Kraken, a mist made of the blood of sacrificed thralls and some kinslaying heretical ritual read like a fucking expenses report. Stannis had even sent along the expected repair costs for his ship and the other damaged ships in the Royal and Redwyne fleet.
Who puts a damage report in the middle of describing a battle with a fucking giant Kraken?!