296 AC
Artys had the Sea Strider drop them off at King's Landing. They had left Myr in a hurry and hadn't restocked enough provisions to make the longer voyage to Gulltown. The crossing had been smooth, but Artys's mind was in turmoil.
"A winter that never ends... why does it have to be now?" he thought bitterly.
He had his suspicions—the longest winter in living memory had lasted three years, but there had been a brutal six-year winter during the reign of Aegon the Third. The women were fanatics, yes, but they had useful skills and were loyal in their own queer way. He would have to find a use for them.
Westerosi were a superstitious lot. His ship had been full of knights and hardened men, yet even they seemed uneasy around Melisandre and Vaera. Still, nearly a third of them had converted to the Lord of Light—Ser Steffon Storm among them. Skeptical though the bastard of Blackmont had been, Artys's display of violence against the sellswords had convinced him that his lord was some divine emissary.
The Faith of the Seven derided bastards as creatures born of lust and sin, so Artys did not hold it against the man. He had permitted the priestesses to preach—as long as they did not speak against the Seven or the Old Gods. The priestesses had objected, but Artys had put his foot down. He would not tolerate any weakening of his political standing.
Septon Osric was preaching in his name even now in the Vale, calling him the Warrior made flesh. Consorting with witches, though, would bring his ambitions for the Iron Throne crashing down.
Vaera was a skilled healer and a practitioner of poisons, but her most potent talent was clairvoyance. She had asked for a drop of his blood once, but Artys had refused. He would not dabble in magic unless he understood its cost.
The stench of King's Landing was as abominable as he remembered—yet, oddly, he felt almost at home.
They landed on the docks and were greeted by Ser Vardis and Ser Robar. Artys disembarked first. The Sea Strider would sail for Gulltown after resupplying and refitting—which would take a couple of weeks. Artys wanted the priestesses gone to the Vale as soon as possible.
There was a small shrine to the fire god in King's Landing and another in the Vale. Artys had granted Melisandre permission—and gold—to expand the temple, but he instructed them to focus on healing and feeding the poor rather than preaching.
Ser Robar's eyes lingered on the two beautiful red priestesses descending the gangplank, their silks glinting in the sunlight. He smirked. "It seems your voyage back must have been quite… exhausting."
Artys only smiled. "They'll be leaving for Gulltown soon enough. How fares the Lord Commander?"
Robar winced. "I'd put half the Gold Cloaks to the sword if I could."
Artys gave Melisandre and Vaera a brief look and nodded. They bowed in perfect unison. He then handed Ser Steffon a sealed letter—his permission for them to build a temple in Gulltown—and charged him with escorting them safely there.
The climb up Aegon's High Hill had never felt steeper. King's Landing steamed under the summer sun, and the air stank of piss and shit. So far, it seemed that the Queen's infidelity was still a secret and Myrcella was safe. The others who knew seemed to want to keep the realm's stability and had kept their mouths shut—or that the current status quo suited them. Artys shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, and as he entered the Red Keep, Artys saw Myrcella in a gown of Lannister red edged in golden thread, stood bold and radiant, her hair braided and pinned with pearls. She smiled like she always did when she saw him—warm, bright, and far too clever for her own good.
To her right, Alysanne Lefford stood quietly, eyes lowered but watching him beneath long lashes, her pale blue dress fluttering gently in the breeze. She blushed before he even spoke. Marei, ever dutiful, remained a pace behind the princess, hands folded demurely, head slightly bowed.
Myrcella took the lead, her voice teasing. "Back from the edge of the world, my brave knight. And here I thought you'd taken up a second bride in Myr."
"And forsake my sweet princess? Never!" said Artys as he dismounted and planted a kiss on Myrcella's soft hand. Giving her his best smile, which made her blush.
Myrcella, linking her arm with his, said, "Father would have us wed at the beginning of the new year." Artys just swallowed; he would have preferred to wait. A woman who has flowered is considered of marriageable age in Westeros, but Artys did not want any risks of Myrcella dying during childbirth. The foretelling of doom by the priestess had rattled him more than he had expected. A succession crisis could lead to civil war, and that is the last thing the realm needed during The Long Night. Myrcella gave his arm a squeeze and subtly rubbed her breasts against his arm. The girl is growing bold, he thought. He gave her a look and said, "Careful, princess; the long voyage has left me quite ravenous."
"I am sure I can find something to satisfy you," said Myrcella with a smile. Artys felt a piece of parchment being slipped into his pocket.
Artys turned around to see Alysanne and Marei walking behind. Alysanne gave him a shy smile, and Marei smirked. Well, this is a welcome change, he thought. Once I am wedded and bedded, we can start unraveling this dynasty and starting my own.
After the welcoming feast, where the King had announced the royal wedding between Princess Myrcella and Ser Artys on the first day of the New Year, Artys slipped out of his chamber window, jumping six stories to the ground. Black Tom scouted ahead to detect any possible servants roaming around, and Artys snuck into the tunnels, reaching Chataya's cellar. Artys lit the candle and knocked on the door three times as a signal. A few minutes later, Chataya came along with her daughter Alayaya. "My lord," she said as she hugged him and placed soft kisses under his chin while her daughter watched. Artys looked at her, and Chataya noticed. "Come here, Alayaya. She will begin working here starting this next week, my lord. Her training is complete." Summer Islanders had worshipped some sex god and thought of prostitution as a noble calling. Right now, Artys was very happy for it. "Would you be so kind as to allow her to demonstrate?" Chataya said with a sultry smile.
"I could never refuse you, could I?" Artys grinned. As Alayaya stripped her red silk gown, bearing petite breasts and her lithe body, Chataya sat behind and started to report to him all the news he had missed in King's Landing when he was gone. Alayaya knelt before him, her eyes locked onto his as she took him into her mouth. Her lips were soft and warm, her tongue exploring every inch of him with a skill that belied her youth. Artys groaned, his head falling back as waves of pleasure coursed through him. He could feel the wet heat of her mouth, the gentle suction that threatened to undo him.
Chataya: "Lord Renly is planning on supplanting Cersei Lannister with Margery Tyrell. He is walking around with a portrait, asking people if she resembled Lyanna Stark."
Artys almost spat out his wine. Alayaya continued servicing him, taking his cock deep without flinching. "Like mother, like daughter," he thought. "Why is that pompous sword swallower planning on doing this? Tywin Lannister is going to pull out his entrails. And then the thought entered his mind: Does he know about the queen? If he knew the truth and if he had the Reach and the Stormlands behind him, there will be civil war and the realm would bleed."
"Did you buy the Crossroads Inn?" Artys changed the topic.
"Aye, my lord, and I have taken the liberty of acquiring brothels in Gulltown, Oldtown, and White Harbor. Although it will take time for me to have trained quality girls who can collect information."
Artys could not take his mind off Renly. "Good, good, and find out everything you can about Loras and Renly. Do you have any boy whores?"
"I can have some arranged," she said with a sly smirk.
"Good, we will need eyes on him."
"It will be done," Chataya agreed as she massaged him.
He could feel her breasts pressing against his back, the softness of her body a stark contrast to the hardness of his own. Chataya's hand snaked down, her fingers teasing the sensitive skin of his balls. She rolled them gently, her touch both playful and torturous. Her voice lowered, her words becoming more explicit as she guided Alayaya, teaching her the art of pleasure. "Like this, my dear," Chataya took over, sucking his cock deeper and applying hard suctions while her tongue teased his head, making Artys almost explode. Artys growled, "Kiss each other."
Chataya and Alayaya exchanged a glance, a mix of hesitation and compliance in their eyes. They leaned in, their lips meeting in a passionate kiss, tongues dancing as they explored each other's mouths. Artys watched, mesmerized, as they put on a show for him, their bodies pressed together, breasts rubbing against each other.
"Now, lick each other's cunts," Artys ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument. Chataya and Alayaya hesitated for a moment, a flush spreading across their cheeks. But they complied, their reluctance evident in the slight tremor of their hands as they touched each other.
Chataya lay back, her legs spreading wide, exposing her glistening sex. Alayaya knelt between her mother's thighs, her eyes meeting Chataya's before she leaned in, her tongue flicking out to taste her. Chataya moaned, her back arching as Alayaya explored her folds, her tongue circling her clit. The sight sent a jolt of excitement through Artys, his cock throbbing with anticipation.
Alayaya pulled back, her lips glistening, and lay back herself, her legs falling open in invitation. Chataya moved between her daughter's thighs, her tongue darting out to taste her. Alayaya moaned, her hands gripping the sheets as her mother's tongue explored her depths, her clit.
Artys dragged the daughter by the hips, flipping her over and thrusting into her viciously. She squealed, and her nails dug into his shoulder while her back arched. Artys was furious—scheming little shits; he was going to kill them all. He could not deal with the Long Night without becoming King, and to become king, he needed absolute power. Time to put the witches to good use.