Cambrian’s Emporium of Everything (Multiple Settings)

The Whitestark (Game of Thrones)

A/N: The Whitestark, otherwise known as 'Brandon the Whitestark' on my other websites, was originally written from March-June of 2020. I am compiling it into a one-shot now for posting here.

Themes: Rough Sex, Bondage, Dom/Sub

Summary: An AU of Game of Thrones in which Jon has a twin and that twin takes more after Lyanna. Wild and free, he works to improve his lot in life... and combined with a minor change to the North's population numbers, he has the shot he needs.

-x-X-x-

So, that was how it was then. A hum leaves his throat, even as he reads over the diary entry before him while making his way down the hall. Lord Brandon Whitestark, first of his name, considers what he's reading for a moment longer. Then, he closes the diary up and tucks it away, coming to a stop outside of a particular room within the Dreadfort, a lopsided sort of smile on his face. After a moment, he pushes open the door and steps on through, drawing the attention of the room's sole occupant almost immediately.

On the bed, Cersei Lannister, formerly Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and currently his captive, flinches and immediately climbs off the bed, scuttling to a corner of the room as far from him as the collar around her neck and the chain attached to said collar will allow. Brandon just smiles, even as he admires her naked body. She's bathed recently, he can tell. That's good, it's important that she continue taking care of herself. He did, after all, put so much work into acquiring her.

If you'd told Brandon just a couple years ago that he would be standing here, towering over the former Queen of the Seven Kingdoms with her cowering before him, trembling even… he would have laughed in your face. He might have gone so far as to contemplate the fantasy for a brief moment as well though, because really, it was appetizing imagery, to be sure.

But a couple of years ago, it would have seemed all too impossible. After all, two years ago, Brandon Whitestark, Lord of the Dreadfort, was Brandon Snow, bastard to Eddard Stark, his existence barely acknowledged let alone his blood. Along with his fraternal twin, Jon, the two of them had been the honorable Lord Stark's only blemish, the bastard twins that spoke to a man's weakness when it came to some whore during Robert's Rebellion.

Oh sure, Brandon knew it could have been a lot worse for him and his brother. Not only had Eddard Stark given them both strong names, he'd taken them in, raised them alongside his trueborn children, even if his wife, the Lady Catelyn Stark, had hated every last moment of it. Hatred she'd had no problem directing at the two of them as well, and from quite the early age at that. During the years when they both most needed a mother, Catelyn Stark had been the opposite of maternal, the worst sort of bitch.

Jon, being who Jon was, had simply pulled in on himself, taking it all with a stoicism that Brandon had never been able to understand. Brandon had gone the opposite direction and without realizing it, ended up directing most of Lady Stark's ire towards him. Truth be told, he'd always wondered why his father hadn't given into her demands to have him shipped off somewhere else, like say, Essos. Now, he supposed he knew the truth.

He'd always been the wild child, the outspoken twin. Oh, certainly he'd known better than to get in the way when important things were happening, he'd known his place as a bastard… he just hadn't been quite satisfied with it. He'd thrown himself into his studies, be they book learning or swordplay, and he'd done his level best to become the best swordsman that the Seven Kingdoms had ever seen.

It was unfortunate that he'd never gotten to cross blades with Jaime Lannister before the man's execution. But in the end, war was war. And when war had come to the Seven Kingdoms, when the War of the Five Kings as they'd called it had begun… no one but the North seemed ready. It was funny, in a way. Obviously, they'd all thought that the North was just a barren wasteland, devoid of life and people willing to fight for their executed Lord. But Lord Eddard Stark had been a well-loved Lord Paramount and raising the North's banners to fight for vengeance on behalf had been the easiest task of Robb's life.

Of course, things might have turned out differently if it wasn't for something of a genetic quirk in Northern women. Put simply… women of the North were far more likely to have twins, triplets, and sometimes even quadruplets then southern women were. It was a strange occurrence, to be sure, and the Maesters at the Citadel had been studying it for hundreds of years. In the end, the best they could come up with was the fact that the blood of the First Men flowed more strongly through the North then it did anywhere else on Westeros.

Basically, the Andals had come along and conquered the southern half of the continent thousands of years ago, leading to a weakening of the blood. Meanwhile, the men and women who'd come before them, the First Men, had managed to keep the Andals out of the North, as well as kept themselves strong as a result.

Put simply, this led to the North having a much larger population than anyone really knew or expected. One would think that a very cold, very frozen place like the North would have a higher mortality rate, and to be fair it did, but with every Northern woman giving birth to two, three, or even four children, it didn't really have much bite to it.

He should have known, really. What he'd just discovered from that diary, he should have known beforehand that something was up. After all, Eddard Stark had had five beautiful children with Lady Catelyn Stark. Not a single pair of twins though. Certainly, no triplets. Nope, Catelyn had had her children one at a time, as fertile as she'd proved to be… just like a Southern lady was expected to.

But then, Ned had supposedly had Jon and Brandon off of some southern whore. And yet, they were twins? No, now that Brandon knew the truth, a lot of things made so much more sense than they did before.

Regardless, with a much larger army than anyone was expecting them to have, a vengeful North had swept south… while also keeping a sizable force home in the North as well to protect their holdings. Because of this, when the Ironborn had decided to rebel once again and Balon Greyjoy had thrown his name into the hat, making himself one of the Five 'Kings' that the War would eventually be named after… Brandon Snow and his forces were there, waiting on the shore when the Ironborn arrived.

It'd hurt, perhaps a little bit, to kill Theon as he'd been forced to. Theon Greyjoy was never supposed to be anything but a hostage, and Brandon had been old enough when the boy had arrived at the end of the Greyjoy Rebellion to recognize that. But, as wild a spirit as Brandon was, Theon and he had become fast friends. Not the best of friends perhaps, certainly not incredibly close, but they'd been the kind of friends that got into trouble together, and the type that more often than not got out of trouble together as well.

But then Theon had chosen the wrong side and Brandon had had to kill him for it. He'd done the deed himself, of course, even as the Ironborn had died all around them. Only survivor of that day was a woman they'd taken prisoner, the only woman on the entire invasion force.

After that, Brandon had pulled his forces back and kept an eye on the home front, just as his half-brother had asked of him. As a result, when he'd found evidence of what Ramsay Bolton, formerly Ramsay Snow, was up to, Brandon had put down the legitimized bastard himself, prepared to face the consequences, given Ramsay was Lord Bolton's only heir.

The news of Roose's attempted treachery along with the Freys at what eventually became known as the Red Wedding had come not but a few days later, completely wiping Brandon's slate clean. Robb and his army had ultimately destroyed the Frey and Bolton lines down to nothing for the attempted murder of the King in the North and his bride. Only the women had been left alive, and they'd all been stripped of their name. No Frey would ever walk this world again, not so long as a Stark still lived.

With the large Northern army at his back, King Robb had gone on to devastate the Lannister forces at every turn, capturing not just Jaime Lannister, but also Tywin as well. Much to the Lord Lannister's ire, they'd done something he thought impossible in sacking Casterly Rock as well. From there, the Northern army had moved onto King's Landing, only to discover that the Royals had fled before their arrival.

With Sansa returned to them and Robb wanting no part of the Iron Throne, they'd recovered the remains of Eddard Stark and returned North, fully intending to let Stannis and Renly fight over the rest of Westeros. Strangely enough, despite having the stronger position, Renly had died, assassinated if the reports were to be believed, and Stannis had ultimately been welcomed into King's Landing.

That could have been bad, because if the dour man had managed to secure the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, he may very well have turned his eyes North next… but unfortunately for him and every poor soul in King's Landing, his Red Priestess had decided to burn the Great Sept, along with all the Septons and Septas inside of it. Apparently, her God of Light didn't bother illuminating the wildfire caches all over the place for her, and in her zealous fervor, she'd burned not only the Great Sept, but herself, all of King's Landing, and her would-be Azor Ahai to cinder in a massive green explosion that was said to still be burning to this day.

This day being a year later. The past year had certainly been eventful for Brandon, given that he'd been legitimized by Robb and given his own name, his own cadet branch of the Stark House, much like the Greystarks and Karstarks. While his twin brother had gone to the Wall to become a brother of the Night's Watch, Brandon had stayed behind, intent on making something more of himself.

As far as anyone knew, of course, he had spent the entire war in the North, protecting their homes from Ironborn and bastard Boltons. But honestly, dealing with Theon and Ramsay had been child's play. No, Brandon's real coup had been his clandestine mission South in the middle of the war, around the time when Robb was finishing up at Casterly Rock and turning his eyes towards King's Landing.

That was when Brandon and a squad of his best men had snuck into the Red Keep under the cover of night and abducted the entire Royal Family, right out from under an admittedly beleaguered Kingsguard's noses. That was why Cersei Lannister was a guest in the Dreadfort. Myrcella was his as well, while Joffrey had been executed on the way back, Brandon unable to stand the boy for another day. Tommen though… Tommen was a good boy, if a bit quiet. Brandon had made sure to drill into the young man's head that he was no longer a Prince and would never be King, and then he'd sent the renamed Tom Snow down to the Citadel in disguise to learn to be a Maester there.

He was quite sure Tommen would return to him eventually, fully trained, and be the most loyal Maester he could ask for, if only for the sake of his mother and big sister.

Speaking of his mother… Brandon lets out a sigh and finishes reminiscing. He snaps his fingers in Cersei's direction, the once proud and strong woman flinching.

"Come here."

Slowly, hesitantly… she does as she's told. Once she's in range, he reaches out and runs a hand through her hair, gently for a moment, smirking at the way she leans into his touch without even realizing it.

"Good girl. You're coming along quite well…"

She shivers, finally noticing her own involuntary treachery. When she tries to pull away, however, he grabs her by the hair quite tightly and tosses her on the bed, beginning to undress and climbing aboard as well. Cersei whines and whimpers, but she doesn't try to escape. Instead, even as she clutches at the bedding beneath her, she's splaying her legs open for him obediently.

A moment later, he's inside of her, fucking the former Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, now his pet and his bitch, his slave really. The previous owners of the Dreadfort had been skinners, men who tortured other men for their sick, sadistic purposes. Brandon would never stoop so low… but there was no denying that a bitch like Cersei Lannister deserved this and more. Her daughter, on the other hand, had been much more pliable, much easier to train. She was in better conditions then her mother, not that it stopped Cersei from asking after her.

"M-Myrcella… d-does Myrcella still l-live?"

Brandon smirks… and slaps Cersei across the face hard enough to turn her head, even as he continues to fuck her like the Northern savage, she sees him as, plowing her tight, wet cunt as it grows sopping despite her wishes. Cersei cries out, her cunt tightens at his slap, and she whimpers, averting her gaze until he grabs her by her jaw and forces her to look at him. Leaning forward, he kisses her roughly, forcing his tongue into her mouth. A year ago, she'd damn near bitten the tip of his tongue off when he'd tried it on her bound form their first time together.

Now, she just accepts it, squirming helplessly beneath him as she submits. He doesn't answer her right away, instead fucking her and dominating her as is his wont for some time, before finally pulling back from the kiss and humming. Pinching Cersei's nipples between his fingers, he tugs on them even as he shrugs down at her.

"She lives, for now. Myrcella is a good girl too… honestly, she's a much better girl then you. So very obedient… the perfect Southern Lady, for all that she's a bastard."

For a moment, a flash of the old Queen is back as Cersei snarls.

"My children aren't BAST-!"

SMACK!

Another slap across her face silences her, Brandon laughing as he keeps fucking the royal bitch for all he's worth.

"There's no denying it, my dear. It's as plain as day in their features. They have nothing of Robert in them, something I'm sure your quite proud of. It matters little though, in the long run. The Seven Kingdoms are split once more. There's no Iron Throne left to claim. Though my aunt still might make a go of it, I suppose."

Cersei's confusion is delicious, even as Brandon keeps on fucking her. He doesn't bother elaborating though. A bitch like Cersei Lannister doesn't need to know what he now knows. No one does, not yet anyways. Honestly, Brandon still isn't sure what he'll do with the information that he's not Eddard Stark's bastard at all. That he's the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. It explains a lot, like why he's a twin, and why his eyes, unlike Jon's, have the faintest hints of purple in them.

But he's not sure if it's usable information at this point. There's been murmurings that Daenerys Targaryen might one day cross the Narrow Sea with her fully grown dragons and conquer the Seven Kingdoms like her ancestor before her, but if she plans to, the Queen of Meereen has made no moves in that direction of yet.

Meanwhile, there's something going on up past the Wall that will likely require all of their attention soon enough. With the War of the Five Kings ended in a fast, tidy manner, the North is as strong as ever… and ready to deal with this hoard of Wildlings and their King Beyond the Wall, if that's what it comes to.

With a low growl followed by a groan, Brandon spills his seed inside of Cersei's cunt, thrusting one last time into the former Queen before pulling out of her. He leaves her there on the bed to recover, done with her for the time being. Cersei is always good for a bit of stress relief, but she tends to be terrible if he wants to get any actual thinking done. Perhaps instead he'll retire to his study and call for Myrcella instead…

-x-X-x-

He sends for Myrcella to join him in his study the moment he leaves the former Queen's cell behind. As a result, the punctual young woman knocks on his door within moments of him settling into the comfortable high back chair behind his beautifully crafted writing desk. Smirking easily, Brandon calls out.

"Come in."

Myrcella Waters, formerly Myrcella Baratheon, steps carefully into his study, closing the door behind her. At a few years younger than him, she's like a flower just beginning to blossom. The second of Cersei's three children and the only daughter, Myrcella is a gorgeous representation of what Cersei might have been in her youth.

Not that his pet Queen is any less beautiful now, to be fair. Cersei Lannister, despite all the hardship he's put her through, is a Grade A MILF that Brandon enjoys fucking the shit out of and abusing at every opportunity. She's his bitch, and they both know it now, even if it took nearly this entire year since he stole the Royal Family away from King's Landing to teach it to her.

Myrcella is a different story though. The girl is… precious, truth be told. Unlike Cersei, while she WAS raised a Princess, she was not raised to believe that the entire world was meant to bow before her whims. This was, as far as Brandon could tell, a combination of two factors.

First was the obvious… she was never going to be a Queen. Even if she was a Princess, her fate was to be married off to one of the many noble houses in the Seven Kingdoms. Oh sure, she was likely to be sold off to a Lord Paramount rather than a simple Lord, but she would have been sold off all the same. As a result, she was not raised as Cersei was, with promises of being a Queen flitting through her head and removing all other sense from the girl.

Second, from what little he'd heard and seen of the boy, Joffrey Baratheon was a menace. More than a menace, he was the Mad King come again. And just like the tales of the Mad King that Brandon had been brought up with, sharing blood with Joffrey did not protect you from his wrath. Myrcella and Tommen had both ended up as quieter, kinder children as a direct response to Joffrey's vileness and abuse.

They were still bastards though, and not just bastards like him and Jon, but bastards born of incest at that. The Targaryens, if they were still around, would likely have approved, he supposed. Although, given what he'd learned from the journal… Brandon's lips thin out into a grim line, his jaw setting and his eyes darkening a bit. Of course, his gaze is currently on Myrcella, and when she sees his countenance, she flinches and freezes in place, ducking her head in obvious fear.

Letting out a sigh, Brandon gestures her over with a hand.

"Come here, Myrcella. Have I truly given you much reason to be afraid of me? Have I ever hurt you, my dear?"

The beautiful young blonde shuffles over to him, dressed in the servant's clothes that he's given her, likely having spent much of the day working hard to keep the Dreadfort clean alongside her fellow servants. If any had recognized her, none had spoken up about it yet. Brandon commanded their loyalty and their love; he'd made sure of that.

Once Myrcella is in range, Brandon reaches up and brushes the back of his hand against her cheek, smiling as she actually leans into it. He actually hasn't ever hit her or harmed her, every touch she's felt from him has been gentle… mostly. He's never injured her though, never done anything to make her cry or sob in pain. And so that's her answer to his question, as she shakily moves her head back and forth.

"No, my Lord. You have not."

Brandon smiles a little at that. Her noble upbringing is showing. Any other servant would have used 'milord', but as a former Princess, Myrcella still says 'my Lord'. It's honestly kind of cute… and it always serves to get him shall we say… energized. Honestly, being called his title by the former Princess of the Seven Kingdoms is one of the hottest things he can receive on command on a day to day basis. Though there are hotter.

"Good girl. Now, kneel."

Myrcella blushes but does as she's told without complaint, kneeling down beside his chair and then crawling under his desk. It's not long after that that deft fingers go to work on his pants, and his cock is soon pulled out into open air before being enveloped in soft lips and a velvety wet mouth. Cersei Lannister took quite a long time to train up properly, but by comparison her daughter had been an exceptionally fast learner, the perfect pliable young woman to be taught how to please her new Lord and Master.

Brandon grunts, even as he leans back in his chair and stares off into open space, contemplating everything he's learned today. Myrcella's mouth around his cock providing quite a lot of pleasure notwithstanding, he did need to come to a decision and fast. What he'd found out about himself and about Jon… it certainly demanded some sort of follow up, right? Or was he meant to just sit on it and never actually do anything with this knowledge?

A disgruntled look spreads across Lord Brandon's Whitestark's face and he reaches out, grabbing up the diary he currently has sitting on his desk, flipping it to the relevant entry and reading it all over again. This right here… this was all the evidence he personally needed to believe that it was true. That he and his twin brother were not in fact bastards, not in fact the product of an honorable man staining said honor… but instead the sons of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen, the Prince of the Seven Kingdoms.

More than that, that they'd gotten married in secret meant he and Jon were legitimate sons of the Targaryen Dynasty. But… was it perhaps too late for that to matter? The Iron Throne was gone. King's Landing was gone. What happened in the South at this point was for those still in the South to figure out. The North had its own troubles to deal with… and as the Lord of Dreadfort with his own branch house now recognized by the King in the North, Brandon had enough on his plate already without trying to make a claim for some throne that no longer physically existed.

He didn't want to be King. That was what it ultimately boiled down to; he came to realize with a start. Even in the short time that Robb had had to be King in the North, Brandon had seen what a toll it took on who he'd thought was his brother. He supposed they were actually cousins, but it mattered little, they'd grown up together and he would always see Robb as a brother, just as much as he saw Jon as a brother.

Another reason to not pursue any of this. He would never hurt Robb, never betray him, not in a million years. And not just because he'd sworn oaths to Robb as the Lord of the Dreadfort, not just because Robb was his King now… but because he loved the man, and he certainly wasn't going to pull a Theon and stab Robb in the back, just for wealth and power.

Especially not when he had all the wealth and power he could already want, what with Robb dismantling House Bolton and gifting all of its lands and all of its holdings to the newly minted House Whitestark. Smiling slightly, quite pleased with all he'd managed to obtain for himself, both through his own hard work and through his loyal service to his King, Brandon lets out a groan a moment later as Myrcella manages to extract a thick load of his cream underneath the desk.

She swallows his load to the last drop as he leans forward for a moment, cumming down her throat. The blonde has become quite good at drinking his seed, back when they'd first been starting her training, she had reared back the first few times, and even spit out his cum the next few. Eventually, she'd grown to enjoy the taste he was pretty sure, if the insistent way she's clutching at his thighs and swallowing most of his pole are any indication right now.

Regardless, as he comes down from the release, Brandon pulls back, his cock popping out of Myrcella's mouth as he looks down at the blonde. She looks right back up at him, blinking guilelessly and blushing profusely, clearly able to tell that he'd noted how much she enjoyed his cum.

"Well done, Myrcella. Would you like a reward?"

Her blush only grows, but she nods all the same after only a moment's hesitation. Brandon's smile grows wide and he rises from his chair.

"Then stand and assume the position, my dear."

Crawling out from under the desk, the beautiful blonde gets to her feet and turns away from him, planting her hands palm down on his desk. She leans forward and pushes back her hips, jutting out her delectable derriere in his direction, even as she carefully spreads her legs apart. Truly, it's an appetizing view. Brandon hums, before bringing a palm down on her ass, causing Myrcella to squeak. That squeak turns into a moan a moment later when he turns the smack into a grope, squeezing and molesting her soft bottom to his heart's content.

After a bit of this, he grabs her dress and hikes it up, ultimately flipping the garment up over her shapely behind, only to reveal that she's not wearing any smallclothes. Brandon isn't surprised by this, he hadn't even had to tell her not to… most servants simply couldn't afford smallclothes, and thus wore nothing beneath their dresses and such. It made access so much easier, even if he knew it'd taken the Princess some getting used to, after a lifetime of finery and the best clothing that gold could buy.

Still, when he slides his hand up betwixt Myrcella's creamy, soft thighs, it's to find that the young blonde woman is quite wet already, her pussy lips easily spreading apart for his questing fingers, even as she gushes onto his hand. His little pet lion is so very wet for him. Chuckling darkly, Brandon moves into position behind Myrcella, grabbing her by her hips and lining up his cock, all nice and lubed up with her spit, against her cunt lips.

Then, he leans forward and nips at her earlobe, enjoying the way she arches her back and leans her head back on his shoulder, a whimper and a mewl leaving her lips.

"Tell me what you want, Myrcella. Tell me how you want it."

"I-I want… I want your c-cock, my lord… I want you to f-fuck me…"

Getting Myrcella to not only be honest with herself, but to also use such crass language when it was asked of her had taken a little longer than her initial training. For the first little while, she'd simply bore with it, acting as if it was some punishment or something. But while Brandon greatly enjoyed punishing Cersei Lannister for HER transgressions and her part in getting the man, he now knew to be his Uncle killed, Myrcella hadn't done anything wrong. He just desired her, and he wanted her to desire him right back.

These days, the girl did. As he sinks into her silken, soft, wet depths, Myrcella lets out a heartfelt groan, followed up by a wanton moan when he pulls out, only to thrust in again. Brandon quickly sets the pace, given that he's in charge, and while he doesn't get too rough with her, he certainly speeds up over time, fucking Myrcella just as she's asked him to, taking her from behind as she leans over his desk, panting and mewling and moaning in turn.

Grinning, Brandon picks up the pace even more, eager to hear Myrcella's voice. As it so happened, his study was just above the room where he kept Cersei imprisoned. Which meant that if Myrcella got loud enough, her mother heard her cries of ecstasy, her squeals of glee and pleasure. That alone made it all the worth fucking Myrcella through orgasm after orgasm, but then, the young blonde's tight, nubile body was also a pretty nice positive as well.

Grunting as he uses Myrcella to his heart's desire, feeling her cunt clenching and squeezing down around his cock while he gets her to sing his praises with her moans and screams, Brandon comes to a decision. He'll bring it to Robb. He knows he doesn't want to be King of anything, he knows he doesn't want to make some attempt at taking control of the Seven Kingdoms.

But his King and apparently cousin deserves to know the truth. Robb should know that his father never betrayed his mother, that Brandon and Jon weren't quite the stain on Eddard Stark's honor as everyone thought. He deserves to hear the truth from Brandon, because who knows who else might find out, in the end? After all of the trust Robb put in him, Brandon doesn't want to do a single thing that will betray that trust.

With that thought crystalized in his head, the young Lord of the Dreadfort grunts as he thrusts forward and cums inside of Myrcella Waters, former Princess of the Seven Kingdoms. He pins her against his desk for a moment before pulling back and letting her up. As his cock slips out of her and he sits back down on his chair, Myrcella pulls her dress back down, before immediately turning and dropping back to her knees, taking him into her mouth once more.

As she begins to dutifully suck him off and clean him up, her beautiful green eyes looking up at him the entire while, Brandon just grins down at her, his fingers playing with her blonde locks.

"Good girl."

She hums her appreciation, leaving Brandon to groan his right back. Yes, there's quite the expanse between mother and daughter when it comes to Cersei and Myrcella. And Brandon is more than content to treat them how they each deserve to be treated.

-x-X-x-

As Brandon leads his new wife by the hand to their marital bed, he can't help but reflect upon how insane the last little while has been. He'd like to have said it started with him telling Robb the truth about his and Jon's parentage, but in all honesty, that'd only been a part of it, and it certainly hadn't been what set everything else that had occurred in motion.

Who could have ever guessed that all those legends about the Long Night were real? Who could have guessed that the White Walkers and their army of undead weren't just an old mummer's tale? But in the end, when they'd come for the North… the North had been ready, thanks to Brandon's twin. The South hadn't been much help at all, as all of the Southern Kingdoms had still been fighting over who was actually going to lead them.

But that was alright, because the North still stood strong, and with a King in the North to lead them for the first time in centuries at that. With Jon rising to the position of Lord Commander and giving Robb and Brandon such warning about what was coming, the North was able to prepare and train for the coming winter. It was the Stark words after all, it would have been quite shameful if they couldn't live up to them.

That's not to say the battle was easy, by any means. But Jon, Robb, and Brandon made up a new generation of leadership. The King in the North, Robb Stark. The Night's Watch's Lord Commander, Jon Snow… and Lord of the Dreadfort, Brandon Whitestark. With Robb and Brandon trusting Jon's claims implicitly, as well as his judgment… rather than fight the King Beyond the Wall, they'd treated with him.

Negotiations had certainly been tense, but Jon had played mediator, and in the end Robb and Brandon had both agreed that keeping the wildlings out of the White Walker's hands was far more important. This was a battle between Life and Death, a battle of the Living versus the Dead. Of neighbor versus other.

And while the Free Folk may not have been the best neighbors over the last several millennia, the realization that the White Walkers were real made it clear that the North had forgotten what the Wall was truly built for. Bran the Builder didn't make a Wall as massive and majestic as that to keep out some savages. No, the threat was far greater than that.

Only after all was said and done had the North and the Free Folk truly come to realize how close they were. The wildlings weren't much for history, and eight thousand years was a long time, but all the same, both groups were able to uncover certain things that made it clear the original ancestors of the modern Free Folk were in fact just as much Northmen as the Northerners of today, having been the advanced scouts and first line of defense.

In a way, they were the Night's Watch's first rangers, before time and several other elements had changed them into what they were now. Just because they would not kneel, did not make them any less men and women of the North. At least, that was Robb's opinion now, and with Mance Rayder dying in the Final Battle, Jon had been named his successor by popular consent among the Free Folk, leading to Brandon's brother becoming something of a King in his own right.

But then, Brandon could have seen that coming a mile away. After all, it was Jon Snow, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, that had dealt the killing blow to the Night King himself, the White Walker's monstrous, icy leader. In that great battle, in which Northmen and Free Folk alike had fought back the dead and their summoners who besieged the Wall, it had been Jon, along with Robb and Brandon and a small contingent of their best fighters, who had pushed out from the Wall to take the battle directly to the White Walkers.

Jon and Robb had both had Valyrian swords, but Brandon had wielded a spear tipped with dragon glass, and he'd done so with wicked precision. More than one White Walker had fallen to his spear, just as many had died to the King in the North and the Lord Commander as well. But in the end, the final blow, the killing blow… had come from Jon.

With the Night King's death, it was over. The army of the dead, already fairly tattered from lack of fresh bodies and beating itself against the Wall, had fallen to the ground, no longer animated. As well, every White Walker left behind burst into ice shards, dying on the spot with the Night King's demise. With that, they knew it was well and truly over. The previous Long Night may have ended in a retreat or a stalemate or what have you… but this time around, they'd finished it properly. The Night King was no more, and his threat was vanquished.

After which, things had continued on, becoming… somewhat peaceful, but no less busy. With the Wall's true purpose no longer needed, and relations between the North and the Free Folk closer then the North and the South at this point, Robb wasn't inclined to let things go back to the way they were before. He was quite happy to recognize Jon as an equal, while at the same time announcing that Jon and Brandon were not in fact his half-brothers, bastards of Eddard Stark… but the sons of his aunt Lyanna, and legitimate princes besides.

It was at that same announcement that both Jon and Brandon renounced any desire to the Iron Throne, not that said throne even truly existed anymore. Neither truly considered themselves a Targaryen, even if they were Targaryen Princes, in truth. Brandon was… content with his Lordship over the Dreadfort and the surroundings lands for the time being. Meanwhile, Jon was now King Beyond the Wall, and had plenty of people that he was now forced to rule over regardless of what he desired.

In the end, things had gotten very busy indeed, as Jon had taken a Free Folk wife, a fiery red head named Ygritte. If the rumors Brandon had heard were to be believed, he was also laying with two more Free Folk women as well. Val and Dalla if Brandon recalled correctly. This was fast becoming not that much of an oddity, as Robb had announced a change that was currently being well-received among the Northmen.

Even with the North's prodigious amount of twins and triplets, there was no denying that war with the South, followed by war with the True Enemy, had depleted their numbers. Both men and women had died, but more men then women had fallen, simply because men were more likely to be in battle. As a result of this, and as a result of the North pulling further away from worship to the Seven and closer to the Old Gods, Robb had decreed that any man who owned land was allowed to take more than one wife, in order to properly begin repopulating their great nation. Especially since, eventually the South would probably get their shit together, and they might decide to turn their gaze North once they did.

That's all to say… that most of that didn't have much to do with Brandon. As he and his new wife reach their bedchamber and he ushers her inside, he smiles at the back of her head, her beautiful red hair combed through and glistening in the torchlight. While several young Lords now found themselves with multiple wives, and in many cases married to twins at that, Brandon only had the one woman for the time being.

But then of course… it wasn't as if there was another woman in the whole of the North who was worthy of sharing a wedding day with THE Sansa Stark. The girl was a Princess now, after all. Stepping into the room after Sansa, Brandon still finds himself marveling at her back, watching her, even as she slowly removes her gorgeous white furs, the wedding dress she'd worn today absolutely beautiful, while also being quite functional in the Northern Cold.

Part of him still feels a little guilty though, even if he'd gone along with all of this up until now without raising a single objection. Now that he's in the room alone with Sansa… he can't help but ask.

"Sansa… are you truly alright with this?"

Ice-cold blue eyes, though quite different from the Night King and his White Walkers, look up at him, blinking slightly in surprise. Then, a slow smile curls across his cousin's lips as she continues to strip down, going from heavy white furs and a wedding dress to nothing but her smallclothes in short order. She doesn't answer him at first, and Brandon finds himself fidgeting a little as she makes her way over to him.

"Did Robb truly not tell you? My brother can be a bit mean sometimes, can't he?"

Furrowing his brow, the Lord of the Dreadfort cocks his head to the side in confusion. Sansa just smiles… and then kisses him. She takes hold of him by his chiseled, rugged jaw, and she plants a soft but passionate kiss on his lips, deepening it as she goes, until Brandon is kissing her right back, his hands instinctively going to Sansa's womanly hips. Her own hands begin working at his clothing, stripping him down just as she'd stripped herself down.

The young girl he'd grown up with truly is gone now, the years that have passed since everything started with King Robert coming North having led her to grow up to be a truly beautiful young woman. In the same way, he had become a man… and a man had needs. Having Sansa willingly kiss him was honestly all the answer that Brandon needed to push forward with deflowering his new wife. Walking her backwards, both he and Sansa end up on the bed in short order, Sansa on her back and him looming over her as he strips her of her smallclothes as well.

Soon enough, they're both naked, with Brandon's cock pressed against the entrance of Sansa's moist, wet quim. As he pauses there, he pulls back for a moment to get a breath of air, all while looking down at Sansa, who is in turn smiling up at him even now, her face warm and red with arousal and anticipation.

"It was my idea that we marry, Brandon. After finding out that you and Jon are not truly my brothers, I finally realized I could pursue the desire I've harbored for you for all my life. So, I convinced Robb that it would be good if we were to be wed, and that it would strengthen your claim on these lands. In the end though… I wanted this most of all, Brandon. I always have."

Brandon… is speechless. Truly, he'd had no idea. In fact, he'd always thought Sansa disliked him and his brother. After all, she'd had her mother whispering words of venom into her ear about the twin 'bastards' for all her life. As if reading his thoughts, Sansa lets out a hearty chuckle.

"Oh, mother tried to turn me against you… and I may have acted like I listened, but only so that she would leave you alone. I'll admit, I never much cared for Jon's dour attitude, though I can admit from an objective standpoint that he's quite handsome. But so are you, being his twin and all… and not only handsome, but brash and outgoing, and so very strong. All things that a young maiden such as myself is brought up to love and look for in a husband, is that not so?"

Once again, Brandon has to process that as her words wash over him. But Sansa is done waiting. She wraps her limbs around his body and pulls him close as she looks up into his eyes.

"Now… take me, Lord Brandon Whitestark. Claim your wife's maidenhood and spill your seed in her fertile womb."

Breath hitched, Brandon thrusts forward. In the face of a request as impassioned as that one, how can he do anything else, really? He takes Sansa's maidenhood just as she asks of him, and claims his wife, right then and there. In response, Sansa's face briefly contorts in pain, but it's obvious she wants this just as much as he does, because she's soon moaning in pleasure.

He still takes his time, waiting until she's much slicker before truly speeding up. Fucking Cersei as hard as he does is as much about punishing the former Queen as it is about his own pleasure. Dominating Myrcella and treating her like a servant is both to remind her that she is no longer a Princess, but also because he knows she's grown to like being his maid and he her lord.

But Sansa is different, she's not only his liege's sister, she's now his wife… and truth be told, while he never let himself consider it a possibility before the events of the last few years, he too had always had something of an attraction to the young red head he thought was his half-sister. Now… now they were finally together, their bodies as one… and it felt right. It felt more than right, it felt GOOD.

"B-Brandon, ohhh Brandon… please, m-more… d-don't stop."

Sansa's mewling cries fill the air as he gives her exactly what she wants, fucking her right there upon their marital bed, taking her harder, faster, but slowly to make sure he doesn't hurt her. He would never hurt her knowingly, not if he could help it. Still, Sansa certainly seems to enjoy it, clinging to him all the while, kissing him as he kisses her in turn. Their hands eventually come together, clasping with one another, fingers intertwining as they make love amidst the furs and bedding.

When he finally cums inside of her, it is an amazing feeling to be sure. Made all the more amazing by the fact that Sansa cums right alongside him, her soft figure tensing up beneath him, before her lashes flutter as she lets out a truly breathless moan, shaking and spasming and clearly orgasming around his member in a truly beautiful display of ecstasy.

His seed spills into her womb, just as she bade him to do. He fills her with his cum, and only once he's done so does, he pull out and sprawl on his back beside her. For a long moment, they both just stare up at the ceiling silently, recovering from their mutual releases. Slowly, Sansa's hand finds his own again between them, and she laces her fingers through his. When Brandon looks over at his new wife, its to find her smiling at him… and he's sure in that moment that she'll be the best wife he could possibly ask for.

… He would have to tell her about Cersei and Myrcella at some point though, probably. Wouldn't do for her to find out from someone else, or heaven forbid, on her own…

-x-X-x-

As Arya Stark pads her way down the hall in mostly silence, hand on the hilt of Needle at her side, the young woman finds herself contemplating what's brought her to this point. Perhaps this particular dimly lit hallway prompted a particular sort of introspection, or something. Either way, Arya considers how she got here and where she might be going next.

In the end, the rest of the Seven Kingdoms didn't have ALL bad ideas. For instance… the Small Council. Put simply, a place as big as the North, with the population growth it was currently experiencing now that the Second War for the Dawn was over… it needed administration. Robb couldn't do it alone, and of course he'd lean on his lords, but he still needed someone to watch his back.

What better man to name as his Master of Whispers then Brandon Whitestark, Lord of the Dread Fort? Brandon was… something special. Arya had always known that. Growing up, she'd been quite close to both of the twins, but while Jon had put up with her and seemed amused by her unladylike antics, it was Brandon who had outright encouraged her rebellion, seemingly uncaring of what Catelyn Stark thought of him. Arya's mother hated how much influence her father's bastards had on the young woman, but Arya had long since learned to stop caring what her mother thought regardless.

When Jon and Brandon had jointly gifted her Needle on the day before she'd been due to leave for King's Landing and Jon had in turn been due to leave for the Wall… it'd been the happiest day of Arya's young life. Everything that had come after that had managed to cast a somewhat dark shadow over the memory, but not a day had gone by where Needle hadn't provided comfort and warmth whenever she'd touched it.

Even still, after all that had happened, Arya would be damned before she'd let anyone stick her in a dress and treat her like a lady. After watching her own father die, after traveling all the way to Riverrun with the Hound… in another time, in another life, in a harsher world, Arya's troubles wouldn't have ended there. The Red Wedding would have seen her going all the way to the House of Black and White, where she would have become a Faceless Man before finally returning home to a MUCH diminished pack.

In this world, the Red Wedding had not occurred. In this world, the Hound managed to get her home and was both pardoned and compensated handsomely for doing so. These days, the Hound was a servant of House Stark, and while Arya wouldn't go so far as to call them friends, she did feel some measure of affection for the man, even if he'd brought her to her brother for purely selfish reasons.

She could appreciate that sort of pragmatism. Just as she could appreciate Robb listening to her desires and actually giving in. Arya Stark was no lady, and never would be. Her own brother, King in the North, had decreed that she did not have to marry, and that she could be whoever she wanted. Arya had taken that freedom and ran with it, going straight to Brandon, Robb's newly named Master of Whispers, and begging for him to finish the martial training that he'd started her on years before she'd left Winterfell, and that Syrio Forel had expanded upon before everything had gone to shit in King's Landing.

Of course, soon after Brandon had said yes and began training her again, the White Walker menace had been uncovered. He hadn't let Arya follow him into battle… so she'd been forced to dress up as a common archer and take part from the back. When her family had found out after the fact what she'd done, there'd been quite a lot of wailing from the women, and some recriminations from the men.

… Only Brandon had taken her aside afterwards and told her he was proud of her for sticking to her convictions. At this point, frankly, Arya was ready to die for him, even after learning he and Jon weren't truly her, Robb, or Sansa's brothers. They were cousins instead, technically even Targaryen heirs… and Robb and Sansa had used that to marry Sansa off to Brandon.

Arya still wasn't sure how she felt about that. She couldn't say for certain, because… well, she might have fallen in love with Lord Whitestark, somewhere along the way. At the same time, she was no lady, and she didn't want to marry and become a broodmare. Let Sansa handle that, let Sansa be the babymaker. Even still, Brandon had begun to invoke strange feelings in Arya, strange feelings she wasn't sure what to do with.

Finally arriving at the end of the hall, Arya lets out an explosive breath, pushing those feelings aside for the moment. She'd received word from her Lord. Brandon had told her to come down here, to do what she wished with the contents of the room beyond. Arya wasn't entirely sure what to expect, only that he thought she'd be excited by whatever this was. Brandon was rarely wrong, so with only a moment more of hesitation, Arya unlocks the door with the key she's been provided and pushes forward, into the room beyond.

What she finds both shocks and disgusts her at first, confounding her. It takes a little while to properly understand what's going on. There's a woman, on the bed. She's tied up, as it were, shackled to the bed, and has a blindfold covering her eyes. For a moment, Arya fears that Brandon takes more after his father's side then his mother's, that she's fallen in love with a monster… but then the shackled woman on the bed speaks.

"C-Come to torment me again, you bastard?"

Arya… Arya knows that voice. It's funny because she hadn't had that many direct interactions with Cersei Lannister. The Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, the few times that Arya had been around when she'd spoken, had been condescending or irate, even when she wasn't looking down upon Arya from her lofty throne, treating the young woman like little more than a peasant girl simply because she didn't want to be a lady.

And yet… when a woman is at least partially responsible for the death of your father, your household guard, your Septon, and your sword instructor… when you watch her stand by as your father is executed for unjust lies in a crowded plaza… you get really familiar with your enemy, really fast.

This isn't just some bound woman that Brandon is keeping in the depths of his castle. This is Cersei Lannister. This is the missing former Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Something stirs inside of Arya at that revelation, and she finds herself beginning to loosen her leather armor as she slowly pads forward. Her feet barely make any noise, and Cersei casts around in confusion, her blindfold keeping her uncertain of what's happening.

"H-hello? Is anyone there?"

Arya remains silent, even as she begins to strip naked, right there at the side of the bed. It's obvious what Brandon is offering her… and while part of her is tempted to just draw her dagger, slit Cersei's throat, and be done with it… if the Lord of the Dread Fort hasn't killed Cersei yet, then Arya will abide by his Will and let her live. Not that she doesn't doubt Brandon would be alright with her taking her revenge… but there are less fatal ways of taking revenge on Cersei in a state like this, something Brandon himself seems to have realized.

Seemingly having decided that someone besides her captor has come to visit her, Cersei speaks up with a note of hope in her voice as she strains against her bindings, lifting up off the bed a few inches.

"P-Please… please, you have to help me. The bastard lord who owns this castle, h-he's a monster! Release me, and I can promise you wealth beyond your wildest dreams! A Lannis-mmph!"

In one smooth motion, Arya leaps up onto the bed and straddles Cersei's head. Grabbing hold of the blonde bitch's hair with both hands, she shoves her cunt down onto Cersei's mouth, silencing her as she begins to grind across the Queen Mother's face.

"Always pays their debts, right? That's what you were going to say? Good, because I have a debt for you to pay, bitch."

Arya's hissed words cause Cersei to tense and freeze up, though whether in fear or bewilderment, Arya couldn't say. Of course, Cersei doesn't immediately begin to service her… so Arya has to get a little nasty. Soon enough, Cersei is bucking under her, trying to throw her off and get some air as Arya covers both her nose and her mouth with her crotch. Giggling airily as she grinds down on Cersei's face, Arya lets out a breathless sigh.

"Start licking, and I might let you start breathing again too, cunt."

It takes a few seconds for Arya's directive to permeate, but once it does… Cersei obeys. Arya's lips curl into a satisfied smile as she begins to hump Cersei's face, giving the blonde a chance here and there to get some air, even as she enjoys the feel of Cersei's tongue in her slit.

"That's better… you probably don't recognize my voice. My name is Arya Stark… my father is dead because of you and your bastards. Really, you don't have much room to talk about Brandon, not when it turns out he's more legitimate then any spawn you've ever produced, bitch."

Cersei lets out some muffled noises beneath her, but Arya just hisses and tugs harder on the bitch's hair.

"Shut up. Shut up and keep licking."

Really, Arya doesn't have anything else to say to Cersei Lannister besides that. In the end, she settles for calling the former Queen every name under the sun, from bitch to cunt to slut to whore. She debases and degrades the woman who was once Queen of the Seven Kingdoms verbally, even as she does so physically as well, riding Cersei's tongue to kingdom cum.

She does so for a reason, and it's not just simply for revenge. Which is why, when Arya finishes up, once she's done cumming all over Cersei's face… she leaves, not even bothering to collect her armor or her underclothes as she sneaks her way through the Dread Fort as naked as the day she was born, quite brazenly. Of course, she already knows all the secret passageways, so it's not QUITE as bad as it sounds… and in the end, she makes it to her destination without being seen, dropping down into Brandon and Sansa's bedchambers in nothing but her birthday suit, to find the two of them cuddling in bed together.

-x-X-x-

Having just finished fucking his beloved, beautiful lady wife into a pleasured puddle, Brandon is lounging back, quite satisfied with himself, when Arya drops down from a small hole in the ceiling, the lithe form of his young cousin easily fitting through the secret passage that leads above the Dread Fort's bedchambers. She's completely nude, which prompts some raised eyebrows from Brandon, even as she stands there uncaring of her nakedness, staring at them both.

Sansa sits up at the realization they're no longer alone, frowning at Arya most severely.

"Arya… what are you doing?"

Glancing over at her older sister, Arya grins a little.

"Did you know Brandon has Cersei Lannister locked away down beneath our feet?"

Brandon's eyebrows raise further at that. What game was Arya playing here? He'd sent her to Cersei to take her revenge… though from the sound of things, she hadn't killed the woman, like he'd suspected she might. Regardless, was Arya now trying to drive a wedge between him and Sansa? For what purpose? Not that it truly mattered because…

"Yes? He showed me her the morning after we consummated our marriage. I am well aware of her presence. Just as I am aware that he's taken Myrcella Waters as one of the cleaning servants."

Arya's eyes widen just a touch, and Brandon is fairly sure he's the only one who notices she's surprised by that revelation. For a moment, the naked girl chews over Sansa's knowledge, before finally giving a self-satisfied nod and stepping forward.

"I want in."

"What?"

"I want in. If you're going to let your lord husband fuck Cersei Lannister whenever he likes… then you should have no problem letting him fuck me as well."

Brandon's quite sure his eyebrows can't climb any further. This was… unexpected, to say the least. Glancing over at Sansa, he waits for her response, just like Arya is. Sansa in turn glances at him before looking back at her younger sister and letting out a sigh.

"First of all… I don't let my lord husband do anything, Arya. Unlike you, I am a proper lady, and it isn't my place to question Brandon's choices. My place is at his side, supporting his decisions and providing counsel… where appropriate. Second of all… fine."

Brandon is so busy trying to contain a derisive snort at that first part, that it takes a few seconds for the second part to permeate his thoughts. Sansa was quite prone to speaking her mind, though obviously she didn't want Arya to know that. But… what? Sansa was alright with sharing him with his sister? Luckily for Brandon, Arya was just as flummoxed by Sansa's easy agreement.

"Truly?"

Sansa smirks wickedly, and sits up further, patting the bed between her and Brandon.

"Of course. Come here and lay down. I should warn you though… you will have to set aside your current duties if you become heavy with Brandon's child. You can't be both a warrior and a mother, Arya."

Arya flushes at that, even as he approaches.

"T-That's fine… if I ask it of him, Brandon won't spill his seed inside."

Brandon nods to reaffirm that, even as Sansa's wicked smirk becomes rather coy.

"Certainly… if you ask it of him."

Soon enough, Arya is on her back and Brandon is entering her. Sansa lays on her side next to her younger sister as she whispers sweet nothings in Arya's ear. The younger woman winces as Brandon takes her virginity, but her earlier tryst with Cersei helped to keep her nice and wet, preparing her cunt for Brandon's cock just as Arya had planned.

What Arya couldn't prepare for was how good it would feel. And with Sansa egging Brandon on while pressing into her side and murmuring about how she knows what Arya is feeling into her ear… Arya was beginning to worry that she might not want Brandon to pull out, just like Sansa had warned. It felt so, so good… and Arya simply couldn't get enough.

-x-X-x-

There's a soft knock at the door to his solar, followed by an even softer feminine voice calling out to him.

"… My lord?"

Not looking away from the warm, roaring fire he's currently sat in front of, Brandon speaks up, clearly and concisely.

"You may enter."

The door opens, and then a moment later closes. Margaery Tyrell's steps as she approaches are as soft as her voice, though he nevertheless feels her presence at his side as she comes to stand beside his chair, her tone soft, demure, and submissive.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, my lord. I hope your lady wife was not too irritated with my request."

Fishing. Manipulating. Always trying to find an angle. Brandon valiantly resists the urge to snort derisively, continuing to stare into the fireplace rather than paying Margaery the time of day, despite her great beauty. In the end, he tells her what she wants to hear… and then follows it up rather brusquely.

"My lady wife knows not to question my decisions. Now, Lady Tyrell… you would do well to get to the point. We in the North have little time for the flowery word games that you in the South like to play."

There's a pregnant pause as Margaery digests his words and the dig against her and her House, but in the end, he feels her bow her head in acceptance. A moment later, and her dress hits the floor as the beautiful young woman finally steps out in front of him, entering his field of view. Brandon doesn't bother trying to avert his gaze, nor does he keep his eyes above her neck. He takes in all that she has to offer him, looking her over like a piece of meat, and sits in silence, waiting to see what she will do next.

With a soft, perfectly sculpted smile on her cute lips, Margaery Tyrell descends to her knees on the bearskin rug that rests between him and his fireplace, and begins to open his trousers, deft, experienced fingers working his cock out of its confines… and into her warm, soft, velvety mouth. As the young Lady Tyrell begins to bob up and down on his member, betraying her experience with fellatio, Brandon continues to stare down at her, considering the events that had led them both to this place.

His Aunt had finally come to Westeros. Daenerys Targaryen had finally stopped pussy-footing around in Slaver's Bay and made her way to the land of her birth. Needless to say, the Mother of Dragons had immediately begun to throw her weight around, demanding that highborn bend the knee or die to dragonfire. And with three full-grown dragons, she could certainly make the threat a reality.

She was still busy in the South for the time being, but Brandon expected that she would turn her sights North eventually. He was already making plans in that regard, but for the time being, a lot of that involved sitting and waiting… and of course, taking advantage of opportunities when presented to them, like the one before him right now.

According to the Tyrells themselves when they'd come North to beg King Robb for his help, Daenerys' offer of bending the knee or being executed did NOT apply to everyone. There were some who would have sworn fealty that she'd been turned against, it was said, and that she would not be offering mercy to. House Tyrell was one such house, and when they learned of her intentions to have the male members of the house executed to the last and the females either given over to the Silent Sisters or married to those loyal to her… the vast majority of the House had fled.

Of course, there wasn't really anywhere for them to go, at the end of the day. The Stormlands hated them, the Vale wanted nothing to do with them, and while the Crownlands were ripe for the picking, they wouldn't exactly be escaping the Dragon Queen by moving from one place in the South to another. In the end, the North was their only option, as amusing as that was.

Frankly, Brandon could see why Daenerys would not trust House Tyrell. They might have likened themselves to Roses, but just from what he knew of them, they were Snakes to the last. During Robert's Rebellion, Mace Tyrell sat his entire army outside of Storm's End for the entire war, ultimately starving House Baratheon's loyal men half to death, while at the same time leading the Targaryen Loyalists to defeat with his inaction.

It was honestly amazing that the Tyrells had managed to keep their seat after that, given they'd technically lost the war, but Brandon supposed that was because Stannis and Renly had both lived. If either had actually starved to death, Mace's punishment would no doubt have been much more severe.

More recently, when all the shit had finally hit the fan, the Tyrells had proven to once again be duplicitous snakes all around. First siding with Renly, and then when he died, making overtures to the Lannisters, only for that to fall through for them before it could even get off the ground, really. Was it any surprise at the end of the day that the Dragon Queen wouldn't trust them?

Regardless, when the Tyrells had come to King Robb and beseeched him for help, his brother had been all too ready to toss them out on their asses. Robb was far too busy planning the upcoming war with the Dragon Queen after all, given that no one in the North ever intended to bend the knee to the South again, dragons or no dragons.

But Brandon had privately asked Robb to let him deal with them, and Robb had handed them over. He'd been hosting House Tyrell for about a week now at the Dreadfort… and here they were, one of Olenna Tyrell's schemes finally coming to fruition… even as it feeds right into Brandon's overall plan. Smirking, the young lord reaches out and laces a gloved hand through Margaery's beautiful brown locks, causing her doe-like eyes to flicker up to him questioningly.

Smirking down at her, Brandon begins to move her up and down his cock, slowly at first, but with more speed as time goes on. Before, Margaery was using her hands on half of his sizable member and her mouth on the other, but now, she finds herself forced to brace herself on his thighs as he starts face fucking her, right then and there.

"Gagkh! Gagkh! Gagkh!"

Involuntary tears well up in the Tyrell girl's eyes as she chokes and gags on his member, until eventually they're streaking down her otherwise pristine face. She truly is pretty, and if Robb hadn't already married Sansa off to him, Brandon could see himself enjoying Margaery as a wife, if for no other reason than her beauty. But alas, the gorgeous girl came with quite a lot of baggage, in the form of her family.

With a loud groan and no other warning, Brandon begins to cum. Margaery chokes on his seed at first of course, before he graciously pulls back to give her room to breathe, while at the same time 'inadvertently' covering her pretty young face in his cum. He absolutely coats the little tart with his jizz, making a mockery of her great beauty, ruining her perfectly sculpted visage with streaks, thick and viscous each and every one.

When he's done, Brandon lets go of the naked girl's hair and lets her rock back onto her heels, the kneeling young woman panting as she looks up at him, wide-eyed. Clearly, for all that Margaery is a master at seduction and well-experienced in matters of the bedroom, she's not been treated like THIS before.

But then, Renly was said to be a sword swallower, so it's entirely likely that all of the men Margaery has been with before now were below her station. This is her first sexual encounter with a man who is technically above her in the noble hierarchy, and Brandon can tell she's just beginning to figure that out. Smirking down at her, the young lord cocks his head to the side.

"What did your grandmother send you here to pry out of me, Margaery?"

Startled at his knowledge, Margaery flinches, freezing for a moment… before slipping right back into her playacting. She lowers her gaze, acting the perfect submissive young fool, the act only accentuated by his cum dripping down off of her face and onto her naked, supple breasts.

"… S-She wished for me to ask you for the Twins, my lord."

The Twins. Heh, well, Robb HAD indeed recently gifted Brandon with the Twins and basically told him to find someone to give them to. But the Tyrells? No, they would be just like the now defunct and destroyed House Frey, only a little prettier. The Twins needed to go to someone loyal, someone who would put the realm before their house, who wouldn't seek to bleed dry everyone who passed through their gates, no matter their station of birth.

Brandon lets his smirk grow slightly wider, as Margaery chances a glance up at him. It's only once she's looking at him that he gives her his answer.

"No."

Because of this, he gets to see the look of surprise on her cum-covered face as her eyes widen. And then he sees the slight stubbornness in her face, the determination, and he knows exactly what she's about to do next.

"My lord, I-!"

"Lord Husband, you started without me! That's no fair."

Margaery's voice is over-ridden and quite rudely cut off by the voice of his lady wife as Sansa Stark steps into the room, taking one look at the situation and smiling like the cat that caught the canary. Dressed in thick Northern furs, Lady Sansa looks every bit the part of a Northern Lady. Meanwhile, Margaery is caught with her nonexistent pants completely down, kneeling there naked with his cum already beginning to dry on her face as she stares at his wife, wide-eyed.

Brandon just chuckles, still seated as he gives his wife a smile.

"Beloved… you have the worst timing. Margaery here was about to try and use you to blackmail me with knowledge of my infidelity when you so rudely interrupted."

"Oh? Is that so?"

Margaery's eyes are wide as saucers as she looks between the Lord of the Dreadfort and his Lady, and finally realizes that she's completely outclassed. Sputtering, stuttering, flustered and flailing, the cum-covered young woman tries to get up, tries to gather her dress and go.

"L-Lady Sansa, I a-apologize, I wasn't-!"

But Sansa isn't about to let her leave, grabbing Margaery by the shoulder and holding her firm with an immaculate smile on her thin lips.

"You weren't what? In your right mind? Don't worry, sweet… my husband has that effect on a lot of women."

Forcefully, Sansa drags Margaery back over to where he's sat. Brandon still hasn't moved from his spot… there's no need for him to, as Sansa wipes a smidge of his cum from Margaery's cheek with her thumb and then sucks it off of the digit quite lewdly with her tongue.

"You still have a job to do, darling. You still have to convince my lord husband not to finish the Dragon Queen's job for her."

Margaery tenses up at that but doesn't resist as Sansa pushes her back. Brandon reaches out then, grabbing her by the hips and letting his cock slip up into her cunt. She's not sopping wet, but she is somewhat moist, perhaps from being naked before him, perhaps even from his rough treatment of her. Regardless, her velvety cunt walls tighten and squeeze down around his cock as he impales her on his length, and he feels it as her hymen tears… it would seem that she and Renly never got around to consummating their marriage.

As he takes the young woman's virginity, causing a wail to erupt from Margaery's throat, it's Sansa who silences her with a slap across her face, followed by quite the lewd kiss. Brandon can't deny that it's exceptionally hot to be bouncing Margaery up and down on his cock while Sansa kisses her, dominating her mouth with a kiss. The young Tyrell girl rides him while facing forward, but even looking away from him is no escape, as Sansa occupies all of Margaery's time, cleaning up the other girl's face with her tongue, and forcing that same tongue halfway down Margaery's throat.

Together, the Lord and Lady of the Dreadfort welcome another woman into the fold by force, and when they're done, Margaery Tyrell will know her place. Brandon even has plans to give her family some minor holding somewhere within what were once Bolton Lands, if Margaery proves useful enough. But that's a big if… only time will tell.

A lot of his plans are like that right now, needing time to come to fruition. Like, for instance, the secret force that he'd sent to what remained of King's Landing. Specifically, the caverns that he'd used to abduct the Royal Family in the first place. He'd sent the same men that he'd used for that mission back for another go at it, now that the Wild Fire had finally started to die down. He knew he could trust these men, knew that they were closer than blood for him.

If there was anything down there, any vaults or rooms that had survived the destruction of the city and held anything valuable… his men would find them and bring back whatever could be found within them. It was one of many plans Brandon had regarding the war to come. Because at the end of the day… he had no intention of losing all that he'd gained, dragons or no.

Daenerys might be his and Jon's Aunt, but from the reports, it was obvious that she was at least partially susceptible to the Targaryen Madness that had long played their house. Like father, like daughter, the rumors stated.

She WOULD come for the North. Her pride as a ruler would accept nothing less, and her three dragons would make her feel invincible, unstoppable. And to many, they probably were this unstoppable, unbeatable force. But Brandon… Brandon wasn't going to give up without a fight. He had several plans, and if even a few came to fruition… then all would be well, and the North would remain independent.

And perhaps, along the way, if all went REALLY well… Brandon would get what he really wanted at the same time.

-x-X-x-

"Release me IMMEDIATELY! I demand to know who my captor is! I demand to see my children! I am the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, how DARE you disrespect me in this fashion!

As he approaches the room where his latest acquisition is being kept, Brandon can't help himself. A derisive, amused snort slips free and he looks down at the naked woman walking on all fours beside him, crawling in actuality. She glances up at him as if sensing his gaze, before quickly and submissively lowering her eyes back to the ground.

"Remind you of anyone?"

Brandon chuckles as the broken woman who was once Cersei Lannister trembles at his side, not daring to speak. A moment later, the other woman chained to a bed just down the hall starts up again.

"I am the Mother of Dragons! I am the Breaker of Chains! You will BURN for this indignity, whoever has dared to steal me away! My armies will come for me! Just you wait!"

The amusement on Brandon's face has become a full blown grin by the time he finally pushes open the door to the room deep in the bowels of the Dreadfort where his newest woman has been stripped naked and chained to the bed. Daenerys Stormborn, last of House Targaryen, has certainly seen better days. With bags under her eyes, an unhealthy pallor to her skin, and her silver-gold hair seemingly unkempt and unwashed, she looks quite mad.

Brandon's not surprised by this though, given everything he's heard. It seems that his dear old aunt takes after her father more than they'd hoped. Still, at least Daenerys quiets down for a moment upon seeing him enter the room. Her purple eyes flicker down to his pet crawling at his side, but he doesn't see any recognition. The latest Queen of the Seven Kingdoms does not recognize the last Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. How inappropriate. After all, how is Daenerys to avoid repeating history, if she does not know what happened to her predecessor?

Brandon's self-deprecating chuckle and shake of his head is enough to pull Daenerys from her silence as the Mad Queen scowls at him most mightily.

"My nephew, I presume. Brandon Sand."

Brandon lifts an eyebrow at that and quirks the corner of his mouth upwards. He doesn't actually have to say anything… Daenerys is all too eager to defend her words and degenerate him and his brother.

"Well, you're certainly a bastard, of course. My brother would never set aside his wife for a northern bitch, after all. And you and your twin were born on the Tower of Joy, not in the North. That makes you both Sands. Plus, it's not like I recognize the traitor Robb Stark as the legitimate King or Lord Paramount of the North, so any legitimizations he's done are thus invalid."

And then she hesitates, as if she's making a big show of considering what to do about him. When Daenerys offers him a smile that doesn't reach her eyes, Brandon has some idea of what she's about to say.

"Of course, as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, I have need for good men no matter their blood status. If you were to free me, clothe me, swear yourself to me, and bring me to my armies and my children, there would still be a place for you at my side, Brandon Sand."

The bark of laughter startles Daenerys… and him as well. But then, that's probably because it doesn't come from either of them. Instead, the laughter comes from the naked woman who's settled onto her knees at Brandon's side. Cersei Lannister looks upon Daenerys Targaryen with thinly veiled contempt, even from her position at his feet.

"You? You're the younger and more beautiful Queen that that bitch of a hedge witch spoke of? The one to replace me? I can't believe I spent my entire life fearing you."

Daenerys' confusion lasts a few seconds before the madness begins to seep in again and she stops caring that she doesn't understand and merely starts caring that she's been very clearly insulted by this naked woman. Of course, before she can even begin shouting again, two things happen back to back. Cersei realizes her mistake in speaking out of turn (and about her past) and begins to flinch, right as Brandon backhands the disgraced Queen across her face, hard enough to send her sprawling.

"M-Master, I'm s-sorry, I-!"

"I don't want to hear it. Go sit in the corner and watch. You can touch yourself if you like."

Brandon doesn't watch her go, but Daenerys does. The captured Queen of the Seven Kingdoms stares after Cersei for a long moment, before understanding finally dawns in her eyes.

"That's… Cersei Lannister."

Smirking and giving a simple nod of affirmation, Brandon steps up to the end of the bed and clasps his hands behind his back.

"It was. But enough about her. Let's talk about you, Mad Queen."

Daenerys bristles at that, her beautiful face contorting with fury and insanity.

"How DARE you?! I am your QUEEN, and I will- what are you do-Mmph!"

In the midst of her latest tirade, Brandon climbs up onto the bed. He easily crawls over her, and easily clasps his gloved hand over the naked woman's mouth. Daenerys' purple eyes go wide and for the first time, a hint of fear enters them as he looms over her, their faces inches apart.

"You are no longer Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Daenerys. For all intents and purposes, you are as dead as they think your predecessor."

Daenerys' eyes flicker over to the corner where Cersei has begun fingering her cunt at that before she looks back to him. Brandon smirks.

"Yes, I had Cersei Lannister and her children spirited away in the dead of night. Just as I had you taken away from your camp as well during the fighting. Know this, Daenerys… your dragons are no more. Our ballista took them each out of the sky, one by one. Likewise, your armies are no more as well. With your dragons dead and the North holding the line, your forces splintered and began infighting. Your Dothraki and Unsullied charged our lines and were massacred. Those you pressganged into your forces from the Southern Kingdoms took the opportunity they were given and fled back from whence they came."

He speaks in a clipped, no-nonsense tone as he explains what's happened to the captured Queen. She's all his now. Sansa and Arya want a piece of her too eventually. Daenerys had had one of her dragons burn and swallow Tyrion Lannister alive with dragonfire, and supposedly he was the only man in all of King's Landing who was nice to Sansa.

At the same time, there was a bastard boy named Gendry Waters who was said to be Robert Baratheon's natural born son. Daenerys had had him killed as well when she'd sought to end the Usurper's Line once and for all. He'd been Arya's friend, once upon a time apparently.

In the end, Brandon's aunt had made many, many enemies. Several of which could be found in this castle. If Margaery were particularly good and obedient, perhaps Brandon would even let the Tyrell girl have a go at Daenerys, somewhere down the line. For now though… Brandon can tell Daenerys doesn't believe him. More, she doesn't dare believe him for a second, because what he says is the end of her, the end of everything she's ever cared about.

"It doesn't matter whether you believe me or not right now. You'll realize it as the days stretch on and no one, not man nor dragon, comes for you. Right now, this little meeting is to find out if there's any worth in keeping you around. Let's find out, shall we?"

Reaching down, Brandon wastes no more time in freeing his cock from the confines of his leathers. Daenerys' eyes widen as he feels himself pressing into her cunt from below. And then he's inside of her, and the last Targaryen Monarch of the Seven Kingdoms screams against his hand as he fucks her, as he brutalizes her. Brandon takes his time, thrusting in and out.

The truth is Brandon's not a nice man. He's not even a particularly good man. Not like his brothers. This place where Robb has put him… it speaks to him probably more than it should. Perhaps Robb thought that his presence, the presence of House Whitestark, would somehow cleanse and purify the former Bolton Lands, given enough time.

Privately, Brandon feels that Robb didn't get as much of a chance to see the darker sides of war as he, Sansa, and Arya did. There's a reason it was so easy for him to hurt Cersei, for him to brutalize and rape the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms once he had her in his clutches. It's the same reason that it's so easy to do the same to Daenerys now, fucking the gorgeous but altogether mad bitch of a Queen beneath him as she screams and struggles in vain against both his weight and the chains tying her to the bed.

He's not really very chivalrous. But then, Brandon learned early on that just as with men, women come in all different shades. Lady Stark taught him that, through her scorn and disdain and neglect. Men could be good, they could be helpful, they could be loyal. They could also be scum, they could be treacherous, they could be backstabbers.

Women were much the same, in Brandon's experience. There were women worthy of his love, such as Sansa and Arya, and perhaps even Myrcella just a tad. Then there were women worthy of his disdain, such as Margaery Tyrell. And then there were women like Cersei Lannister and Daenerys Targaryen who were worthy of every bit of hatred and brutality that Brandon could muster.

Cersei and Daenerys were the sort of women that would be happy to rule over Seven Kingdoms filled with ash and death, so long as it meant they still got to rule. That was why Brandon had helped Robb prepare for the dragons that Daenerys was bringing to the North by providing the designs for the Scorpions that his men had found beneath the ruins of the Red Keep.

He hadn't lied to Daenerys, not once. Everything he's told her is the truth. Her so-called children are dead and will never burn down a keep or eat men alive ever again. Her armies are equally dead or simply gone, and it's likely the South will return to the way things were before the Targaryens ever even arrived on this continent in the first place.

Meanwhile, Brandon will continue doing what he's already been doing… protecting those precious to him and doling out punishment to those who have tried to hurt him and his. With a grunt, Brandon releases his seed into the gorgeous body of his naked aunt, coating Daenerys' insides with his cum. Pulling back, he looks down to see her no longer screaming or raging at him, but… crying? Not only that, she's mumbling something beneath his gloved hand.

Curious, the Lord Whitestark draws his hand back to hear what Daenerys has to say. Immediately, she begins babbling.

"S-Sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake the dragon nephew, p-please forgive me, please don't hurt me, I'll be good, I promise I'll be good…"

More than a little baffled, Brandon decides to test Daenerys' words even as his aunt continues to mumble her apologies. Moving up the length of her body, he places his cockhead against her lips and readies himself to yank back if she tries to bite. But that doesn't happen. Instead, Daenerys leans forward and automatically begins to suck on his cock, even swirling her tongue around his tip to clean off the combined fluids from their fornication.

Bewildered, it takes Brandon a moment to realize his aunt seems to have regressed somehow. He truly has broken her, but then, she was already mostly broken before he even came along, wasn't he? The Mad Queen… reduced to a babbling, sobbing, altogether apologetic woman. It takes quite a lot of the fun out of things. He'll have to apologize to Sansa and Arya, if it turns out they can't take their own pound of flesh from the Mad Targaryen after all.

But in the end, it's no matter. Brandon pulls back and climbs off the bed, snapping his fingers at Cersei, who immediately crawls over to him, positively dripping her fluids on the floor at this point. He then steps out of the room and down the hall to the next room over. Entering, he watches as the dark-skinned woman that had been with Daenerys when his men stole her away perks up.

The look on her face tells him she heard everything. She lowers her gaze though as he approaches, appropriately submissive, despite her initial defiance. But then, that had been in defense of her Mistress. This new deference towards him was likewise in defense of her Mistress.

"I showed you the dead dragons, I showed you the dead Unsullied and Dothraki. And now you've listened to your Mistress break. You understand though, that this is the only sanctuary left for her, yes? Even if you managed to flee with her, where would you go?"

"… Nowhere."

The dark-skinned woman's reply is quiet and resigned. Brandon just smiles and nods. She's lucky he's not in the mood for more fun at the moment truth be told. Daenerys' handmaiden is as beautiful and exotic as his aunt, just in different ways.

"Then go to her. Attend to your Mistress."

She perks up at that, before bowing her head again even as she climbs to her feet and begins moving towards the door.

"As you say… Master."

She knows her place. That's good. Still, Brandon does follow her back, and listens in as she and Daenerys have their reunion, just for a moment.

"M-Missandei! You're alive!"

"M-My Queen!"

"I don't think I'm Queen anymore, Missandei. Will you just call me Dany instead?"

"… D-Dany, I-!"

"No, no, don't cry for me. I just… I woke the dragon. I deserved every bit of it. It's alright."

"… As you say, Dany…"

He hadn't originally planned to let his aunt and her handmaiden reunite so soon, but seeing Daenerys regress in such a way, seeing her break so easily… has changed his plans just a bit. With her capture, the Targaryen Dynasty is finally, well, and truly, over. The last Targaryen Queen was never to see the light of day again, that was the plan. And she was certainly never going to be part of their family. But… Dany just might.

-x-X-x-

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-x-X-x-

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