The Temptation (Patreon)

Daenerys panted for breath as her heart raced in her chest.  She was as naked as the day she was born, not a stitch of clothing on her body, and yet she burned as though she were bundled in a woollen coat on a summer day.  The room around her was dark, black save for the torches scattered about the walls, and she could not see far from where she was.  Her feet did not touch the floor as she was suspended on chains, hanging from the tall ceiling.  She should have been scared.  She should have been terrified.

She wasn’t.

Need like she had never known coursed through her body.  She had never known the touch of a man, and yet somehow she knew instinctively that it was exactly that which she craved.  That awful, sinful place between her legs, which the septas told her was the root of all sin, wept from its terrible need.  Rivulets of liquid sin ran down her thighs, dripping into the puddle that was forming below her.  The reason for it stood before her, a beast of a man she knew could not be human.

He was tall, toweringly so, with the body of a warrior, every inch of him thick with muscle.  His face was so handsome it could not be real, with shoulder-length dark hair and a thick matching beard.  His eyes had a piecing quality to them; their color was a distinct, dark gray. His shoulders were bull-like, his neck thick, and his arms huge.  His middle was not thin like whatshe had seen of her brother when he removed his shirt after staining it with food, nor bulging like that of her father, who grew fat as he aged, but powerful, with individual muscles clearly shown.  His legs were also powerful and corded with muscle, leading down past his knees to the legs of a goat with shaggy fur and cloven hooves.  The part that drew her attention most, however, was the part that she knew she could not look at and yet could not look away from to save her life.

“Your member is like that of a horse,” she moaned, not even recognizing her own voice for how throaty and wanton-sounding it was.

“We really need to work on your dirty talk, girl,” the demon before her said with a chuckle, his thick northern accent making her drip even more arousal on the floor. “It’s called a cock, Darlin’.  Do you think you can say the word?”

“Cock,” she said.  The word, which her stepmother would beat her for ever hearing come out of her mouth, sounded at once foreign and at home on her full lips.

He stepped towards her and ran a finger down the length of her body, from her clavacle, between the full mounds of her breasts, past her navel, to the forest of curls that cloaked her needy sex.  He brought his finger to his lips and sucked the salty sweat off the digit.  Her entire body shone in the dim torchlight with sweat, so terrible was the burning need within her.

“So beautiful,” the demon purred, his deep, rumbling voice making her even hotter.  His forked tongue, longer than that of any man, lanced past his lips and licked a trail up from her navel to the valley between her large breasts.  His tongue was hot as fire, and yet it did not hurt her; it did far worse.  That single touch made everything she was feeling more intense.  Her entire body, suspended by chains, started shaking with a need she did not comprehend.

“So delicious!” she barely heard him say.

“Please!” she cried.

“Please what?” he asked, his voice teasing and laced with obvious amusement.

“I don’t know!” she moaned.

“Yes, you do,” he said, walking behind her, “you just don’t know how to ask for it.”

She felt his lips on her spine as he kissed every bone.  Every kiss made it worse, and by the time he reached her bottom, she was crying.

“You’re so innocent,” he said, “so good, so pure.  You don’t want to be, though; it’s driving you mad.  I’ll teach you how to be better than pure.”

“How?” she whined, her face streaked with hot tears.

“The only way it can be done,” he said.

Before she could ask what he meant, she felt something she swore was the size of her fist press up against her nether lips and went still as a statue.

“Don’t worry, Darlin’,” she heard him say, “you’ll take me just fine.  Oh, and about what you said of my cock before: trust me, I’ll ruin horses for you.”

She felt him push...

Daenerys woke with a gasp and started shaking.  After all these years, one would think that she’d be used to the terror that visited her at night.  Perhaps that would be true if not for the physical effects that her dreams left her.  She opened her legs and let out a shudder as she heard the sticky sound that it caused.  She composed herself by force and got out of bed, trying not to notice how her shift clung to her sweaty form.  She sank to her knees by the seven candles on the table by her bed, picked up a match, and lit them.  She began her prayers to the Seven that are One, begging them as she had so many times before to rid her of her dreadful affliction.  They had yet to answer her prayers, proof that she was a truly wicked and vile creature, but she knew that she still had to try.

Daenerys did not know why she had been cursed; perhaps it was a consequence of the terrible storm during which she had been born, or perhaps it was the gods punishment for how she had murdered her mother coming into the world.  Her stepmother was particularly fond of that explanation.  All she knew was that from the moment her monthly blood began, she was plagued with terrible dreams.  A great demon dwelt within the confines of them, tempting her to sin and shame her family with terrible acts.  He was always the same: a tall, devilishly handsome man with the physique of a warrior, the lower legs of a goat, and the unmentionable parts of a horse.

“How I wish I had never seen those horses mating out in the fields that time,” she thought to herself, “at least then the comparison would not be part of my torment.”

His voice was always the same too, deep and clear, with a tone that made her body tremble whenever she heard it and a thick Northern accent.  She knew that the Northerners were heathens; that they worshiped strange, false gods and held not to the traditions of the true faith, save for some in White Harbor.  She was startled as a knock came to her door.

“A thousand pardons, miss, but your lady stepmother sent me to demand that you not be late to breakfast,” one of the servants, Bessy, called.  “I took the liberty of drawing you a bath, cold, just how you like.”

“Thank you, Bessy,” she replied.

She made her way to the tub, filled with cold water, and scowled as she never failed to.  As a young girl, she had always liked her baths hot; far hotter than normal.  Once her curse had taken hold, however, this had changed.  Her dreams always left her in a fevered state, warm and sweaty and with a slickness between her legs that made her ashamed.  She had tried once to wipe away her shame, and she felt like she had been struck by lightning.  The sensations that coursed through her in that moment felt too good to be anything but sinful.  She had pulled her hand away as quickly as though she had touched fire and vowed never to do it again.  She remembered the words of Septon Eustace about the filth of sin being washed away by cleansing water like the first of the sacraments and decided to try bathing in cold water.

It had worked, and though she liked it not, she knew that salvation was often found in things one did not enjoy.  She removed her shift and got into the cold water.  The unnatural lust bled out of her quickly as the cold water did its work.  She bathed as she relaxed, waiting to clean between her legs until the last of that dreadful inflammation had abated.  A cold bath was not something to dally in, and once she had cleaned up, she got out quickly and dried herself with the towels left out for her.  As she put on her new small clothes, she sighed.  She did not like her body.

As a girl, she had been thin, very thin.  With her long silver-gold hair, violet eyes, and soft, gentle features, the ladies who visited their manor always said she looked like a doll.  Since then, she had grown to be full-figured, as she supposed the term would be.  Her waist was still narrow, unusually so for how full she was elsewhere, but her hips were wide, her bottom large, and her breasts even larger than those of her stepmother who had born three children.  It was this curvaceous figure that she blamed for her curse; it must have been what drew the attention of the demon.

When she was ready, she called in her maid to assist with her corset and the simple dress she was to wear that day.  As she focused on trying not to breathe too much, she remembered what she looked like when the dreams first started.  Her figure had started to change earlier than her friends’ had, and by the time she was first afflicted with her blood and her dreams, she already looked bodily as her dear friend Margaery did when she finished growing.

Daenerys thanked her maids for their help and made her way to break her fast with her family.  The familiar halls of the only home she had ever known, richly decorated from floor to ceiling, filled her with both fondness and trepidation.  She was to take her holy vows soon, to join the ranks of the faith as a septa and pledge herself to the Seven.  This familiar manor would not be her home for much longer.  Soon she would know simpler, holier spaces.  She could only hope that being in such a blessed place would quell hervile dreams.

“Good morrow, Daughter,” her father said as he saw her approach.

“Good morrow, Papa, Stepmother,” she greeted them back.  Her stepmother simply waved as she ate her toast, her green eyes narrowing as they took her in.

Her siblings had yet to arrive, which she was pleased to note.  Her stepmother had complained about her tardiness the day before, and she had no desire to further draw the woman’s ire.  Seemingly just as the thought occurred to her, they were joined by her sister Myrcella and her brother Joffrey.

“Tommen says he’s still not feeling well, Mother,” Myrcella reported.

“Dearest, if this continues any longer, we’ll need to call on a physician,” her stepmother Cersei said.

“It’s a bad cold, dear,” her father replied. “He’ll be unwell for another day or two and be right as rain.”

“He’s just a little crybaby,” Joffrey muttered.

“Joffrey!” Cersei hissed.

“What?” the obstinate boy replied, “he’s weak and pathetic.”

“You shouldn’t speak of our brother that way,” Myrcella said.

“No, you shouldn’t,” their father added.

Joffrey just dug into his kippers and glowered.  Daenerys took in the familiar sight with resignation.  She would miss her papa and her stepmother when she became a septa, just as she would miss Myrcella and Tommen, but the Seven forgive her, she could not say that she would miss Joffrey.

“Cella and Joff here have their lessons for today,” her father said, “but I don’t recall what you’re doing today, Dany.”

“Visiting the orphanage with the Tyrell girl, or Baratheon now, I suppose,” Cersei said.

“Forgive me, Stepmother, but that’s tomorrow,” Daenerys corrected her as gently as she could. “Today I am meeting with Septa Beatrice to discuss my vows, and I have confession.”

“Didn’t you go to confession not long ago?” her father asked.

“Frequent confession is a part of the process, Papa,” she lied.  She would have to confess to that as well, but it was better than telling him the truth.

Her father let out a weary sigh and asked, “are you sure you want to do this, child?”

It was something he had asked her many times over the last few months, and she was sure he would ask it again at least twice before next Sunday.  She replied as she had each time: “yes, Papa, I’ve never been more sure.”

“I think it’s wonderful, darling,” her Stepmother cut in.  “Such a good and pure daughter we’ve raised.”

She preened under the praise before berating herself for feeling pride.  Her stepmother had been her greatest supporter in her desire to become a Septa.  For many years, Daenerys thought that her Stepmother, the only mother she ever knew, hadn’t liked her much.  She still remembered the sneer on the older woman’s face when she first confided in her about the dreams.  Ever since she announced that she planned to devote herself to the Seven, though, her Stepmother’s demeanor about her had completely changed.  It made sense, Daenerys supposed, Cersei Tagaryen was a very pious woman.

“I know she is Dearest,” her father said.  “Part of me just wishes that you had decided to seek a husband instead, someone you could have had a family with.”

Daenerys couldn’t do that; she knew that much.  She had had many suitors as she flowered, many men who sought her for her beauty, family name, or both, but she had turned them all down.  A husband would mean a bedding.  It would mean giving into her desires and risking allowing the demon to take hold of her.  Any man who had her would name her a whore if he saw the extent of her unnatural lusts.  Good women did not seek pleasure in carnal acts.  They allowed their husbands to take their due for the purpose of creating children, but they certainly did not do half the things the demon had shown her in her dreams.  A Septa’s life was all she could hope for.

“I’ve been called to a higher purpose, Papa,” she explained, “to serve the Seven for all my days.  It will be my greatest joy to remain good and pure in their eyes for all my life.”

“That’s beautiful, Dany,” Myrcella said warmly. “Were I not promised to Trystane Martell, I would seek to join you.”

“Alas, you are dear,” her Stepmother cut in quickly.  “We can’t all be called to such holy works.”

“May I be excused?” Joffrey asked, sounding bored and restless. “All this woman’s talk is driving me mad.”

Daenerys fought the urge to roll her eyes as their father reprimanded her rude brother before letting him leave.  She found she did not have much of an appetite, but she managed to get down a little toast with marmalade.  The rest of the early meal passed quietly.

*****

As she entered the hallowed halls of the Sept of Baelor, Daenerys felt a familiar sense of good purpose fill her.  She had never felt as at peace as she did in this most sacred place.  The marble floors, the stained-glass windows, and the painted murals were beautiful in a way only truly righteous things could be.  The smoke of incense filled her nose and set her mind at ease.  Here the demon had no hold on her; the wicked, sinful thoughts he put in her head fled like a thief in the night before the might of the Seven.  She knelt before the statues that represented the seven aspects of her god and prayed to each in order, from the Father to the Stranger.

When her prayers were finished, she made her way to the Confession booth and sat down in the side meant for parishioners.  She pulled the curtain closed and said, “bless me, Septon, for I have sinned; it has been two days since my last confession.”

A moment passed without reply, and she grew confused.  The curtain had been pulled closed on the Septon’s side of the booth, signifying that he was inside.  Through the narrow slits in the wood, she could not make out anything, but neither was meant to see the other in the booth.  “Septon?”

“That’s not very long,” said a voice that certainly did not belong to Septon Mathias, the man who usually heard confessions on thatday of the week.  The accent was Northern, and for a moment, Daenerys’ mind flashed to the beast that plagued her dreams, but she felt relief as she realized that the man sounded much older.  He must be newly arrived from White Harbor.  She hoped that Septon Mathias was alright, but it was not her place to question the Septons on anything.

“Oh, Septon,” she said, her voice trembling, “I fear for my soul.”

“The Seven can do much to protect us, my child,” he replied. “Tell me what troubles you so.”

“I am cursed, Septon,” she said, “plagued by terrible dreams.”

“Go on,” he said.

“There is a great demon who has hounded me for years now, invading my dreams and showing me terrible, unholy things,” she replied.

“What things does this demon show you?” he asked.

“Carnal acts of an unnatural manner,” she replied. “Things no good woman would ever do.”

“What sort of things?” the Septon asked. “Give me an example.”

Daenerys hesitated for a moment, but she knew that she could not disobey the septons and continued,“last night he tied me to a ceiling, entirely bare, and displayed his bestial member to me.  He was about to take my innocence when I woke.”

“What is it about these dreams that makes you fear for your soul?” the Septon asked.

“What?” Daenerys asked, confused. “The things I see are unholy.”

“There are unholy things all around us, child,” the Septon said. “To see them is not to sin.”

“But, they’re in my dreams,” Daenerys protested.

“And dreams are not real,” the Septon countered, “the Seven Pointed Star tells us so.  Only heathens believe that they can see things in their dreams that are real.  You’re not suggesting that, surely?”

“No!” Daenerys exclaimed. “Of course not, Septon, but…”

“Then what is it about these dreams that worries you so?” the Septon asked.

Daenerys’ face burned with shame, the answer to that question on her lips, and yet difficult to get out.   After a moment, she said, “After these dreams, I am filled with such unnatural desire.  I fight against it; I always do, and I will soon take my holy vows, but part of me fears even this will not be enough to make the demon stop.”

“So you fear that you want to do these things?” the Septon asked.

Daenerys squirmed in her seat, her body growing hot. “I fight against it, Septon. I want to be pure and good, I swear!”

“Oh, hush child,” he said, his deep voice oddly soothing, “the Seven have a plan for us all, even a devil creature such as yourself.”

She felt like her heart stopped for a moment at his words, and an icy chill ran down her spine.  “Devil?”

“Oh yes, girl,” he said, “you are a creature of sin.  All the Hail Mothers in the world aren’t going to change that.  The Seven will use you for whatever purpose they have in mind.  Do you think that they could not prevent these dreams of yours if they wanted to?”

Terror filled her until her entire body was shaking.  No Septon had ever told her anything like that.  “What can I do, Septon?”

“Be sinful child,” he said, his voice almost hypnotic. “Fulfill their plan for you and give in.”

For a moment, his words touched her, and she felt a burning pressure building in her core.  She shook her head and forced the spark of desire away.  “No! I can’t!  I want to be good and pure, Septon.”

“Everyone does at first,” he said, “but that is not what they have in mind for everyone.”

“Please!” she begged, her eyes growing damp. “Please, I beg you, help me!”

She heard him sigh lightly.  “Very well, child.  Ten Our Fathers and a full Act of Devotion.  Does that sound good?”

“Yes, Septon, thank you,” she said, feeling relieved.  She had clearly passed whatever test this had been.

“It was my pleasure,” he said,and as she moved to leave, he added, “oh, and Child, remember they are always watching.”

The tingling down her spine that his words caused did little to counter the relief she felt.  She left the booth and made for the exit.  As she did, she swore that out of the corner of her eye she saw a tail with a tapered tip in the shape of a spade sticking out of the Septon’s booth.  When she turned her head, there was nothing there, though.  She shook her head and left the Sept.  She had a meeting with Septa Beatrice to get to.

*****

Daenerys sat in the shade of a massive tree on a verdant hill, overlooking a field of pale blue flowers.  She swore from the color that they were winter roses, as they were the only flowers she had ever read about that were that particular shade of blue, but she knew that could not be.  Winter roses did not grow as far south as King’s Landing.  The day was warm and most pleasant.  There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and only the most gentle breeze blew by her.  She sighed and relaxed on the soft earth, swearing that she could spend a lifetime in a place this tranquil.

As she closed her eyes and laid back against the tree, she felt a leaf fall on her hands, which were clasped over her abdomen, and grabbed it.  She opened her eyes and felt her heart sink at the sight.  The leaf was large, unusually so, and it was blood red.  She whipped around and gasped at the sight of the Weirwood Tree.  A face held forever in a grimace was carved into its bark, and from the face’s eyes, twin streams of bloody sap stood in contrast against the pale white.

“Enjoying this little patch of paradise?” a familiar, Northern-accented voice sounded behind her.

She turned and saw her tormentor of the last several years standing there, holding a winter rose in his right hand.

“Beautiful, are they not?” he asked.  He was unclothed as he always was when they met, but she noticed that for once, his impossibly large member hung limp between his legs, reaching halfway down his thighs.

“What do you know of beauty?” she hissed, folding her arms under her breasts.  She was surprised to note that she was actually wearing clothing.  It was her thin nightgown, but still, it was different.

“Much and more, Darlin’,” he drawled, bringing the rose to his nose to smell it. “I’ve been blessing you, haven’t I?”

“You call what you’ve done to me all these years blessings?!” she shrieked.

“What else would I call giving you little tastes of the joys you deny yourself?” he asked.

“What you torment me with is unnatural!” she exclaimed.

“Unnatural,” he scoffed, “it’s the most natural thing in all the world.”

“For beasts in the fields, perhaps,” she scoffed right back, “but men and women were made different from them.”

“According to who?” he asked, sounding amused.

“According to the Septons,” she said, “according to the Seven Pointed Star.”

“A book written by arseholes and spread by men and women who don’t live up to it,” he sneered.

“Your blasphemy is as tired as it is predictable,” she said. “The holy texts show us a way to live a better life, one pure and clear of purpose.”

“It shows you how to deny your basic nature and live a hollow, joyless life,” he countered.

“Serving the Seven is joy,” she said. “Good men and women live every day in accordance with the book and are rewarded for doing so with clarity and peace.”

“Those good men and women you speak of rarely live as they claim,” he said. “Trust me, darlin’, if you scratch a holy man, you’ll draw the blood of a hypocrite.”

“A despicable lie,” she hissed.

He just laughed at her, saying, “oh, it’s true, darlin’.  Living a life without pleasure can sound appealing at first, if it’s genuinely the only way of living you’ve ever been exposed to, but it gets very boring.  Rare is the woman who holds to such a lifestyle for all her days; rarer still is the man.”

“Those who sin can find atonement in confession and acts of contrition,” she said.

“Not as much as you’d think,” he chuckled. “Your Seven aren’t very forgiving, and eventually most faithful stop truly trying to seek forgiveness.  Spend long enough in the world, and no matter how much you try to deny it, you’ll eventually learn a single unequivocal truth: what your shriveled septons call sin is your birthright.  Pleasure is your reward for doing what you are meant to do, instead of wallowing in false guilt.”

Daenerys considered the beast in front of her and realized something she should have realized the moment they met here: her mind was not clouded by the all-consuming desire for him that it usually was.  Usually his mere presence was enough to make her feel hot, and spending enough time in it made her body shake with need.  Even as his member grew larger and more rigid the longer he spoke, she felt no such pull towards him this time.

“I’ve heard enough,” she said. “Your lies can’t get to me, demon!”

“You name me a liar; I’m hurt,” he said mockingly. “I’ve never lied to you, Darlin’, not once in all the time we’ve known each other.  The liars are the people around you, with very few exceptions.”

“I’ll hear no more of this filth,” she said.  “You have only ever come to me in dreams, so if you are here now, this must be a dream, and if this is a dream, then this is my mind.  I command you to leave!”

He sneered and tried to take a step forward, but it looked as if he had hit an invisible door.  “What the…”

“Begone!” she cried, with strength she knew not the source of.  The demon stepped back once, then twice, then more, until he was running backward down the hill.  As he hit the field of flowers, he fell backward and disappeared.

Daenerys looked in shock as her tormentor fled from her.  Her shock only grew as the winter roses in the field below transformed in unison into beautiful white lilies.  She turned to the blasphemous tree and saw it transform into a mighty oak.  She could hardly believe it; she had won.

Daenerys’ eyes flew open, and she sat up, looking around her.  She was in her bed, in her room; she was no longer in her dreams.  She felt around her body and was delighted by the lack of sweat.  There was no maddening slickness between her legs, either.  For the first time in a long time, she felt like herself.  She got out of bed and threw the curtains open to see the beginnings of the sunrise.  It was dawn, earlier than she had woken up in her life, and yet she felt more rested than she could remember.

The strange Septon’s words had weighed heavily on her mind after the initial relief she felt from her confession faded.  She had been convinced that it was meant as a test, that his temptation was meant to be resisted, and that she had done well in doing so.  In her dream, she had her proof.  Passing that test had been what convinced the Seven to give her strength to battle the demon; she just knew it.

She left her room and found Bessy just beginning her duties for the day.

“You’re up early, miss; is something wrong?” the servant woman asked.

“Nothing’s wrong, Bessy, nothing at all,” she replied with a smile. “I want you to draw me a warm bath.”

“Warm miss?” Bessy asked in surprise.

“As warm as you can stand, and then warmer still,” Daenerys replied.

“Right away, miss,” Bessy said as she nodded.

As she sank into the hot bath a while later, Daenerys could not help but sigh.  Bathing in warm water for the first time in years felt even better than she remembered.  It was an indulgence she knew, something that she would not enjoy often, but after beating back the fiend that had sought to corrupt her for years, she felt she deserved a treat.

She felt more sure than ever that she was making the right decision in becoming a Septa.  A week ago, she could not have stood up to the demon; yesterday, she couldn’t.  Today she could, though, and to her, it was proof that as she drew closer to the day when she would make her holy vows, she was growing stronger through her faith.

*****

“You seem chipper today,” Margaery commented as they left the orphanage.

“Who wouldn’t be chipper after seeing those adorable little faces?” Daenerys asked.

“You,” Margaery replied. “You love reading to them as much as I do, but I can’t recall the last time I saw you this...at peace, I guess.”

“I guess I’m just excited about next week,” Daenerys lied.  The only person she had ever told about the dreams who wasn’t on the other side of a confession booth was her stepmother.  She believed that she could trust Margaery not to tell anyone about her dreams, but she didn’t know if her oldest friend would think her mad; the Seven knew she wondered at times.

“I can’t say I feel the same,” Margaery replied, her voice suddenly strained. “I’m really happy for you; it’s what you’ve wanted for so long, but I’m going to miss you.”

Daenerys took Margaery’s hands in hers and smiled at her.  “We’ll see each other again some day, and I promise to write.”

“Do you know where exactly you’ll be headed?” Margaery asked.

“Once I make my vows in the Sept of Baelor, I’ll be sent to the Starry Sept to do my training,” Daenerys replied.  “From there, it’ll be wherever there’s an opening at a Motherhouse.”

“Oldtown is beautiful at least,” Margaery replied, “and it smells a great deal better than King’s Landing.”

“A blessing in itself,” Daenerys giggled.

“You really are excited,” Margaery said. “I can’t recall the last time I heard you giggle.”

“It’s been some time since I felt like laughing,” Daenerys admitted. “Enough about me, though; tell me how things are going with Renly.”

“He’s really quite lovely,” Margaery said, looking away for a moment. “You really wouldn’t believe how much of a gentleman he is to me, how undemanding.”

“It sounds like you’re happy,” Daenerys commented.

“I am,” Margaery replied. “It’s not exactly as I envisioned as a girl, but I know I can make things work.”

“I’m happy for you,” Daenerys said. “You’re lucky to have older brothers with suitable friends.”

“It did make things simple,” Margaery said. “I can’t imagine being one of those women who ends up with a much older man.  No offense meant to your father or stepmother, but I really can’t picture making something like that work.  The idea of marrying one of my parents’ friends...”

“They’re both fortunate that they were able to make it work,” Daenerys admitted. “They do seem to love each other, despite the difference in their ages.”

She gazed off in the distance, towards her manor home.  “Papa always wanted a bunch of children.  My mother and him, well, they tried.  After a decade and a half of miscarriages and stillbirths, I must have seemed like such a blessing.  Turned out to be a curse.”

“Hey!” Margaery chided her, pulling her in for a hug.  Daenerys wept on her friend’s shoulder.  It didn’t matter how much time passed; she never stopped feeling guilty for killing her mother.

“You are no curse, Daenerys Targaryen,” Margaery insisted, running her fingers through her hair. “It’s a risk every woman takes each time, and I have yet to meet one who could look at her children and say it wasn’t a risk worth taking.”

“You’re going to be a wonderful mother some day,” Daenerys said.

Margaery’s hand stilled for a moment before she replied, “yes, some day.”

Daenerys pulled away from her friend in confusion. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Margaery replied, “nothing at all.  Let’s get back, shall we?”

Daenerys nodded, and the two turned to continue on their path.  As they did, a short, brown-haired girl they hadn’t noticed before, just barely avoided barreling into them.

“Ow!” Daenerys exclaimed, grabbing her wrist.  It turned out the girl had only mostly missed her and had managed to scratch her with her nails.

“Sorry, miss,” the girl said, and Daerenys stood frozen at the sight.  It wasn’t a girl at all, but a young woman with dark hair and gray eyes, just like the demon.  The woman spoke with a Northern accent as well.  Before Daenerys could say a word, the woman continued running.  It was only then that she noticed her assailant was wearing trousers like a man.

“Ingrate!” Margaery yelled after the woman.  Turning to Daernerys, she asked, “did she hurt you?”

“Just some shallow scratches from her fingernails,” Daenerys replied.

“You’ll want to clean those when you get home,” Margaery said. “There’s no telling where that little street rat has been.”

“Yes, mother,” Daenerys said teasingly, earning a glare from her friend.

As the two continued on, Daenerys absentmindedly ran her fingers over the scratches.  They really were shallow, not even deep enough to draw blood, but they stung strangely.

*****

By the time Daenerys returned home, she was feeling unwell.  She felt warm in her dress, and her skin had grown clammy.  She walked in, barely remembering to lock the door and remove her shoes, and noticed her stepmother in the sitting room, reading a book.

“You look dreadful,” the woman said the moment she saw her.

“I don’t feel all that great either,” she admitted. “I must be getting Tommen’s cold.”

“Well, see yourself to your room before you spread it further,” the older woman snapped. “Tommen just started feeling better today, and I won’t have him made sick again.”

“Alright, I’ll go lay down,” Daenerys said. “Please let Papa know when you see him.”

Her stepmother just made a noise of agreement as she returned to her book.  Daenerys climbed the steps to the second floor of the manor, every step making her feel more and more weary.  When she entered her room, she didn’t even bother to change, figuring that she would just rest for a few minutes and change into her nightgown if she thought she needed to sleep.  Consciousness left her the moment her head touched her pillows.

Daenerys gasped as she came to, taking in the pitch-black room around her.  She did not know how long she had slept for, just that for the first time in a very long time she had not dreamed.  Her neck was stiff as she sat up, and she took a moment to stretch it.  Between her stiff neck and the unruffled look of her clothes, she wondered if she had moved a single muscle in the hours since she closed her eyes.  She scratched absentmindedly at her wrist and noticed that there were no marks.  Lighting a candle to better examine the skin.

“Not a single mark,” she murmured to herself in confusion.  That was very odd since, while the scratches were shallow, they were a vibrant red before she went to sleep, and the skin around them was quite puffy.  She sighed and opened a window, allowing in the cool night breeze.  There would be no way of knowing what time it was without checking one of the clocks outside, but it was clearly hours before dawn, and Daenerys knew she was too well rested to sleep again.  She was also starving, and while she would break her fast when she usually did, she was keen to find out how long it would be.

“I am already dressed,” she thought to herself. “There’s no harm in wandering about if I’m already up.”

She placed the candle in a holder and used it to light her way as she left her room.  The servants were all asleep as well, denoting just how late it was, and Daenerys found no one as she made her way downstairs.  The largest clock in the manor was the ornate grandfather clock in the main sitting room.  It would be the easiest to see in the minimal light.

Just as she reached the bottom step, out of the corner of her eye, Daenerys swore she saw a pale blue light.  When she turned her head, there was nothing there, but she could not shake the sense that she was not alone.

“I’m fine,” she tried to reassure herself. “It’s just the darkness getting to me.”

As she walked towards the main sitting room, that eerie feeling that there was someone or something with her abated.  She was just about to reach the room when, on the floor, she saw that pale blue light again, coming from behind her.  Whipping around, she was again greeted with the sight of pitch blackness.  Holding the candle before her as ifit were a shield, she walked slowly and carefully towards the strange light she was sure she had seen.

“Who’s there?” she whispered.  Silence was her answer, and as she walked forward, she realized that both times she had seen the light, it had been coming from the direction of the manor’s front door.  Her heart raced as she reached the door.  She couldn’t say what compelled her to do so, but something about the strange light made her want to investigate further.  Taking a slow breath to steady herself, she braced herself and opened the door.

Red eyes, the color of blood, were the first thing she saw.  The white fur was the second, and the sheer enormity of the animal was the third.  A gigantic wolf sat outside her door, staring at her, his head turned slightly to the right.  She couldn’t move, she couldn’t speak and she couldn’t believe it when the wolf rolled onto his back and panted at her with what could only be described as a smile on his large, suddenly less ferocious face.

“Hello,” she managed to squeak to the wolf.  The large creature just rolled back and forth on his back, still looking like he wanted nothing more than for her to rub his belly.  Heart hammering in her chest, Daenerys took a cautious step forward to pet the wolf.  She didn’t know if she could have shut the door fast enough to keep him out, but she hoped that giving him what he wanted would keep her safe.

His fur was soft and looked groomed, as if someone had given him a bath recently.  Daenerys couldn’t fathom who could possibly own such a monstrously large animal, but when she found a simple collar around his thick neck, she could not help but conclude that somehow the wolf was someone’s pet.

“You’re remarkably friendly, you know,” she said softly.  Fast as lightning, he flipped onto his paws and licked her cheek.  She giggled at the surreal experience.  The wolf then got up and walked away.  Daenerys shook her head and made to head back inside when she felt a cold, wet sensation on her wrist.  She turned and saw that the wolf had padded back and was pushing his head against her.  She was about to pet his head when he carefully put his teeth on her bracelet and tugged, breaking the clasp like it was nothing and running off with it.

“Hey!” she yelled.  The wolf ran a good hundred yards down the trail from her manor before turning around and sitting down to stare at her again, as if he intended for her to give chase.

That bracelet belonged to her mother, and it was one of the only things she had of hers.  Daenerys couldn’t lose it, even if it meant chasing after a bloody wolf in the middle of the night to get it back.  She quickly put on a pair of shoes, picked up her candle holder, and ran in the direction of the white wolf.  He had indeed waited for her and even let her get within a few feet before he bolted away.

“Get back here, you thieving mutt!” she cried.

The wolf led her on a path through the dark streets of King’s Landing.  Even in the wealthiest district high up on Visenya’s Hill, she knew running around on her own at night was foolish.  By the time it dawned on her just what she had done, though, she was already well away from the safety of her family’s manor.  Twisting and turning through the narrow streets, Daenerys was nearly out of breath when the wolf finally dropped the bracelet and took off.

“Seven, give me strength,” she groaned as she panted for breath.  She had not run since she was a child, and even if she had, running in her dress would still have been a taxing endeavor.  She picked up the bracelet and rejoiced at the sight.  The damage to the clasp was minor, her furry thief having been surprisingly gentle.  It would be simple enough to have it repaired later that day.  First, though, she would have to go home, something she was not looking forward to attempting while she couldn’t see more than a foot in front of her.

As she began to contemplate trying to find her way home, essentially blind, Daenerys noticed that she recognized the building that she had been inadvertently led to.  This was the manor of Renly Baratheon, Margaery’s new home.  Daenerys could scarcely believe her good fortune.  The hour was late, and the couple would surely be abed, but hopefully they wouldn’t be too cross with her, and at any rate, she was sure they would be able to arrange an escort for her.  As she moved to grasp the heavy cast iron doorknocker, Daenerys noticed that the front door was slightly ajar.

“How odd,” she murmured to herself.  Opening the door, she saw that the manor was as dark as her own, save for light coming from one of the rooms upstairs.

“Oh fuck,” she heard a male voice call out, and she felt her face redden at the foul word.  It was something she had only ever heard the demon use.  There was a loud banging sound then, and Daenerys grew concerned.  Setting the candle holder down on a nearby table, she walked up the stairs towards the source of the light and noise.  As she got closer, she heard the telltale sound of heavy breathing and hoped that no one was hurt.

“Fuck that’s good,” that male voice she recognized as Renly’s said just as the lit room came into view.  Daenerys turned the last corner and froze at the sight she came across.  Renly Baratheon was standing, fully nude, in the room while Margaery’s brother Loras, equally nude, took his manhood in his mouth.  She couldn’t move, and for a moment, she couldn’t even breathe.  What she was seeing was a sin of the gravest order, but it was also a hideous betrayal of her dearest friend.  Rage nearly overtook her as she heard another voice.

“You really are remarkably good at that,” Margaery commented.  “How do you not choke?”

Loras stopped bobbing his head on Renly’s member and looked at the bed, saying, “it all comes down to practice.  I could teach you if you like.”

“Loras?” Renly asked.

“What?” Loras said, turning back to his brother-in-law, “a mouth is a mouth, darling, and Marge here looks so much like me we could be twins, though I insist that I am the pretty one.”

Daenerys peered further inside, just in time to see Margarey roll her eyes.  Her friend was as nude as the others, lying on her back with her long legs spread wide.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that, brother dear,” she replied dryly, “and as generous as your offer is, I’ll pass.  You spend enough time with Renly’s cock in your mouth for us both.  Is that as large as it gets?”

“Hey?!” Renly said, sounding shocked and irritated.

“I meant nothing by it, husband; you look quite sizable; I was just wondering if we could get on with it,” Margaery said.

“You’re sure you want to do this, Marge?” Loras asked.

“Look,” she replied, “I know I’m not what you like, Renly, but people will ask questions if we don’t have children.  Our last attempts didn’t work…”

“I really am sorry, Margaery,” Renly said, sounding ashamed.

“It’s nothing you can help,” Margaery said soothingly.  “I want a baby; I want a baby with my husband, and if you need my brother to be inside you while you give me one, then so be it.”

Daenerys just stared at Margaery, a girl she had called a friend since they were five years old, in shock and confusion.  This wanton woman, who watched and encouraged her own brother to commit acts of debauchery with her husband, was not the woman she knew.

“What could she even mean by inside him?”she wondered.

“You’re the greatest wife I could have possibly asked for,” Renly said, his voice full of warmth and gratitude.

“I know,” Margaery replied with a smirk.  “So how do you want me?  On my hands and knees, I would look less like a woman; my hips aren’t all that wide.”

“No,” Renly replied, approaching her. “You’re doing something for me that, frankly, I don’t think any other woman would.  The least I can do is look you in the eye.”

“Are you ready, Loras?” she asked.

Daenerys hadn’t paid the other Tyrell any attention since he parted from Renly and when she looked over to where he was, she noticed that he was covering his member in what looked like oil.

“Alright, you two start,” Margaery instructed, “and once you’re going, we can figure out how to reposition ourselves to get him inside me.”

“It’s not that difficult, really,” Renly said.

Margaery cocked an eyebrow at her husband, saying, “you’ve done this before?”

Renly sounded mildly uncomfortable as he replied, “well, not with a woman.”

“Alright, then I’ll yield to your experience,” she said with a shrug.

Renly bent over the bed, positioning himself between Margaery’s legs.  Loras approached them and stood behind Renly.  Taking his member in his hand, he quickly lined himself up with the only hole Renly had.

Daenerys turned away as she heard Renly let out a lewd moan.  She fled down the stairs as quickly as she could, trying desperately to stay quiet, though she imagined that the three of them were too engrossed in whatever they were doing to pay her much heed.  She did not know what she had just witnessed; she couldn’t imagine how a woman as good and lovely as her oldest, dearest friend could participate in something like that, and she had no idea how she was going to look Margaery in the eye ever again.  She barely remembered to grab her candle, which was by then mostly burned, as she left the manor.

The path the wolf had led her on was winding and labyrinthine, but as she fled Baratheon Manor, Daenerys’ only hope was somehow tracing it back to her home.  She craved nothing so much as the familiar walls of her family home, save perhaps the warmth and comfort of her bed.  She knew that she remembered the last couple turns the wolf had led her on, and as she reached the first part of her journey where she had a decision to make between two possible paths, she saw the distinct light of a lantern in the distance.

A lantern would have been a better idea than a simple candle, just as not leaving her manor would have been a monumentally better idea than chasing after a thieving wolf.  As she took a step towards the person with the lantern, she tripped over a rock, falling to the ground.  The candle flew out of its holder as she fell and towards a puddle Daenerys nearly landed in as well.

“No!” she hissed as her only source of light was snuffed out.  Her eyes filled with tears of bitter rage.  This night just kept getting worse.  She forced herself to her feet and walked, more carefully after her fall, towards the moving source of light.  It was the only thing she could make out any more.

As she got closer, she noticed that there were two figures bathed in the light of the lantern: the one holding it, clearly a man, and a woman with him, both of them golden-haired.

“It was a lovely night as always,” came the woman’s voice, and Daernerys almost wept with relief as she recognized it as her stepmother’s.

“What in the world is she doing out at this hour?” Daenerys couldn’t help but wonder.  As she moved closer, she realized that she was too relieved to really care.  It wasn’t as though she had a great excuse after all.

“It was, wasn’t it?” the man replied, and Daenerys realized that she recognized him as well.  Jaime Lannister, her stepmother’s brother.

“Don’t get too full of yourself now,” her stepmother replied, her voice teasing and weirdly sultry, “there’s always room for improvement.”

“You’re not wrong,” Jaime laughed. “After all these years, you keep getting better.”

“So do you,” her stepmother said.  Her stepmother kissed her brother then, and Daenerys blinked.  For a moment, it almost looked like she kissed his lips.

“So how go things with the pious one?” Jaime asked.

“I’m nearly rid of the little bitch,” her stepmother replied. “She takes her holy vows next week.”

Daenerys stood there stunned, refusing to believe she had heard that right.

“I must admit it’s very fortunate that she’s willingly giving up her rights to the Targaryen estate,” Jaime said.  When Cersei burst out laughing, he added, “what’s so funny?”

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Cersei replied, still laughing. “I was going to wait until after she was shipped off to Oldtown to tell you, but we’re close enough; I’ve been pushing her towards the faith for years, ever since she came to me in hysterics about some bawdy wet dream she had had.”

Daenerys felt her heart split in two.  The woman before her had been a mother to her all her life, or the closest thing she had had to one.  She had trusted her with her deepest, most terrible secret.

“It does simplify things,” Jaime said.  “At the rate he’s going, Aerys can’t have that long left, and once he’s gone, the entire estate will go to our children.”

“Our?!” Daenerys wondered what he could possibly mean for just a second before Jaime brought his sister’s lips to his and kissed her passionately.

Her mother was silver-haired and purple-eyed like her father, while her sibling’s mother had golden hair and green eyes.  It had never occurred to her question why none of the three had eyes or hair the same color as hers.  Even if it had, she would never, in a million years, have guessed the true answer.  For the second time that night, she watched someone close to her commit an act of unspeakable sin, only this one was infinitely worse.  Cersei had been lying to her and to her father for as long as she had known either of them.

Daenerys backed away from the twins slowly, fearing that if she watched any more, she would empty her stomach and give away her position.  It was even more important now that she return home and quickly.  Her father had tobe told the truth of what his vile wife had done.  Daenerys only prayed that her father would not take it out on her siblings.  They were innocent and blameless in their mother’s wickedness.

When Daenerys had come to the fork in the road, the lantern she had gone off in search of had been on the path she thought was the wrong one.  As she retraced her steps, intending to take the other path in hopes of hurrying home, she bumped into something solid and warm.

“Well, hello there.”

Daenerys felt her blood go cold at the unpleasant-sounding man’s words.  When he grabbed her by her arms and spun her around to force her against a wall, she screamed.

“Quite the set of lungs on her,” another equally uncouth man chuckled darkly.

“Gonna enjoy hearing her use em,” a third piped up.

“Who...whoever you are, I promise you that if you escort me back home safely, you will be richly rewarded,” she stuttered, hoping to appeal to their greed.

“Whoever we are?” the first voice asked. “This little bitch doesn’t know who I am.  I’m a fooking legend in this city, girl.  I’m Karl fooking Tanner...”

As the loud man went onespousinghis apparent infamy, he let go of Daenerys’ right arm.  She felt around the brick wall she was held against, hoping to find something she could use.  After a moment, her hand stumbled on some kind of club or stick leaning against the wall.  It felt thick and heavy, just the sort of thing that she could use.  Daenerys forced herself to think of something other than her predicament, of her stepmother’s betrayal and her rage at the older woman she had loved since she was a girl.  She thought of how desperately she needed to return home to warn her father.  Rage and determination chased away her fear, and without another thought, she grabbed the stick and brought it up as hard as she could, catching Karl between his legs.

“Urgh,” he grunted, letting her go and collapsing to the ground.  Daenerys tore off past him as quickly as she could, hoping against hope that the darkness would be her ally and help her escape these vile men.

“Get that cunt!” she heard Karl yell, his voice much higher-pitched than it was before for some reason.

She ran as fast as she could in her dress.  She couldn’t let herself think for a moment because if she did, doubt and the hopeless reality of her situation would sink in.  She was shorter and less conveniently dressed than her pursuers; after all, she needed a miracle.

“Father above, please…” she started to pray, only to be cut off by a bloodcurdling scream from behind her.

She didn’t pause for a moment, didn’t look behind her, or even slow down; she just kept going, even as a second scream and then a third echoed through the empty streets.  In the darkness, she didn’t see the uneven ground, and for the second time that night, she tripped and fell.

“No!” she exclaimed in panic.  She struggled to her feet, knowing that she needed to keep going, when she felt a cold wetness press into her arm just by her torn sleeve.  She stilled as what could only be a gigantic furry paw swiped gently along her arm.  She reached out tentatively, refusing to believe she could possibly have been saved by the very creature who had put her in this predicament, but as she felt around what seemed to be the head of a giant dog, she knew it was the wolf.

“You!” she exclaimed in shock.  His snout was wet with something warm and viscous, and she realized only belatedly that it must be blood.  She tore her hand back as though it had been burned.

As before, the wolf made not a single sound save for his breathing.  Daenerys settled back on the ground and caught her own breath.  She was caught between fury at the wolf for thrusting her into this bizarre, awful night and gratitude to him for saving her from the fate those men had in mind.  Her body shook as it relaxed, as if it needed to expel the panic.  As she settled, she realized that being mad at the wolf was pointless; not only had it been her foolish decision to follow him, but if she had not, she never would have discovered Cersei’s treachery.

“I need to return home,boy,” she whispered to her silent companion. “By the gods, I wish you could lead me home.”

The wolf clamped his mouth over her hand, making her yelp, but she quickly realized that he wasn’t biting down on her, just holding her with surprising gentleness.  He tugged lightly, and she got to her feet, following along for a couple steps.

“Let me go,” she said, pulling away.  He let go of her hand and waited for her, not moving a muscle.  As she wiped the wet appendage on his fur, he started moving, and she followed along.  She held her hand on him, realizing that he was so tall that she could rest her hand on him comfortably as she walked and let him guide her.

After everything she had seen that night, a wolf who could follow requests and lead people to their homes wouldn’t be the strangest, and even if he just led her in circles, she knew that she was safer with him than alone.  She had wanted to get home before Cersei, but even if she didn’t, all she truly needed was a moment alone with her father.  If she had to wait for the light of dawn to make her way home, it would be safer than risking another encounter with men like the ones the wolf had saved her from.

Her companion seemed to know where he was going.  Whether or not it was where she hoped, where she could hardly see in front of her at all, the wolf had no such problems.  He didn’t hesitate for a moment, pause to sniff around, or seek to get a better look; he simply led her on a slow, steady path through the narrow streets of the city.  She didn’t feel foolish following the animal; she was too busy feeling safe, and she realized after a while that something about the snow white wolf with the blood red eyes felt familiar, as if they had met before that day.

As Daenerys started to ponder this, the wolf stopped and sat down.  Daenerys felt around in front of her and realized in awe that she was feeling the banister of the steps leading up to her family manor.  As she turned to the wolf, wondering how in the world he had actually done as she’d hoped, she found that he was gone.  She leaned against the banister and wondered, not for the first time in her life, if she was going mad.  Unlike every other time she had wondered this, she had not just woken from some terrible dream, nor, she was sure, was she in one at that moment.  She let out a slow, shaky breath and climbed the steps to the manor.

The door was unlocked, which would normally have been a bad thing, but in this case it was good because it meant that Cersei hadn’t returned yet.  Daenerys had not been looking forward to trying to find the spare key behind the loose stone if the other woman had beaten her home.  She walked inside, shutting the door behind her, and carefully felt her way to a table where she knew there were candles and matches.  She lit one and retrieved the candle holder she had stashed between her breasts to place it in.

Examining her hands, she saw that the left one was stained red in places from the blood on the wolf’s face.  With the candle in hand, she had a real source of light for the first time in what felt like ages, even if it had probably been less than an hour.  The ability to see let her find a basin of water the servants had left out quickly enough.  It would have been sitting there for hours by then, but it was infinitely better than dog drool and the blood of criminals.  She washed her hands as best she could until the bloodstains were gone and considered her next move.

Logically, she knew that there was no need to wake her father in the middle of the night.  Cersei was presumably still out, and the deceitful woman did not know that Daenerys had overheard her talking to her brother and lover.  It would not be difficult to get a moment alone with her father, perhaps in his study when Cersei was occupied elsewhere.  Daenerys couldn’t shake the feeling; however, that time was not on her side.  Perhaps it was just how the night had gone, but she feared that she would deeply regret letting another moment pass without speaking to her father about all she had learned.

The path to her father’s room wasn’t that long, but it was long enough for her to realize that she had no real proof.  What she had overheard could easily be denied, and while the fact that not one of her father’s children with Cersei had any of his features was odd, it wasn’t impossible.  By the time she reached the door, she was already having serious doubts and contemplating what she could do to gather further proof.

“I could tell him I’m having doubts about making my vows,” she thought to herself. “Septa Beatrice would not be terribly cross if I delayed it just a little.  A few months should be enough to prove Cersei’s duplicity.”

She cracked open the door and went still as she heard her father say, “Rhaella.”

“Papa?” she asked softly.

“Rhaella,” her father repeated.

She stepped inside and realized that he was talking about her mother.  She smiled at that.  Her mother had been a good and honest woman, by all accounts.  She was loyal and loving, unlike the vile creature who had lied to them both for nearly two decades.

“Rhaella, we can’t,” he said, still asleep. “We can’t have a babe.  Get rid of it.”

Daenerys froze, her jaw falling open.  She couldn’t have heard that correctly.

“Father knows people who can do it quietly,” her father added.

What her father was describing, Septa Beatrice had once condemned as one of the most vile sins imaginable.  The murder of an innocent and the rejection of the greatest blessing the gods can bestow on a couple.

“Did he know?” she wondered to herself. “Did he fear that I would kill her?”

No matter what the Septa said, she could not bring herself to condemn her father for trying to save his wife if he had suspected the birth would go as badly as it did.  Perhaps he had a vision of it.

“We’ll be wed, next year,” her father said, “no sooner.”

The pieces clicked in Daenerys’ mind, and she had to lean against the wall for support.  Even then, she slowly sank to the floor as a terrible possibility took hold of her mind.  She blew out the candle she was carrying inadvertently as she went.

“I’m so sorry, Rhaella,” her father said, now sounding like he was weeping. “I didn’t know.”

That all but confirmed Daenerys’ fears.  Her father might not have known, but she did.  Septa Beatrice, when discussing the sin of infanticide, told her that the gods often chose to punish those who committed it by making it harder for them to have children down the line.

“Was that why, Papa?” she asked aloud. “Was that why you only had one child through two marriages?  Was that why Mother died?”

Tears came and refused to stop as Daenerys wept openly and increasingly loudly.  She struggled to her feet and left the room as quickly as she could.  She did not want to wake her father; she couldn’t bear to speak to him just then.  She rushed to her room and collapsed on the bed, a sobbing mess.  All her life, Daenerys has blamed herself for her mother’s death.  Every time her father looked at her mother’s portrait and looked sad, she felt terribly guilty.  She had called herself a curse more than once, feeling like her very existence was something she needed to atone for, and the entire time it had been his fault.

“Daenerys?” Myrcella’s soft voice came from her doorway.  She looked over to the doorway but couldn’t stop crying long enough to reply.

Myrcella walked over to her bed and wrapped her arms around her.  “What’s the matter?”

Daenerys just allowed herself to sink into her sister’s embrace.  Likely realizing that she wasn’t going to get answers any time soon, Myrcella quickly pulled Daenerys so that her head was resting in the younger girl’s lap and gently ran her fingers through her hair.

“It’ll be alright,” Myrcella murmured softly. “Whatever’s wrong, it will be alright.”

“Everything’s wrong,” Daenerys whimpered when she finally found her voice. “Nothing makes sense anymore, and nobody is who I thought they were.”

“Even me?” Myrcella asked, sounding oddly amused.

“No,” Daenerys said, getting up from her sister’s lap and hugging the younger girl. “You’re still you, Cella.”

“Why not turn where you usually do when life gets difficult?” Myrcella asked, her smile clear in her voice. “The faith has long been your guide.”

“You’re right, of course,” Daenerys said. “I’ll return to the Sept of Baelor on the morrow and see guidance; the Seven know I need it.”

“I think the Sept will be the perfect place for you to get what you so desperately need,” Myrcella said, her voice suddenly far colder.

Before Daenerys could question what her sister meant, her world went black.

*****

Daenerys awoke to the familiar sight of the Sept of Baelor.  The sun had not yet risen, but the massive, beautiful building was somehow well lit.  She had never seen it at night before and had no idea if this was simply how it normally looked or not.  As she thought about it, she had no idea how she got there either.

“Myrcella?” she asked, her last memory being her sister’s comforting presence.

“Who?” a deep male voice with a Northern accent asked.

Daenerys turned and saw a tall man in the robes of a septon, his hood pulled over his face.  She recognized his voice as belonging to the Septon she had confessed to the other day.

“Septon?” she asked in confusion. “How...how did I get here?  I don’t recall.”

“You were brought here by a young woman who said you were deeply troubled, child,” the Septon replied.

“Is she here?” Daenerys asked.

“I’m sure she’s around,” the Septon replied. “Why don’t you tell me what’s troubling you?”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Daenerys insisted. “It’s the middle of the night; she wouldn’t just take me here alone, and why don’t I remember?”

“It seems you have been under a great deal of stress, child,” the Septon said. “Why don’t you sit down and we can see if I can sooth your troubled soul?”

“No,” Daenerys insisted, “no, this doesn’t make sense.  Nothing this night has made sense!”

“I suppose it wouldn’t have,” the Septon chuckled. “How could anyone make sense of reality when all they’ve ever known were comforting lies?  Isn’t that right, Darlin’?”

Daenerys felt her blood freeze in her veins.  The man’s voice changed as he said those last words, sounding far younger and deeper.  The Septon threw the hood off to reveal his face, a handsome face she had seen in her dreams for years.

“No,” she said, her voice but a whisper as she backed away from him, “no, that’s not possible.”

The pale skin, the chiseled features, the dark hair and beard, and those gray eyes were the same as she had always known, but here two curved horns protruded forward from his head.  As he ripped off the Septon’s robes he was wearing, she saw that he had a tail as well, a long, thin thing with a tapered end.

“Oh, I’m afraid it’s very possible, Daenerys,” the demon chucked.  He had never called her by name in the time he had visited her.

“How?” she asked.

“You,” he answered simply. “Your untended need was greater than that of anyone I’ve ever known.  You are such a lustful creature, Darlin’.

“That’s not true,” she insisted. “I am pure and good.”

“And horny,” the demon added with a grin. “There’s nothing wrong with that, of course; everyone is, but your insistent refusal to even think about your needs made them so much worse.  It’s funny; if you had even just touched yourself and brought yourself to a peak even once I wouldn’t have had a way in, but after that stepmother of yours, such a piece of work that one is, scared the daylights out of you over your first dreams, I had my way in.  Your perpetually dripping quim was the flame to my moth, and just about as hot.”

“You have tortured me nightly since I was a girl,” she spat.

“That’s not really true, you know,” the demon replied. “Your first lusty dreams were the product of your own mind, but when you spoke to that old bitch about them and she filled your head with terrifying lies, it made things worse.  Eventually, you were so desperate for the touch of another that you unwittingly drew me in.”

“Everything I saw tonight was a lie, wasn’t it?” she asked, grasping at the sudden hope in her mind. “Margaery, my stepmother, my father, none of it was real.”

“Oh, it was real alright, luv,” the demon chuckled. “The path you took tonight was carefully planned, and not by me, by the way, but all the things you heard and saw were real.”

“Lies,” Daenerys spat.

“Believe what you want, Darlin’,” the demon said with a shrug. “As I say, I would not have forced you to see all that in one night, but my sister, you see, thought I was taking too long with you and tired of seeing me, as she put it, ‘mope over you.’”

“You have a sister?” Daenerys asked incredulously.

“Aye,” the demon replied, his voice oddly warm and full of fondness, “vicious little thing she is, but she means well.”

“And she was the one who, wait, was she the wolf?” Daenerys asked.

“No, that was Ghost. Bloody furball was her willing puppet the whole night,” he chuckled. “He led you to see your friend, who loved her brother enough to marry his lover and remove suspicion from the pair, to the greedy, foolish blonde and her incestuous lover, and then back to your father, who dreamed this night of his greatest regret.  By the way, I fixed the clasp on your bracelet.”

He threw the small gold chain to her, and she caught it.  She could only stare at the repaired bracelet blankly.

“I’m just glad she didn’t show you what I caught your Septon Mathias doing with one of the alter boys,” the demon said. “I may be a creature of lust and sin, but even I have limits.”

The mention of Septon Mathias reminded Daenerys of just where she was. “How are you here in this most holy place?”

“That is an interesting question, isn’t it?” the demon asked with a grin.  He wandered over to the statues of the seven, each one a representation of one of the divine aspects.

“Don’t damage them, please,” Daenerys pleaded.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Darlin’,” the demon chuckled. “Without this ridiculous faith, I never would have found my way to the physical world.  I’m actually kind of grateful.”

He reached over the statue of the maiden, the lovingly scupted image of a beautiful young woman in a simple dress, and cupped her breasts.

“Stop that!” Daenerys cried.

“This is how I show gratitude,” the demon replied. “I wonder who the sculptor’s muse was for this one.  Lovely figure on her, not as great as yours, but lovely all the same.”

“You are a degenerate blasphemer,” Daenerys growled.

“And yet here I am, in the Sept of bloody Baelor, naked as a newborn babe, and fondling the maiden,” the demon drawled. “You asked how I was here, and that is a good question.  Why have I not been smote where I stand?”

Daenerys took a step back.  The demon’s question was one she had been wondering about herself.  Why would the Seven not strike down such a beast in this of all places, the heart of the Faith?

“Go on then, Daenerys, ask them to do it,” the demon challenged her. “Ask your gods to strike down the great evil in front of you.”

“It is not our place to question them,” she said weakly.

“I’m not asking you to question them, Darlin’, he said. “I’m asking you to pray and ask them to do something that they should have wanted to do already.”

“I…,” Daenerys whimpered.

“You don’t want to ask them,” the demon concluded. “You don’t want to ask them because you don’t want to face what it would mean if they didn’t.”

“That’s not true,” she insisted.

“Yes, it is,” the demon said. “You’ve prayed for far less significant things than this.  Some have happened, some haven’t.”

“It is not our place…” she said before he cut her off.

“Or is it that you don’t want to see me gone?” he asked. “Perhaps you truly have grown fond of me.”

“That’s not true,” she spat.

“Then it must be the fear,” the demon laughed. “After all, if the Seven cannot even strike down a demon of the hells in this, their most sacred place, then perhaps they don’t even…”

“Please!” she cried, her gaze on the statues. “Please remove him from this place, and I will spend the rest of my life atoning for even thinking of doubting you.”

The demon held his arms out at his sides and waited.  Moments passed without anything happening, not a sound passing through the hallowed halls as if the demon was also holding his breath.

“Nothing,” he whispered softly.

Daenerys fell to her knees and wept.  If the Seven could not strike down a beast like him in the Sept of Baelor, of all places, did they have any power at all?  Did they exist?  Her heart seized beneath her ribs as, for the first time in her life, she found herself questioning the most basic truth she knew.

“There, there, Daenerys,” the demon said almost gently. “Even if they’re not real, you aren’t alone.”

“Why are you doing this  tome?” she sobbed. “Why?”

“You’ve fascinated me since the moment I laid eyes on you,” he admitted. “The sheer extent of your willpower, even when you were so young, was incredible.  Your denial of your own basic desires despite how badly they affected you was what drew me to you, but it was also quite impressive.  It took a while before I could get close enough to you to affect your dreams, but once I could, I decided to see if I could tempt you.”

The demon paused and chuckled to himself lightly.

“It never worked.  No matter how much I inflamed your passions or drove you mad with desire, you always forced yourself awake before you could give in,” he continued, sounding impressed.

“You sound like it was a game,” she said.

“I was too proud to admit it wasn’t working,” he admitted. “Understand that I’ve seduced actual septas before.  Your dedication wasn’t just impressive; it was impossible, and with every failure, I grew more and more entranced by you.  If it wasn’t for my sister’s intervention, I don’t know if I would have stopped.”

“I stopped you in the last one, though,” she argued.

“Not really,” the demon said. “When I realized that you were going to make your vows no matter what, I figured that I’d let that pass and then pop up again afterward, hoping that realizing that the Seven hadn’t stopped me or given you the ability to might make you realize they don’t exist.”

“And now I’m just damned,” she said listlessly.

“You were damned,” he corrected, “damned to a life of sterile misery.  Damned because the treacherous  bitch who pretended to be your mother wanted you out of the way so her bastard children could seize your birthright.  I found your situation so tragic that I felt compelled to intervene.”

“They don’t deserve what’s coming to them,” she said. “I mean Joffrey’s…”

“A cunt?” the demon offered.

“I was going to say unpleasant,” she said, glaring at him, “but Myrcella and Tommen are sweet and good.  Even if I don’t tell anyone, Cersei was stupid enough to say the words aloud in the middle of a street.  Your sister didn’t force her to, did she?”

“She would have made her feel safe enough to mention it,” the demon admitted, “but nothing you saw this night was compelled.  Your father dreams of your mother often.”

“Can you protect them?” she asked.

“Your stepmother’s bastards?” he asked, surprised.

“Myrcella and Tommen,” she said, “can you protect them while helping me expose Cersei for the wretch she is?”

“I could,” he said tentatively, “though I would have to ask what you would offer me in exchange.”

“Me,” she said simply.

“Just like that?” he asked, looking genuinely surprised.

“Just like that?” she repeated incredulously. “You’ve spent years tempting and trying to seduce me, exposed the fact that I’ve been lied to by both of the most important people in my life all throughout it, and shaken my faith.”

She rose to her feet and glared at him. “I’ve wanted you at the end of every dream, wanted you in ways I don’t even understand.  I hated myself for it, to the point I had trouble even confessing it.”

“And yet you stopped yourself,” he said, sounding genuinely impressed.

“My faith was absolute,” she said softly, and turning to the statues of the Seven, she continued, “never once did I question them until now.  I can’t swear my vows without that absolute certainty, though.  I would be lying to them and to myself if they’re even...”

She held her hand to the statue of the Father, hoping that perhaps in this final moment, she might be given the sign part of her still wanted.  Silence was the only answer she was given, and so she made up her mind.

“Help me take down Cersei without harming Myrcella or Tommen,” she said, adding, “or Joffrey, I suppose, and I’ll be yours.  Not here, though.  I can’t do...that here.”

“Not terribly fond of the place myself, Daenerys,” the demon chuckled. “I’ll help you deal with Cersei as you want to, and I’ll do all that I can for your sort of siblings.  If we’re going to do this, I should introduce myself, though; my name is Jon.”

“Jon?” she asked in obvious surprise.

“Yes, Jon,” he replied.

“A demon named Jon,” she said.

“It’s a perfectly normal name,” he said, sounding defensive.

“That’s the weird part,” she thought to herself.  Weird or not, she finally had a name to attach to the creature she had, as much as she tried to deny it, desired for as long as she knew desire.

“Take my hand, and I’ll get us away from this place,” he said, holding out his hand.

She placed her hand in his, barely holding back a shudder when she realized just how large it was.  Fire engulfed them both, and before she could even scream, she found herself in a new place, completely unharmed.  She was so busy looking over herself to make sure she wasn’t harmed that it took her a moment to even think about looking around the room.  When she did, she noticed that it was familiar.  The ceiling was high, and the walls and floor were both made of dark stone.  A massive fireplace warmed the room and illuminated the massive bed some distance from it.  Torches lit the rest of the room just well enough for Daenerys to figure out that she had seen the room before.

“I’ve been here,” she said, confused.

“You’ve seen its likeness before in a few of your dreams,” Jon explained.

She turned to look at her demon and swallowed audibly at the sight.  His nudity had been the least of her concerns back in the sept, and she had seen him naked so many times that it had barely registered to her back there.  In this place, seeing the light of the fires shine on his muscular form was very different.  Her concern over the strange demonic form of travel had distracted her from the heat of his touch as well.  With that passing, she could feel her heart hammering in her chest for a different reason.

“You brought me here in dream as well,” she said.

“I’ve wanted to bring you here for a long time,” he admitted.

“Now you have me here,” Daenerys said. “What do you plan to do with me?”

“More than you can imagine,” he replied, his voice low and thick with need.  Before Daenerys could say another word, he took her in his powerful arms and kissed her.  It was a simple thing at first, just pressing his lips to hers, but she felt it ignite something in her she had only ever known in dreams and upon waking from them.

All-consuming need coursed through her so much more intensely than it ever had in her dreams.  Every part of her felt hot in a way she had never experienced, and she wanted nothing more than to rip off her clothes.  She couldn’t do that, however, as in the demon’s embrace she could only cling to him for dear life and bask in his passion.  His initial, oddly chaste kiss had clearly been for her benefit, as the second she wrapped her arms around him and whimpered against his mouth, his tongue snaked inside to play with hers.  She had no idea what she was doing, but he didn’t seem to care, being content to just dominate her mind and body.  She felt something long and very thick press against her and reached down to feel it.  When she realized what it was, she jumped back with a shriek.

“Come now, Darlin’,” Jon chuckled, “he won’t bite.  A favor I’ll ask you to return later.”

She barely heard the teasing words, focused as she was on his manhood.  It was a truly intimidating thing, as long as her forearm and thicker than her wrist.  Its bulbous head pulsed with his heartbeat under her gaze.

“You can touch it if you want,” he said.

Her hand moved as though it had a mind of its own, and she grasped the meaty appendage.  She noticed it was warm, and surprisingly heavy.  She ran her hand gently up and down the shaft, noting that her fingers did not come close to touching as she closed her hand around it.  Though the skin was smooth, the shaft itself was not as it had thick and prominent veins all along it, giving it a ribbed texture.  A bead of translucent, milky liquid pooled on the hole, the smell of which made her mouth water.  She didn’t even realize what she was doing as she licked up the dewy drop.

“Ugh,” Daenerys groaned.  The taste was divine, an ambrosia like nothing she had ever tasted.  Her brain lit up with tingly pleasure, and she knew that she needed more.  She wrapped her lips around the head of the shaft and licked around and over the throbbing knob.

“Sweet hells!” she heard him groan, but only distantly.  No sound could hope to distract her from the utter delight she had discovered.  His increasingly strained praise of her failed to pierce the cloud around her mind.  Every drop of that heavenly liquid on her tongue was a treat, the likes of which she had denied herself for years.  If asked what it actually tasted like, she wouldn’t have been able to put it into words.  All she could say was that it made her brain sing like nothing she had ever put in her mouth before.  Her hands, which had been resting on Jon’s muscular thighs, felt something touch them, and she moved to investigate it.  What she found was a hairy, wrinkled sack filled with what felt like two large lemons.

“Fuck, that’s enough,” he said, pulling her head away from him.

Her first instinct was to rage at Jon for removing that sweet treat from her mouth, but as the fog cleared and she took in the vision of him, his face red and his manhood turgid and glistening, she realized what she had been doing.

“I...I was…,” she babbled.

“Licking my cock,” he finished for her, “and driving me bloody mad with your teasing.  I’ll teach you how to suck it properly another time.”

She was gobsmacked, stunned by her own depravity.  She hadn’t even thought twice about taking him into her mouth, and she liked it.  Her mind wandered to Loras and how much he seemed to enjoy doing the very same to Renly.

“It tasted so good,” she said, as much to herself as to him.

“I’m an incubus,” Jon explained. “Having nice-tasting fluids is one of the perks.”

“I can’t believe I did that,” she breathed.

“You wanted to, and you did,” he said with a shrug. “There’s no point in feeling shame for indulging your desires.  You wanted to taste me, and you enjoyed it, and now I’m going to enjoy tasting you.”

With a wave of his hand, her clothes disappeared from her body and reappeared folded on a table by the bed.  Daenerys froze, too stunned at the sudden move to even try to cover herself up.

“You are perfect, Daenerys,” he said, “from head to toe.”

Standing in front of him then, just as nude as he was, Daenerys felt terrified and exhilarated at the same time.  No man had ever seen her in her small clothes, much less nothing at all.  The creature in front of her was no man, though; he was so much more.  When he took her in his arms, she melted into him, leaving no space between their naked flesh.  He kissed along her neck, and she felt the wetness between her legs grow worse, a trickle of hot arousal quickly running down her thigh.  Jon led her to the bed and took her down until she was lying under him.  He grabbed her heavy breasts and squeezed them in his large hands.

“Oh gods!” she cried, “oh, that feels so good.”

Jon chuckled and grinned at her.  “So pure and untouched, you’ve never known even the illusion of pleasure.  By the time I’m done with you, Darlin’, you’ll not be able to get enough.”

His tongue passed his lips and stretched to inhuman proportions.  As he brought his head to her breasts, that prehensile tongue flicked feather light over her right nipple, and Daenerys nearly screamed.  He continued to torture her that way, kneading and massaging her breasts while his demonic tongue did things to her nipples no human man could ever hope to replicate.  When he decided to stop that, she didn’t know whether to thank him or yell at him, and when he took a nipple in his mouth and started sucking on it like a babe, she was no wiser.

Something was building inside her that she did not understand.  What he was doing to her breasts was the most maddeningly wonderful thing she had ever experienced.  It felt as though little pleasurable bolts of lightning were spreading out from her breasts to the rest of her body.  As much as she was enjoying that, it was having another effect she did not understand.  A pressure was building between her legs, and she did not know how to deal with it.  All she could compare it to was the one time she had touched herself there after waking and how sinfully good it had felt for a brief moment.  If he could make her feel like that just by stimulating her breasts, she had no idea how she would survive when he touched her there.  As if he sensed her thoughts, Jon chose that moment to descend further down her body.  He trailed hot kisses along her stomach, each one making the pressure between her legs grow worse.

“Jon, please!” she cried.

“Please what?” he replied with a smirk.

“I don’t know,” she whimpered pitifully.

“Yes, you do; you always did,” he said. “You could just never bring yourself to say it, but I think you’re strong enough now.”

“Please touch me down there,” she begged.

“Where?” he asked, his voice clearly amused.

“Between my legs!” she practically growled, quite done with his teasing.

“Say the word Dany,” Jon said. “I know you know it.

“Touch my cunt!” she finally said.

He didn’t say another word; he simply smiled widely at her and buried his face between her legs.  She had expected his fingers and was about to ask what he was doing when she felt that magical demonic tongue on her, and she broke.

“AHHH!” she screamed at the top of her lungs as a wave of pleasure more powerful than she could have ever imagined surged through her entire body.  Her back arched off the bed, and her thighs clamped tightly around his head as she was completely overwhelmed.

He was relentless, doing things to her cunt with his lips and tongue that she didn’t understand.  From the flashes of awareness she got, she concluded that there was something near the top of her cunt that was so sensitive that it felt pleasurable beyond words when sucked on and licked, but could also feel painful, as it did for just a moment before Jon backed away from it.  There was also a spot just a little way inside her that was even more sensitive, and she figured he could not have licked without that impossibly long tongue, but he managed. As he put more and more pressure on that spot, she felt more pressure building inside her, and before she had even come down from the first blast of white-hot pleasure, another even more powerful one broke inside her.

Daenerys’ screams echoed through the room, and she felt she was going to lose her mind.  Everything felt too good to be real, and it all seemed never-ending.  Every time it seemed like the scorching ecstasy making her entire body convulse was going to end, Jon forced another bout of it on her, and it all began again.  One by one, her senses failed her: her vision went black, sounds grew more and more distant  until they disappeared entirely, and scents failed to even register in her overtaxed mind, until all that was left was feeling.  Jon’s thick brown locks under her fingers as she gripped his scalp for dear life and the agonizing ecstasy overtaking her entire mind were all that was left to her.  An eternity passed, and she became vaguely aware that her incubus lover had stopped.

Daenerys opened her eyes and saw a blurry vision of Jon standing before her.  She blinked the tears from her eyes and was able to see him more clearly, noting that his face looked utterly soaked, his beard dripping.

“What happened?” she asked, sounding almost drunk.

“To me or to you?” Jon replied.

“You’re all wet,” she slurred, her brain still fuzzy.

“Your perfect cunt drenched me,” he replied.

“Sorry,” she said.

“Don’t be,” he said, “you tasted even sweeter than I imagined.”

“What did you do to me?” she asked as more of her faculties returned to her.

“I gave you an orgasm,” he replied. “I actually gave you several, but that is what it’s called.

“Incredible!” she sighed, lying back against the comfortable bed.  Her eyes had just fluttered closed when she felt him kissing his way up her stomach.

“Everything you just experienced pales in comparison to what you’ll feel with me buried inside you,” he whispered in her ear.

“Will I survive?” she asked, and as she saw that his cock was resting between her legs, she couldn’t help but add, “will you even fit?”

“Yes and yes,” he chuckled, his deep voice making her cunt quiver, “my fluids differ from a normal man’s in a couple ways.  The first is the taste, and the second is the effect they have on tight little holes like yours.  You will stretch for me, safely and without pain.”

That made her gulp.  He was going to split her in two, and she just knew that she was going to enjoy every moment of it.

“I’m never going to be the same, am I?” she asked breathlessly.

He grinned wickedly down at her as he lined himself up with her dripping cunt. “No, but then you’re going to be mine forever, so I guess it doesn’t matter.”

Daenerys felt that fluid, which she still craved another taste of, leak from his cock and spread over her cunt, making her gasp at the sensation.  She felt herself growing hotter and more desperate for his attention by the second.  That spot at the top of her cunt that had felt sensitive and wonderful under his tongue swelled and hardened like her pebbled nipples.  He continued to paint her cunt with his cock, slowly and teasingly, driving her further and further into madness.

“Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods!” she screamed, her hands grabbing the sheets under her as if she’d soar off into the stars otherwise.  “Inside me, please!”

“Is that what you really want?” he asked, chuckling.

She glared at him and screamed, “yes!”

“Tell me to fuck you!” he ordered.

“Fuck me!” she cried without hesitation.

Without another word, he thrust forward, and her world went white.  Screams echoed in the distance, and she realized only belatedly that they were hers.  His fluids had made her so desperate with need anddriven her so close to the edge of ecstasy that he had only needed to thrust inside her to make another orgasm rock her entire body.  His shaft filled her entirely, stretching her to the brim.  As she came down from the pure bliss he had inflicted on her, she felt as though she had been empty all her life and finally felt complete.

“By the hells,” she heard him groan, “you’re like a molten vice.”

She looked down, and her jaw dropped at the sight.  The lips of her cunt were stretched wide, almost certainly to their absolute limit, but what was truly astonishing was the way that he could see an outline of his brutish cock through her skin.

“It didn’t hurt,” she said, realizing only then that losing her maidenhead had not come with the pain she had heard of.

“Another benefit of fucking an incubus, Darlin’,” Jon said. “My cock will mold your cunt, your throat, and your arse around it painlessly.”

“My…,” she trailed off in shock, “there’s no way you would fit in my...bottom.”

He just chuckled and replied, “you have no idea how hard you’re going to cum when I fuck that delectable arse of yours, Darlin’,”

She kissed him to silence him and whimpered in his mouth as she felt him pull about half of his colossal cock out of her.  That whimper turned into a loud moan when he thrust back inside to the hilt.

“You feel so good,” she mumbled when he buried his face in her neck.

“You’re everything I knew you’d be,” he whispered in her ear, sounding so tender, “perfect.”

She felt tears prick her eyes and whimpered, “faster.”

He picked up his pace gradually until he was truly pounding her into the bed.  Her moans and screams echoed through the room.  Every time he bottomed out inside her, he hit something deep within her that made lights flash behind her eyes.  As she raced towards another mind-melting orgasm, she began to wonder how she had ever denied herself such pleasure.

“Touch me, please!” she cried, “I’m so close!”

Jon brought his thumb to herlips, and she sucked on it without question until it was nice and wet.  Bringing it down between her legs, he started rubbing that sensitive nub of flesh she wished she had learned to play with years ago.  His other hand found one of her bouncing breasts and pinched the hard nipple.

Daenerys threw her head back, her mouth hanging open in a silent scream, as she was drowned in pleasure again.  Her back arched until it hurt, and her thighs quivered around his hips.  Her nails raked down her back, leaving long, bloody scratches in their wake.

He stopped thrusting as her inner walls constricted around her, just enjoying the feeling of her incredibly tight cunt massaging his length.  When Daenerys finally calmed down and relaxed, he pulled out and gently wiped the strands of her long hair out of her face. With dazed eyes, she stared up at him in wonder and whimpered at the loss of him.

“Did you…?” she tried to ask, unable to find the word.

“Not yet, Dany,” he said. “I want you on your hands and knees.”

“I’ll get right on that,” she sighed, eyes fluttering closed, “if I ever feel my legs again.”

He chuckled and flipped her over on her stomach, making her squeak.  “If your legs are a problem, I can work around that.”

“You’re an utter brute,” she complained.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked.

“I didn’t say that,” she replied, looking back at him.

“Oh gods!” she screamed as he thrust back inside her.

He set a far more brutal pace this time, and all Daenerys could do was bury her face in the pillows and cling to the bedding for dear life.  It felt even better like that, her on her belly and him fucking her hard.  He was treating her like she imagined a man would treat a whore.  She knew she should be angry with him and that she should be horrified.  All she felt was pleasure and and an all-consuming need for more.

She moaned when she felt his hands on the round cheeks of her arse.  He kneaded them for a few moments before spreading them wide.  Before she could even wonder what he was doing, she felt a wet finger circle her most taboo hole.

“That’s dirty!” she moaned in complaint.

“My magic can fix that,” he replied, and she felt a sudden warm sensation on and around her arse.

She felt his hand return to her arse cheek, mirroring the other, and was surprised when she felt something else touch her arse.  She looked behind her and saw that Jon was using his tail to stimulate her.  It felt better than she wanted to admit.

“You like this,” he said, sounding both smug and surprised.

“No, I don’t,” she whined, sounding even to herself like she was lying.

He just chuckled and kept teasing her tight hole while he fucked her cunt.  She was getting close to another peak, and the additional stimulation was only making it come faster.  She started moaning and screaming at his every thrust.  It all just felt so impossibly good that she knew she could not have gone her entire life without such pleasure.  She would surely have gone mad.  His tail started rubbing her harder, and it seemed to be growing slick, as if it were secreting something thick and slippery  Just as she felt herself on the edge, convinced that another few thrusts would be all it took to make her come undone again, his tail pushed inside her arse.

“OH, GODS!” she screamed as her most powerful peak yet rocked her entire body.

“Fucking hells, Dany!” she barely heard him groan, “I’m going to cum!”

“Do it!” she screamed, half-delirious with pleasure, “make me pregnant!”

She heard Jon practically roar just as a flood of hot, thick seed filled her, and her mind went blank.  It was just like the other fluid she had tasted from it, only thicker and more voluminous.  It made her already soul-searing orgasm start again even more powerfully.  As pleasure beyond mortal understanding flooded her brain, she could only scream and shriek to the heavens until finally consciousness left her.

*****

“...Everything you hoped?” Daenerys heard a vaguely familiar-sounding, Northern-accented woman’s voice ask.

“And more,” Jon replied, sounding relaxed and satisfied.

“Are you still mad?” the woman asked.

“I didn’t need your help, Arya,” Jon said, sounding unusually petulant.

Arya just laughed and said, “if I left it to you, you’d have still been trying to seduce her when her hair turned white and her tits slipped to her knees.  I meant what I said; I was tired of seeing you mope.”

Jon just let out a frustrated grumble, much to Arya’s audible amusement.

“I will admit, I understand why you’ve been so taken with her,” Arya said. “She’s stunning.  So is that not-sister of hers.”

“You didn’t hurt her, right?” Jon asked.

Arya scoffed, “I need but a hair these days; she was fine.  I do like that pretty face of hers, though.  I’d love to see it in a rictus of agonizing ecstasy while I’m wrist-deep inside her.”

“Myrcella?" Daenerys thought to herself. “When the truth comes out, even with Jon helping to stop my father from doing anything rash, Myrcella’s prospects will diminish.  Tommen should be alright, while Joffrey will be fine if he avoidsdoing anything too self-destructive.  Myrcella, though, perhaps she would be better off in the hands of the demons.  I know I am.”

Her eyes fluttered open, and she saw Arya standing with Jon, just as naked as her brother.  It was the girl who ran into her in the street the other day as she had come to suspect.  Daenerys decided that she was oddly beautiful.

“Ah, finally awake,” the demonness said. “I’m Arya.”

“Daenerys,” she replied as she sat up.  She was sore and stiff, but she’d be lying if she said that she’d ever felt better.

Arya looked down between Daenerys’ legs and laughed. “You must have been desperate if you didn’t even take care of her first.”

Arya’s hand shot between her legs and felt incredibly warm.  Before Daenerys could say a word in protest, she felt her pubic hair turn to ash and fall off, all without harming her skin in the slightest.  Without the hair in the way, she was able to see why she felt so sore.  Her cunt was swollen and gaping, andthe lips werea pronounced and angry-looking dark pink.

“Hey!” she yelled as Arya swiped a finger between her swollen lips and brought it to her eager tongue.

“Delicious,” the demonness said with a grin. “May I have your sister?  I bet she tastes just as sweet.”

Daenerys just stared at her, gobsmacked, as Jon finally pulled her away.

“Please forgive her, Dany,” he said, glaring at his sister. “She doesn’t interact with humans much.”

“Most of them are so annoying,” Arya hissed, “like your wretched stepmother.  She comes from money; why the hell did she need to take your family fortune for her brother’s kids?  That friend of yours seems sweet, though, and so unusually understanding.”

Margaery was the sweetest person she knew.  Daenerys might not fully understand the relationship she had with Renly, given the relationship he clearly had with Loras, but she was going to be spending her days with demons, so it wasn’t like she had much room to judge.

As Jon and Arya bickered about boundaries and how people interacted on Earth, Daenerys felt exhausted and laid back down.  As she drifted off, she considered that while her life may not have turned out as she had expected, it was, at least, unlikely to be boring.