[145] Confessions and Commands
Chapter 145: Confessions and Commands
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The throne room of the Eyrie stood silent and imposing in the dead of night. Moonlight spilled through the tall, narrow windows, casting long fingers of silver across the cold stone floor. The night was fun.
The weirwood throne of House Arryn loomed before me, its pale surface gleaming like bone in the half-light. I sat upon it, legs spread in casual dominance, watching the pathetic spectacle below.
Lysa Arryn knelt between my thighs, her expensive blue gown pooled around her like spilled ink. Her hair, once carefully arranged, now hung in disarray around her flushed face as she worked to unbuckle my pants with desperate enthusiasm. The sight was both grotesque and fascinating, a highborn lady reduced to this base servitude not by force but by her own twisted desires.
The things we do for power.
The eyes glinted with lust as she stared at my cock. Her following movements were frantic, almost manic in their intensity. Every few moments, she'd glance up with those watery eyes, seeking approval, validation that she was somehow winning a contest her sister never entered. The sheer madness of it was almost pitiable.
Once again, almost.
When she finally paused for breath, I reached down and caught her chin, forcing her gaze to meet mine. Her lips were swollen, her eyes wild with a mixture of triumph and desperation. The moonlight caught the wet cum on her chin, and she made no move to wipe it away.
"For a woman of your station, Lady Arryn," I murmured, my voice echoing in the empty hall, "your mouth has a surprising talent. At least in this, you surpass your sister."
The words struck true. Her face transformed, decades of bitterness blossoming into perverse joy. She let out a laugh, a broken, triumphant sound that bounced off the stone walls like shattered glass.
"Better? I knew it!" She practically vibrated with vindication. "Catelyn was always so prim, so proper! She wouldn't know how to please a real man, a king!" Her hands slid up my thighs, eager to continue her demonstration. "Let me show you more, Your Grace. Let me prove how much more I can—"
"Enough." I tightened my grip on her jaw, stilling her movements. I could only fuck an ugly hag for so long before losing interest. "You've proven your enthusiasm."
Power isn't always wielded with a sword.
I pulled her to her feet, noting how she swayed slightly, drunk on her imagined victory. Her breasts heaved with each breath, as shadows fell over the valleys of her flesh. The sight earned a smile. Despite her age and the ravages of childbirth, there was something almost hypnotic about her complete surrender, like watching a falcon plummet from the sky, knowing it would never pull up from its dive.
"Now," I said, my tone shifting from indulgent to commanding, "tell me about Petyr. Tell me everything you hid from me, and you have my word, you will not be punished. I understand the complexities of the heart."
Her eyes widened, fear flickering briefly before being swallowed by her desperate need to please. She nodded eagerly, her hands clutching at my arms.
"Yes, yes, I'll tell you everything, my king!" The words tumbled from her lips like water through a broken dam. "He thinks he's so clever, but I know... I know all his secrets."
The crazed woman trembled as I once again reminded myself that I should replace the head of Eyrie the moment I got the chance.
****
The wind whipped through my silver hair as Viserion soared over the Narrow Sea, her golden scales catching the morning light like molten metal. Below, the waves churned endlessly, but my mind churned faster.
Braavos.
The name tasted like ash in my mouth. Lysa's obsessive tracking had revealed what I'd feared—Littlefinger had fled to the one city in the known world where even dragons tread carefully. Baelish hadn’t told Lysa about his location, but he communicated with her through ravens. And the ravens didn’t travel directly either, making it hard to track. To preserve his location, he sent the ravens through multiple channels.
It was a masterwork of deception, from Gulltown to a merchant cog in White Harbor, then through a trading post in the Stepstones, before finally revealing its origin at a Braavosi counting house. Lysa had long ago tracked him down on her own, her obsession becoming motivation.
Clever little mockingbird. You know I can't simply burn down the Titan. Tywin Lannister must be there, too.
The Faceless Men were more than whispers and shadows now. That assassin at Casterly Rock had moved like death itself, and if the tales were true, they'd killed dragons before. During the Doom of Valyria, aren’t there rumors that the first generation of Faceless Men killed the dragons and sent the city into chaos? The details were murky in the show, but the threat was real enough.
Power is knowing when not to use it.
Viserion descended toward King's Landing, the city sprawling beneath us like a festering wound that was slowly healing. The Red Keep's courtyard cleared as we approached, guards scattering before my dragon's shadow. As I dismounted, I spotted a familiar figure hurrying toward me. Lord Mace Tyrell, his round face flushed with exertion and relief.
"Your Grace!" He practically bounced despite his girth, reminding me why they called him the Fat Flower. "A successful trip, I trust? I have returned from Braavos myself. As you predicted, the Iron Bank was... less than accommodating to a king they perceived as a debtor."
I allowed a predatory smile to curve my lips. "Of course those fools aren’t excited to have their debts delayed. But your efforts were commendable, Lord Mace. Now, send them a raven. Inform the Iron Bank that the Crown of the Seven Kingdoms has waited enough, and wishes to settle its accounts. All of them. In full." I savored the words like fine wine. "As your daughter must have informed you by now, we have come into a Lannister inheritance. This time, the Iron Bank will come to us."
His eyes widened with understanding. "At once, Your Grace! They'll be falling over themselves to—"
"See that they do." I waved him off, already moving toward the throne room. "And Mace? Make it clear this is a command, not an invitation."
The game changes when you hold all the gold.
As Mace scurried away, I reflected on the true nature of power. The Iron Bank was a blade that cut both ways, financing kings and rebels alike.
One day, that institution will need to be broken and remade. A Central Bank, loyal only to the Crown, issuing a single currency across the realm... now that would be true power. The Federal Reserve of Westeros. A thought that would have made me laugh back on Earth, where such banks already existed and controlled the known world.
In this world? I could do anything.
A servant intercepted me with a bow and a stack of correspondence. The first letter bore Casterly Rock's seal, the handwriting neat and feminine. Myrcella's words were dutiful, almost painfully so.
[Your Grace, I have been missing you terribly. As you commanded, I have begun collecting the outstanding debts owed to House Lannister by the minor houses. The coffers begin to fill. Please come collect it when you have a moment.]
The lion cub learns to hunt.
Before I could read further, a runner burst through the gates, nearly colliding with a guard in his haste. "Your Grace!" He dropped to one knee, chest heaving. "Lady Yara Greyjoy's Black Wind has been sighted on the horizon. She makes for the city now."
My smile widened into something that would have made sharks nervous.
Perfect timing.
"Have chambers prepared for the Iron Queen," I commanded. "And summon my small council. We have much to discuss."
The runner scrambled away as I climbed the steps to the Red Keep proper. With Yara's fleet, I'd have the naval power to project force across the Narrow Sea. We could intercept trade, blockade cities, and begin the hunt for both Tywin and Littlefinger in earnest.
First, my targets are Myr and Pentos, with the goal of completely conquering them and gathering intelligence. Then a visit to Norvos, the sister city of Braavos. I can’t conquer it right away, but there are other options. Arianne had mentioned her mother was from there, the divorced wife of Doran, whom I’d sent Oberyn to meet. It would be interesting to see what secrets that city held. And then, when we're ready, when we know exactly where the lion and the mockingbird nests... then we deal with Braavos.
They'd learn soon enough that the Dragon King's reach extended far beyond Westeros, although that’d put my life at risk by all the possible threats. The throne room doors loomed before me, and I could hear the whispers of courtiers within as I approached.
"Send word to Princess Arianne," I told a passing servant. "Tell her to prepare for a journey. Her mother's homeland awaits."
As I entered the throne room, I caught sight of Margaery near the Iron Throne, her rose-gold gown hugging every curve as she turned to greet me.
She looked delicious, and I appreciated her beauty all the more after spending a night with that ugly hag. The way she moved was pure calculation wrapped in silk, her hips swaying just enough to draw the eye, her bodice cut to display the perfect amount of creamy décolletage.
"Your Grace returns," she purred, dropping into a curtsey that gave me an excellent view. "King's Landing has been lonely without you."
"Has it now?" I let my gaze linger appreciatively. "Well then, my rose, you'll be sad to know I intend to leave again soon. Though I may require... companionship for my upcoming ventures."
Her eyes lit with ambition disguised as desire. "I live to serve, my king."
You live to be queen. But that's what makes you useful. I smiled as I pulled her close, tasting her lips hungrily. Life was great, but I wasn’t satisfied yet. I wanted more, I needed more. And I’d have more.
The next stage of the Game of Thrones was accelerating right at me, and I intended to win every incoming match.
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