The Northern Tyrant [Game of Thrones] Chapter 20 - When The Dragon Wailed (Patreon)

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The battle of the Trident reached a point of no return. A retreat was no longer possible for any side as the toll of all the blood in that ford was too heavy. All the dead bodies there marked an orphan, a widow, or a son gone. 

"Let us do it, Ser Wylis." Eddard Stark solemnly nodded. 

He couldn't deny it even if he wanted to. A strange, almost magical air surrounded Wylis' tall, blood-soaked frame. He felt it, like the man before him wasn't his lesser, but superior. 

"Thank you for trusting me, Lord Stark. I will pave my way towards Rhaegar. Hold Ser Barristan back from lending him strength."

Yet again, Eddard found himself nodding. Was it because of Wylis' undefeatable presence on the battlefield? Was there something more to it? Was it that blood-drenched sword? Was it the confidence? 

Eddard was clear about one thing. He had doubts about the tall man. Half the realm saw Wylis as a simple giant sword-swinging man. But Eddard saw through it. There was grand ambition in those blue eyes. Each battle won was like a calculated move. He had doubts about Wylis' intentions. But he couldn't prove it. 

"For Robert," Eddard said and galloped away with his men. 

####

Eddard Stark… Still as rigid as ever. 

Wylis watched the Lord of Winterfell ride away. He wasn't a fool to not notice the signs of mistrust. Eddard Stark didn't like him, apparently, and it was understandable. Of all the Starks, Wylis had the least interaction with Eddard, thanks to his fostering in the Vale. Yet, somehow, in such a short amount of time, he'd gained a place equal to Eddard's in Robert's inner circle. 

Doesn't matter. He'll be begging me for aid once I've lands to lord over. 

After all, it was true. Wylis did have grand plans and ambitions. 

"You look tired, my friend." Wylis caressed Caliburn's mane. "Just a little more. I'll treat you to top-quality carrots."

"Neighehe!"

Wylis chuckled at the reaction. It wasn't that the horse understood him. It just knew carrots meant the juicy, yummy stuff. 

He gripped the lengthy sword high and turned his horse towards Rhaegar's direction. For now, nobody had tried to come near him, being surrounded by so many dead bodies. But the path towards Rhaegar was filled with royalist men. An unspoken circle of protection had formed around the roaring, sword-swinging prince. 

"Lord Grandison!" He shouted towards the nearest ally he could see. A Stormlands lord who used to be a royalist but was beaten by Robert in the battle of Summerhall and turned to the rebel side. "Can you still fight?"

The man, not that young, was injured and bleeding from his waist. But he was still on the horse, holding his sword. 

"Ser Wylis… Uh… Gods have damned me. The wound runs too deep. But I'll fight till my last breath."

Wylis nodded and pointed towards Rhaegar. "I'm aiming for the crown. I'll spear through them, but I'll need you to cover my tail."

Lord Grandison's eyes sparkled. At his deathbed, this was the last chance to leave behind a glorious legacy. The lord who aided Ser Wylis in killing Prince Rhaegar. It wasn't grand, but it was worth being remembered. 

"By my own blood, Ser, not a soul shall scratch your back. Gods bear me witness, I’ll see it so. Lead the way." 

Wylis didn't waste time and picked up the pace, taking an arrowhead formation. Behind him, Lord Grandison and his men followed just as fiercely. 

Clank!

"Aaaaargh!"

Wylis thrust his sword forward, preserving his energy by not using Earthbending. Robert's absence had already derailed too many things. He couldn't afford to exhaust himself before taking Rhaegar down. 

Thud!

Men fell in front of him; some were trampled by Caliburn's violent rush. Still, some earthbending was necessary to maintain the element of surprise. He had to deal with the spear-wielding soldiers as their reach threatened him and the horse. 

“Go, Ser Wylis! We’ll keep them back!” Lord Grandison shouted. “End him, in all our names!”

On that field, for the rebelling side, Wylis was a source of confidence. He was Wylis the undefeated, the one commander in that army who'd never lost a battle. Lord Grandison felt the same.

Wylis changed his sword hand, raised the long blade high, and grabbed the horse's reins with the other hand. He could see Rhaegar Targaryen right ahead, shouting commands like a crazed man and slashing around. The ford was shallow there; a large tree was nearby. 

"Out of my way!" Wylis roared at the men who dared to come in his way. The newly gained ability of Battle Aura was still active. His body still surged through with thirty percent higher strength. 

Splash! Splash!

Caliburn raced ahead. 

Wylis leaned forward, his grip tightening on the reins and the sword's hilt. His ears were deafened to the sound of blades clanking around him. His eyes, through the slit in his helmet, focused on just one man, standing out the most in that black as night plate armor. 

Clop! Clop!

The shallow part of the ford started. 

This is it! 

Rhaegar Targaryen still hadn't seen him in all that chaos, too occupied with those near him. The helmet restricted his field of view. 

Almost there!

Hopes of the future flashed inside Wylis's head. His dream of holding lands and a castle to his name. Lordship to his title. This was it, the final moment. 

"Rhaegar Targaryen!" He roared at the top of his lungs once he was a few gallops away. He didn't want to be known for stabbing the prince in the back. "Face your death!"

"Protect the Prince!" 

"Stop the giant!" 

The men surrounding Rhaegar tried to interfere. 

Grrrr~

But Wylis used Earthbending on them, using the most energy-efficient means, earth spikes. 

"Wylis!" Rhaegar Targaryen quickly moved his horse around. 

But it was too late. 

Woosh!

Ser Wylis of Winterfell, the giant that rode that day, flew in the air. A leap from the back of the horse, so high, fast, and long, the massive six-foot sword held in a strike pose with the might of both hands.

"Haaaaaa!" Wylis leapt past the heads of the Crownlands' knights who tried to protect the prince. He lunged past their last defense and, before the prince could react, connected. 

BAAAAAM!

He slammed his sword like a bat, both hands on the hilt. He struck and connected with strength that could shatter boulders, let alone a man who was a true dragon only in his delusions. 

Tink-tink-tink!

"Gaaaaaah!" Rhaegar howled with a blood-curdling groan. 

Wylis's blade smashed into Rhaegar's breastplate so hard that it visibly caved in from the blunt force, chipping the sword's edge. The three-headed dragon decoration made of rubies shattered and scattered everywhere, shining like glitter before falling into the water. 

The metallic echo was so loud that it could be heard even amidst the chaos. 

Splash!

Thud!

Prince Rhaegar fell hard to the ground, on his back, wriggling, rolling side to side as his caved armor became his prison. 

Wylis landed right beside him. 

"Get to your feet!" Wylis growled, circling the prince like a wolf. "Fight, or I’ll carve you open where you lie."

"Aaah… ugh… you… I… I will…!" Prince Rhaegar groaned from the blood-soaked water and attempted to stand up. He still had his sword in hand and used it for support. "You will answer… for everything… every last thing…"

"For what? Breaking your teeth?" Wylis mocked him, watching him feebly stand like he was already crippled. "It must have been a delight. When that mad cunt of your father had me fight like a court jester. Made me bleed against three Kingsguards. Must have made you clap like some insane twat."

"Wraaaaaagh!"

Rhaegar rushed towards Wylis, dragging his longsword's tip from the ground and raising it for a strike. 

"Pathetic!" Wylis blocked the prince with ease, clattering his blade. He smashed back so hard that Rhaegar lost the grip of his blade. 

Splash!

The sword fell. 

"Pick it up!" Wylis held back again and pivoted on his heels abruptly. He stabbed like a spear and impaled the royalist who tried to attack him from behind, a knight of some worth, now dead. 

"Stand back!" Prince Rhaegar shouted just as he grabbed the sword again. "All of you… leave him… he’s mine… I’ll end this… myself…"

"Ambitious, I'll give you that. But ambition that can't be backed is just…" Wylis sneered and met the prince's blade. "Madness!"

Clank!

Wylis noticed how weak Rhaegar's strikes were. His initial strike on the chest had already done the damage. But there was something more. Rhaegar felt different, so impatient and foolish. The Rhaegar he knew would have called men for support if he couldn't stand. The Rhaegar he knew was honorable and intelligent. 

Madness? Losing Lyanna must have done it. 

It was plausible reasoning for Wylis. Losing Lyanna meant Rhaegar's prophetic dreams couldn't be fulfilled. 

"Wraaaaah!"

Scrrrr!

Clank!

Their swords met each other, making music from steel. But the difference was visible to any eye that was watching. Where Wylis's movement was fluid, his reactions measured, Prince Rhaegar looked like a madman swinging the blade just for the sake of it. No rhythm, no control, just unchecked zeal.

"Protect the Prince!" 

A few calls to aid the prince came. But Wylis dealt with them easily. Rhaegar was slow, even slowing down more with each movement. The pants, the groans were getting louder. That made it easy for Wylis to kill anyone who interrupted. Thanks to the nearby tree, he didn't need to focus on all sides, and Lord Grandison was nearby. 

“Is that all, Rhaegar?” Wylis interrogated mockingly. "All your madness. Lifelong training. Should've never picked up a sword! Should've joined the whores with your damn harp, singing to men rutting."

"Silence! Silence! Just… silence!" Rhaegar lunged forward, screaming, not even roaring anymore. "It all… You ruined it all! You… the tourney… It's all you!" 

Wylis chuckled under his helmet because Rhaegar was absolutely right. 

Bam!

Wylis kicked flat on Rhaegar's chest and shoved him back so hard he slammed into the tree behind him. Blood dripped from the helmet's lower edge. 

"Aaaargh! Damn you… Lowly… stableboy!"

One more Targaryen fallen to madness. 

The Rhaegar he knew would've never mocked him like that just for his status. 

No point in dragging this. 

Clank!

Wylis blocked Rhaegar's swing and absorbed the strike, rattling the blades together in a stalemate that was a farce. 

Scrrrr!

Wylis twisted his grip and grabbed Rhaegar's right wrist and… twisted it with all his strength. 

"Uwaaaaaaaargh!"

Rhaegar screamed in pain, his tolerance already tested with the chest injury. 

"Die, die, die… You!" Rhaegar weakly tried to swing his longsword with one arm. But it couldn't even dent Wylis' armor as the sword was just too heavy for one hand. Not everyone was built like Wylis. 

Clank!

Clank!

Clank!

Rhaegar swung his blade without a thought. He didn't even bother to make sure it was the blade's edge. 

"Gah!"

Wylis pushed Rhaegar flat against the tree. 

Clank!

"Let go of me! I am… Rhaegar Targar—"

"No, you're a delusional fool who had it all and still lost it! A pathetic lunatic who'll be remembered as the man who doomed House Targaryen." Wylis gripped Rhaegar's other hand as well, twisted it at the wrist. The prince's sword dangled weakly, but didn't fall.

"Nnnnnngh! Noooo, no, no… It can't end like this! Barristan! Ser Barristan! Men, hold him!"

Slash!

Wylis didn't even look behind. He used Rhaegar's own sword and stabbed backwards with it, impaling the knight who tried to sneak attack. Though the real damage was done by the earth spikes. 

"You don't need the helmet." Wylis held the prince against the tree and ripped off the helmet. Instantly, the blood-soaked face came into view, and the silver locks drenched in sweat. Violet eyes filled with terror, jittering.

"You don't need the breastplate either." He gripped the breastplate from the neck area and pulled it brutally. That thirty percent strength boost helped a lot, and he ripped the whole thing apart, breaking all the knots that held it. He did the same for chainmail, as if taking away Rhaegar's dignity as a warrior. 

"P-Please…" Rhaegar's pained, scrunched face twisted as if on the verge of crying. His gurgling voice weakly came. "T-The… Three heads… the prop—Argh!"

Wylis pressed his hand on Rhaegar's already shattered chest, making him cry even more. He could swear he saw tears on that bloodied face. And in that moment, it hit him. Rhaegar was genuinely scared of him because of the boon he received from Rhaella's complete loyalty. All Targaryens were either fond of or scared of him genetically.

"I-uh… I just… The promised prince… the…"

Wylis shook his head, constantly aware of anyone trying to sneak behind him using Earthbending. It was needless concern as Stormlands' men had somehow arrived and engaged all royalists with overwhelming strength, aiding Wylis. 

"They say, when a Targaryen is born, the gods toss a coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it'll land—Your father's landed on madness. But yours didn't, yet you forced it to flip." Wylis spread his palm and made a claw, and sank his fingers into Rhaegar's chest. 

"Aaangh… S-Ser Barristan!" Rhaegar tried to strike Wylis with his hands, but his wrists were broken. Real tears were visible, a truly pathetic sight. Rhaegar's body shivered, eyes wide open with fear. "S-Save me! I must… I must not die!"

Wylis dug his claw even harder and leaned closer to Rhaegar before speaking in a lowered voice. "I believe you, the prophecies I mean. The Long Night, Daenys the Dreamer. You're right, there are dead beyond the Wall. But that changes nothing. That’s not your fate, and even if it is, I wouldn’t let it be—A tyrant bothers not with mad fools."

"Ha!"

Wylis shifted back, leaving Rhaegar to stand without support. So fast, he grabbed his massive sword, aimed at Rhaegar's chest, and thrusted in like hot iron through butter. Slow, agonising, cutting through every inch. 

"Gaaaaaaaaaah! No, no, noooooo! Stop! Why? Why? Why?!"

Rhaegar tried to jump, tried to free himself. His screams were so loud that the men around them, surrounding the tree, had come to a silent halt. Heads were turned towards them, the royalists saw it with defeat, and the rebels saw it with joy and pride. 

"Roar! Roar louder! For one last time!" Wylis shouted and stabbed all the way, and even more. His chipped sword passed through Rhaegar's body and continued to slide into the thick tree behind, further and further. 

"Naaa—Aaaargh… T-The… Prince that… Aaaangh!"

No roars, they were cries of the dying prince. 

Wylis ended up shoving the entire sword's length into Rhaegar's chest until only the rain-guard remained outside. He was towering, flat against the Prince's chest, holding the hilt.

"L-L…" Rhaegar's eyes froze, his breath loud, broken, like a dying pig, deep gasps that didn't fill his chest. His scared eyes, half open, stared at Wylis. "L-Lyanna…"

Wylis sneered and leaned his helmet-clad face beside Rhaegar's ear and whispered.

"Lyanna is safe, mother of my child—mine."

"Ungh… N-oh~"

A look of disbelief coated Rhaegar's face in that final, ending breath. His eyes froze in shock, misery, broken horror.

Wylis stepped aside, allowing all to see. 

Rhaegar's head plopped forward. His body was skewered on that tree trunk like a doll on display… dead.

He didn't even try. Wylis pondered, feeling unsatisfied by the ease of killing Rhaegar. I suppose he died the day he found “Lyanna's” remains in the burnt tower. I just killed the husk.

Ting! 

[Side Quest Completed - Can’t Touch Me
Description - Take no damage beyond flesh wounds. A Tyrant needs no armor, for he’s untouchable.
Reward - Location of every buried treasure in Westerosi land since the dawn of mankind.]

Hmm?

Wylis felt a surge of information appear inside his head. It felt random, but he knew exactly where it was. Treasures buried all across Westeros. But he didn't know what the treasures were. He only knew the location. 

Ting!

[Side Quest Completed - The God of War
Description - Win every battle in the rebellion. A Tyrant does not fear loss, for he never loses.
Reward - Location of every treasure ship sunk around the Westerosi coast.]

Once again, information appeared. He knew the exact spot where treasure ships had sunk around the Westerosi coast. But he only saw the surface of the water, not what was beneath it. Besides, he reckoned this reward was the hardest to grab. He'd need to build diving bells for it first.

But Wylis didn't react much at that moment. He just stared at Rhaegar's dead face. Of all quests, he knew the one attached to Rhaegar was the hardest. He'd killed one of the four Targaryen males. 

Three more to go… a king and two… kids…? Would a tyrant do that?

Clank!

Clank!

He was awakened by the resumed sound of swords clashing. But it came from a distance. The men immediately around him had already stopped. 

"Time to end this."

Squelch!

Wylis pulled his sword from Rhaegar's chest. Before the dead body could fall, he grabbed it by the silver-blonde hair, bunched in his fist. Not a blink wasted, he dragged the dead prince by the hair, ensuring the face was up for all to see. 

As he walked, a trail of blood followed, oozing from the prince's chest, still warm. The ford's water turned crimson behind him. 

"Your prince is dead!" Wylis roared at the top of his lungs. "Lay down your blades, swear to the true King, Robert Baratheon! Or suffer the same fate as the silver prince!"

It was a parade. Wherever Wylis walked, the fighting stopped. The clashing men stepped aside and gave way. Nobody wanted to be in the way of a fully armored, blood-soaked seven-foot-tall giant. Even less so after seeing Rhaegar Targaryen's body being dragged.

"Yield! The battle is over! Rhaegar is dead!"

Wylis kept shouting, making sure the entire battlefield heard him. 

Clank!

Splash!

One by one, the royalists dropped the blade. But not all; some still tried to fight and got swarmed by rebel soldiers. Others fled. 

"Rhaegar is dead!"

Wylis kept shouting and walked through the entire battlefield, towards the rear. Behind him, hundreds of rebels followed. It truly turned into a parade. 

"Ser Wylis." 

Finally, Eddard arrived, looking battered but not wounded, just a few surface wounds. 

Wylis nodded at the man and kept moving. He had a goal in mind. 

"Rhaegar is dead!"

He wanted to imprint that scene in everyone's head: Wylis Kaiser dragging the dead prince by the hair. He wanted all to remember it. For the word to spread. For his fame to grow. 

At last, marching, Wylis arrived at the camps. He took off his helmet, passed through the groaning, wounded men, and reached the largest, guarded tent. The Stormlands' sentries quickly moved out of his way. One ran ahead and pulled apart the tent's curtain for him. Only Wylis, Eddard, Lord Hoster, and Lord Jon entered.

"Robert," he said, and threw Rhaegar's dead body ahead, in the middle of the large carpet. "Get your ass up now, you've got a throne to claim."

"Seven hells! Look at my carpet, ruined!" Robert bellowed from his bed, half laughing.

They chuckled and looked at the dead prince in silence. 

Robert slowly sat up, his fever mostly under control now, but his body still ached. He sat over the bed's edge and stared at the dead man. 

"Did he speak? Did he say a word of her? Where’s my Lyanna?"

Your Lyanna? 

The heads turned towards Wylis. 

"Ser Wylis killed him," Eddard said. 

Wylis shook his head. "Not a word of her. The bastard wept and wailed like a child before dying. Rambled of some prophecy, of some prince that was promised. Nonsense, no less mad than the cunt sitting on the throne."

"Uh…" Robert sighed and rubbed his forehead. "What are our losses? How many did we lose?"

"Less than I feared, Your Grace," Lord Hoster voiced, a little too praiseful. "When we spoke of retreat, I thought half our men would be gone. But Ser Wylis slew Prince Lewyn and Ser Jonothor swiftly, and their ranks broke apart. That spared us the worst. I'd say we lost less than a quarter of our men."

Pa!

"Hah!" Robert let out a roar and smacked his thigh. "By the Gods, Wylis, you’ve outdone yourself. Still, I’ll not pretend I earned it."

Robert looked at the dead body with disappointment. 

Wylis felt bad for the man. He didn't want Robert to be completely out of the battle. Now, how would a Robert, unsatisfied by his own victory, feel? How would such a Robert rule the realm? It was yet another variable that Wylis had to consider now. 

"What matters is that we prevailed, though outnumbered," Lord Jon Arryn interrupted. "This is no hour for cheer or feast. We must press on to King's Landing before Aerys finds his wits, before the Tyrells or Lannisters make their move."

Eddard shook his head. "They need a day to rest before we march. Two if we mean to fight."

"Don't look at me." Robert waved his hand. "You won the damn battle, you decide."

It was visibly clear; Robert wasn't happy with that victory. 

"You're still the new King," Wylis commented.

"Fine, let them rest two days. We're close enough to the city," Robert said and stood up, albeit weakly. He walked over Rhaegar's body and, out of nowhere, hugged Wylis like a brother. "Gods be damned, I owe you, Wylis. They wanted to retreat; I wanted to fight. Seven hells, you did what I wanted to. You did it, you ended the bloody war, and spared me from shame I thought I’d carry to the grave."

Wylis patted Robert's back. "I wasn’t alone in this, Robert. Lord Stark fought as well."

"Bah! Don’t pretend modesty now!" Robert pulled back and roared, grinning. "You'll be rewarded. Seven, the realm owes you. Any woman you want—"

"I'm already married, Robert." Wylis clarified quickly. 

"..."

The men in the tent froze, their heads turned towards Wylis. 

"I married her when I was in hiding from the Mad King's bounty. There’s probably a child of mine by now. I left her carrying, as I recall."

"..."

Lord Hoster and Lord Jon awkwardly scratched their heads. To be honest, they hoped they had daughters they could use to tie Wylis to their houses. But such was fate, Lord Hoster's daughters just got married to the two men in that same tent. And Lord Jon himself was newlywed.

"Seven hells! You're a fast one." Robert threw an arm around Wylis's shoulder. "Tell me, is she a beauty?"

"Without a doubt," Wylis stated proudly. He really loved Lyanna, as fucked up as his sexual life outside marriage was. 

"Ha! I can’t wait to meet her! The woman who stole your fat heart. She must be a giant herself!"

Wylis thought of Lyanna and almost laughed. Her head reached his chest on a good day.

"Short, actually. Though I must admit, she did threaten to chop off my balls a few times."

"Bahaha!" Robert howled in laughter. "Ha! Nothing else from your woman, eh? I feel bloody splendid now! We may not have a full feast, but a small toast for Wylis? Aye, I’m for it!"

"What do we do with this?" Eddard pointed at the dead prince.

Robert scorned. "Don't they love fire? Burn it."

Wylis didn't meddle in their decisions anymore. He had other matters to worry about. The sacking of King's Landing, Elia Martell's murder, and Rhaella. But as the man who killed Rhaegar with his own hands, he felt uneasy.

How will Rhaella and Elia react to me now? 

####

King's Landing, Red Keep,

"Ha! Lies, lies to the king! Do you think me blind? Deaf? No dragon dies, no dragon bends. My fire still lives; it crackles in my blood. Yes, yes, Rhaegar… fool boy, weak, treacherous. He abandoned me, betrayed me. His failure is the rot, not mine!"

The Mad King roared from his chair in the emergency small council meeting. His eyes red, his filthy hair and nails the same as ever. He glared at each member at the table. 

"Your Grace, they'll march for King's Landing soon. We must fortify the city." Lord Qarlton Chelsted suggested the current Hand of the King. "Without Prince Rhaegar, Prince Viserys is the realm’s only heir in our keeping."

"Yes, yes, true, so true. The dragon has many heads, many heads… it does. Away with them, send Viserys, send Rhaella to Dragonstone before the filth comes crawling. I shall face the rebel scums on my own. I'll have the city fortified. They shan't enter these walls, and if they do, they'll face the dragon's fire!" The Mad King rose from his chair. "Tell me who? My son, who cut him down? Was it Robert? Or Stark?"

The men at the table looked at each other with unease. 

"It was… Ser Wylis, Your Grace," Lord Varys answered. 

"Mmhmhm… Y-yes, my giant, my c-champion, my beast, my b-beautiful, burning beast!" The King clapped his hands in fevered delight. "Lovely, lovely, exactly as I said… n-no… no, no! H-how dare he? To slay a dragon, my son? Aye, aye, blind, yet still mine, still mine! Bring him! Send the men out, send them all out, bring me my champion! The Gods have not turned! Not from me, not from fire, not from blood! He will stand, he must stand for me, I will it!"

The members at the table scratched their heads, but they just nodded to the King. That was all they could do. They had no armies. All they had were the Gold Cloaks, who were only good enough to shut the gates. 

"Your Grace, Lord Tywin prepares to march at the earliest," Lord Varys added. 

"W-wonderful! Wondrous, yes, yes! The lion… the lion knows now… knows his place! He’ll be… he’ll be rewarded, yes, oh yes! Hah… he has a daughter, yes? I'll let her womb… yes, bear dragons… for my heir, Viserys! Hah! That… that should… that should be plenty."

That was actually the most sane idea the King had that day. 

After that, the members of the small council got up to leave. 

"Hand, stay," the Mad King called suddenly, and waited until it was just the two of them. "Get the alchemists! Get them to set jars of wildfire under the city."

"Your Grace?" Lord Qarlton Chelsted exclaimed, frowning. "You…"

"If I come to pass, let the usurper rule a city of ashes! A city of corpses… Yes, yes, a city of the dead!"

"I-I can't, Your Grace. The city… There are people, so many of them!"

The Mad King sneered, "If you won't, another will!"

Later that same night, Lord Qarlton Chelsted was burned to death in green flames. 

####

That same night, Queen Rhaella was escorted to the port with Viserys at her side and a babe growing in her belly. She had received word of the battle. She knew what had transpired. She'd lost her firstborn son. 

"Ser Jaime, do you truly think your father will make it to the city in time?" she asked, her steps quickening toward the ship.

"My father’s plans are beyond me, Your Grace. I wish I could offer you more than empty words."

Rhaella sighed and looked back towards the city, towards the tall Red Keep. She really didn't know what to expect from the future anymore. She had no love for her husband, but she did fear the worst for her family. For Elia, still locked inside there. 

"Ser Jaime… How… did Rhaegar die?"

"I only know what the raven brought, Your Grace. Robert was pulled back from the fight, sick and hurt. It was Ser Wylis who took command, slew two commanders, and then bested Prince Rhaegar in single combat," Ser Jaime answered. 

Rhaella froze for a moment. She'd already heard about it before, but it still perplexed her. She couldn't tell what she was feeling about Wylis. She was deeply fond of that man. But now, even after he killed her son, she couldn't change her mind to hate him. At the same time, she was saddened by Rhaegar's demise. 

"Mother, move faster! Father said I am to guard you! You must do exactly as I say!" Viserys cried. "Ser Jaime, watch the city."

Rhaella sighed and moved. And as she neared the ship, she felt the weight of the situation. She felt like she'd never see this city again. That she'd never return home. She had no confidence in her husband's leadership. Lannisters were the only hope, but even they couldn't be fully trusted. 

Ser Wylis… She thought of meeting that man, and that night. She hated thinking about it. Please don't hate me if I come to… dislike you. 

Finally, she boarded the ship. 

####

Riverlands, 

The battle was over. It was the second night after the rebel victory. That night, the army organized a small feast as they were to march to King's Landing the next morning. 

But that night, a guest approached the vast army camp. A short-statured, brown haired woman draped in Northern-style robes, holding a babe in her arms. She rode a horse proudly, a sword tied to her waist at the same time. 

"Halt!" The sentries at the camp's edge stopped her. "Who are you?"

"I'm Linda, here to see Wylis."

"Ser Wylis?" The sentries frowned. "Why? He's with the King. You can't meet him."

"He won't even look at the bitch who bore him a son?" Wenda spat in the dirt, shifting the child in her arms to show them. "Ten heartbeats, that's all you get. Stand aside, or I'll cut you. Raise steel at me, and Wylis will cut you deeper."

"..."

That was the strangest threat they'd heard in their life. 

"Uh… the babe does look like Ser Wylis," one of the sentries commented. 

"Very… plump," another said. "Follow us… uh… my Lady?"

Wenda nodded her head, her eyes serious. "Lead the way."

####

A feast was held under the open skies. The tables were set, and the chairs were added. The new King sat at his table, feasting, talking, and laughing. On each of his sides sat his most trusted, Wylis and Eddard.

"Ha! I smacked Ned’s arse with the flat of my sword, and he nearly leapt out of his skin. Gods, I laughed until I thought I’d burst. Seven, those were days worth living!" Robert roared, ale sloshing from his cup. "But you, Wylis. You were the first to slam me on the ground."

Wylis shrugged, sipping on some wine. "You're just too fat for others to handle, Robert."

"Ha! Fat, you say? This is good, honest muscle, forged in battle and drink. You should've seen me in the Vale. Every lady and her daughter would’ve lined up to jump on my cock if I so much as crooked a finger."

Really, Wylis didn't know if that was a lie. Robert really was a womaniser, and currently, he looked great too. Not fat at all. 

"Men!" Robert suddenly raised his cup of wine, his words slurring. "We've had a hundred toasts tonight, but one more won’t kill us. This one’s for a friend I earned with steel and brawl. Ser Wylis, the Tyrant of the Trident, my good frien—what’s this now?"

Clank!

Clank!

Right then, two Stormlands' soldiers arrived with a woman sternly following behind them. She stood out there, in that sweat-scented camp of men. In that feast ground, only nobles and knights were present. 

"And who might this be? A lovely sight for sore eyes, I’ll say that." Robert eyed the woman. 

Creak!

But it was Wylis who had stood up, not frowning, but rather smiling like a buffoon. 

“We—Linda!" 

"You bastard!" Wenda roared back, silencing the entire hall with her loudness. "You lying swine! You swore you'd be there! You swore to see me through! I tore your son screaming into the world with no one there but me!"

Robert confusedly pointed at himself, but then realized Wylis was standing beside him.

All eyes were focused on Wylis now. 

"Oh! Is she?" Robert excitedly stood up. "Is she your wife, Wylis?"

Wylis shook his head, awkwardly smiling. He truly felt guilty about what happened with Wenda. He'd promised to send Qyburn to her, but Lyanna's sudden pregnancy changed everything. "She's not… but aye, the babe's mine."

"Damn right it is! Nineteen bloody hours he took, squalling to get out! I was alone the whole cursed time, spitting your name through my teeth!" Wenda raged and walked over to the table, and shoved the baby in his arms. "I nearly died."

Shit! He looks… just like me. Wylis held the chunky baby in his arms and stared at the face. Blue eyes, brown hair, nose like his own, but lips like his mother's. 

"Hah! Planting seeds already, are you?" Robert roared with laughter at the sight of the child. "Seven hells, Wylis, you're no better man than I!"

"Linda." Wylis walked around the table, ignoring sneering Eddard. "Come with me." 

Towering like a giant before her, he gently grabbed Wenda's hand and led her out of the feast. He heard laughter behind his back, but it didn't bother him. What bothered him was that Wenda was upset, and she had every right to be. 

He led her into his personal dwelling, a private tent erected near the King's own. It was also guarded by some Northern soldiers. While it wasn't as lavish as Robert's, it was still comfortable with fur bedding, an armor crate, and a metal locker with keys. 

Finally, he covered the tent's entrance with the curtain and set the torch near the central pole. 

“Wenda, forgive me,” Wylis apologized genuinely. There was no shame in doing it when he felt wrong. “I gave my word I would come, and I meant to keep it. After I struck down a hundred bandits, I went to the King. He made me a knight, swore me to his Queen’s guard. But it was a trap—he sought to give me over to some ancient Valyrian sacrifice I had to run and hide, and he put a million dragons bounty on my head."

"A million?!" Wenda exclaimed in shock. The North was already too secluded, and since she lived amongst smallfolk, it was even harder to know details. "I… I knew you were being hunted, but this. And what are they saying? The sentries said that you killed Rhaegar Targaryen? Did you? I know you're a vicious brute, but… did you really?"

Wylis nodded and stepped closer to Wenda, keeping their son in his arms. He brushed a hand gently across her cheek. "I did it, Wenda. I killed Ser Jonothor, Prince Lewyn, and Prince Rhaegar. I ended the rebellion. I even have a family name now—Kaiser. And Robert offered me a lordship, but I held off. I’ll take it once he’s truly King."

Wenda was awestruck. With her head just reaching his chest, she looked up at his face, which she still had to accept was handsome. "You did all that?"

Wylis nodded. 

"And… What was that about? That bloody man, the new King? Said something about your woman? You wed someone or what?"

"I did. I met her before the tourney, and… well, we fell in love. I married her while I was in hiding from the Mad King," Wylis spoke plainly, scanning her face for judgment but finding none. "I haven’t seen her in a while. This wretched rebellion… but it’s finally over."

Silence fell between them, just their breaths audible. 

"So…" Wylis spoke. “What do you wish to do next? I'll accept whatever you decide."

Wenda frowned and looked down, still feeling her face nestled in his large, rough hand. "I won’t lie. Aside from shitting a kid out, life in Winter Town was soft as a bitch. Your gold was plenty. Maids served, cooked, cleaned… Fucking hell, I’ve never lived like a queen before."

Wylis stopped caressing her face and placed a hand on her soft waist. "Soon, I'll have a castle to my name and lands to rule over. It'll be a big castle."

"Aren't you married? I just gave you a bastard."

“And I’d like a few more,” he said, leaning toward her face. “She knows. I’ve told her about you and our babe. She does not mind. Honestly, Wenda, I want as many children as I can. That’s the life I hope for.”

Wenda frowned because it did sound crazy. She'd never known a noble who actively sought to sire bastards. Yet, she considered that offer. Her life as a bandit was over; she knew it. After living in Winter Town with comfort, she knew it'd only get better living as Wylis' paramour in his castle.

Finally, she looked down at the baby in a bundle between them. She once told Wylis she'd leave after giving birth, but… it was impossible not to grow attached to the child you carried in your womb for nine months. And then cared for more than a year.

"Wylis… swear you won't toss our boy aside? I don't give a damn if he's your bastard. If you’re gonna make him scrub stables, eat like a dog, or turn your back on him later, I’m taking him and leaving. That’s it."

"Wenda." Wylis wrapped his arm around her waist harder and pulled her close, flat against his chest, feeling her full breasts squeeze. He leaned his face down, his breath grazing her cheeks. "Our boy will train as I do, learn the ways of a trueborn knight. He will eat where I eat, wear what I wear. I'll make love to you, won't if you don't want me to—I give you my word."

Wenda's eyes flashed with bliss, and her usually hardened face blushed. With her hand, she touched Wylis' face and smiled. "Kiss me."

Wylis closed the distance, crushing his mouth against hers with the force of a starving man. His lips claimed her. His tongue pushed past her lips in a filthy, hungry thrust. He kissed her like a brute, like a conqueror, like a man making sure his mark was branded into her mouth. There was nothing tender in it, only raw want, only the hunger that surged through him the instant she said those words.

“Mmmh…” Wenda had to rise on her toes just to meet him properly. She wasn’t a romantic woman, had never been one, but even she closed her eyes and let the moment consume her. His mouth was so hot, so wet, his kiss so overpowering, that it left her helpless, breath stolen from her lungs.

Wylis devoured her like he had missed her taste. Her lips were rougher now, her breath sharper, but she was still wild. 

She met his tongue with her own, clashing, wrestling, until he overpowered her. His tongue plunged deeper, twining with hers, sucking, claiming her mouth until she moaned into him. Their kiss grew messier, wetter, spit slicking their lips and smearing down their chins as they groaned into each other’s mouths.

When he finally broke from her lips. He pressed hot, possessive kisses over her cheek, his tongue dragging lightly over the scar that made her so unmistakable. He kissed both her cheeks, the bridge of her nose, then her forehead, an almost maddening mix of tenderness and brute hunger, before pulling back, towering over her.

"Are you…" Wenda couldn't believe she was out of breath. "Are you busy tonight?"

"I am," Wylis replied, and handed the babe back to her. "With you."

"Ah!"

He picked Wenda up like a bride, all the while she held their son in her arms. He walked over to the soft bedding and placed her down on it, her head landing on the pillow. 

Wenda was quick to put their sleeping son on the side and add pillows on each side so he wouldn't roll over. Then she quickly sat up over the bed's edge and fumbled with Wylis' breeches. While she worked on trousers, he removed his surcoat, then his tunic. In mere blinks, he was butt-naked, throbbing hard in her tight grip that struggled to hold him. 

"Bloody gods! You’re still a monster…" Wenda murmured as she circled her fist around his thickness. She gulped audibly and lowered her lips on his bulging, thick head. "Mmmmh… Don't… Don’t you dare laugh."

He didn't, and put his hand on her head, feeling her hair under his palm. She had tied it into a loose braid, looking lovely. And when her lips kissed him there, he sipped a deep breath. 

"I-I know… Can't risk getting bitten now."

Wenda chuckled and squeezed her grip around the base of his shaft, and pulled the foreskin roughly. As the purple tip bloomed, she licked her lips and stretched her mouth around his girth. Her other hand fondled his balls. 

Her mouth was hot and sloppy, sucking him in with noisy, wet pulls. She took him on like a challenge, lips stretched taut, spit bubbling at the corners. 

“Mmmhh—fuck!” she moaned around his cock, gagging and still pressing deeper, as if daring him to break her.

It shocked her all over again. She’d had him in her mouth before, yet it still felt insane, the sheer girth, the weight, the heat. He was thick like a weapon meant to tame cunts, long enough she felt small, delicate, almost girlish with his cock filling her face. And the scent of him, sweat, iron, and pure man. It made her squirm like a maiden in heat.

"Ugh~"

Her throat caught; the tickle hit, gag reflex clawing. She fought it down and shoved herself harder onto his length, tongue stroking tight along his shaft, smearing spit until he was slick. The more she drooled, the messier it got, strands of saliva stringing from her chin as she bobbed.

She dared to look up, watery eyes meeting the smirk on his lips; A challenge. She snarled through her nose and dragged him deeper. 

“Ughkk!” she choked, fists clutching his ass to pull her own face forward, swallowing half his manhood at once. Her head pumped, gurgles spilling as her mouth slopped wetly around him, spit dripping down her chin. It was filthy, depraved, and she loved it.

"Gaaaaah! Seven hells! I… I really can't… take it all… fuck!" Wenda gasped, yanking off, hand stroking furiously as her throat burned. 

Wylis chuckled, deep and rough, before thumbing her robe open. 

She got the message. Tossing her robe aside, she stood bare before him without shame, still panting from the wreck of his cock. Gods, he was so big she felt dwarfed by him; from behind him, one might not even notice she was there. 

Yet she stripped quickly, tugging off her smallclothes, revealing skin soft as velvet stretched over her curves, but she was fuller now with maternal weight. She was still a lethal beauty, freckled with those wide, ripe hips.

Wylis’s hands claimed her instantly. His hand slid up her neck, across the swell of her breasts. No longer small, full now, heavy, nipples dark and stiff, ready to nurse. He groaned at the feel, then stroked her belly, not flat but soft, alive with proof of her strength. His palms mapped down the flare of her hips, wide and lush, built to bear him children.

"You're beautiful… Wenda." He said and pushed her back onto the bed. She sank into the furs, head on the pillow again, her chest rising high as she met his hungry gaze. 

Wylis crawled over, a hulking shadow covered her, blocking the torchlight behind him as he spread her thighs apart. 

To Wenda, it was like being dwarfed by a mountain, his body looming like a giant wall over a pebble. She looked up wide-eyed, caught like a goose in a snare, breath hitching as his rough palms slid under her thighs.

His fingers sank deep into her plush thighs as he pushed them wide, utterly baring her to him. His gaze locked on her pussy, pink, lush, glistening wet, the slit parting like a flower blooming under his force. A neat patch of brown curls crowned her mound, but lower, her lips gleamed, soaked in want.

“Mmmmh! Fuck!” Wenda cursed as he lowered himself flat between her legs, his breath hot on her aching cunt.

Wylis looked up, catching her eyes as his lips curled into a smirk. “I guess the real feast begins now.”

"Hah—oooh!"

Listening to her chuckle, he buried his mouth against her petals, devouring her pussy with a growl. His tongue drove into her slit, lapping, plunging, fucking her with sloppy, relentless strokes. His mouth worked her like a beast, drinking her wetness, spreading her lower lips wider with every lick. 

“Seven hells!” Wenda’s head shot back, her moans wild. She’d never been delicate, but he wrung sounds from her throat she hadn’t made in years. His palms pressed her thighs up and out, pinning her open as his tongue slithered deep, then flattened to lap broad and messy over her clit.

"Oooooh—Gods! S-Slow down… I'll… s-scream… too loud!" She gasped, hips bucking helplessly.

He went harder, faster, growling into her cunt as his tongue ravaged her folds.

Plap!

Wenda slapped both palms over her mouth, muffling the scream that tore through her. Her eyes, however, betrayed her, rolling, brimming with bliss. Her whole body trembled, her womb tightening as if it remembered him, as if it ached for his seed.

Wylis felt her shudder, felt her on the brink, and he doubled down. Tongue stabbing, poking, sucking her clit until she broke.

"Mmmmmph~"

She climaxed on his mouth, her meaty thighs trembling, cunt spasming as her juices coated his beard. 

He didn’t care. He licked it up, took it all, face soaked in her heat like it was his penance. His way of apologizing for leaving her, for the year she’d been alone. Tonight, she’d have her fill of him.

Wenda went limp against the furs, arms flung over her head, chest heaving, eyes wet and dazed. Her belly rose and fell in ragged breaths as the blush burned her cheeks.

Wylis crawled up over her, spreading his knees against her hips, caging her beneath his massive frame. He pressed himself fully into her, gazing down at her flushed, fragile-looking body. Fragile only compared to him. He loosened his hold, her legs falling apart naturally to rest against his hips. He lowered, kissing along her neck, grazing her pulse with his lips.

“Mmmm… you feel like… a warm blanket,” Wenda moaned, arms winding around his thick neck, feeling his lips glaze her own. "Oh!"

She felt his shaft, hot and rigid, dragging against her soaked cunt. Her body trembled, still raw from her climax, mind hazed in bliss.

Wylis'  lips trailed lower, kissing down her collarbone. Then his huge hands claimed her breasts, kneading the heavy swells. He squeezed… her milk spilled, hot and wet, soaking his palms. Her tits had grown full and heavy with milk, more than a handful for most men, but in his grasp they were easily contained. He clawed greedily at them, then lowered his mouth to latch onto a stiff peak.

“Mmmmh! Gods, you’re such a baby… ohhh~” she moaned, writhing as he suckled hard.

Wylis chuckled against her breast, drawing her maternal nectar deep into his mouth. He didn’t care for the taste, but the act itself made his cock throb. It was filthy, primal, perfect. As he fed from her, his hips shifted, grinding, his thick cock humping against her slit, dragging slick over her lower lips, teasing but never pushing in.

He left her first nipple raw and aching, dragging his mouth to the next. He drew harder, rolling his tongue over the swollen bud, pulling more nectar from her. The scent was strong, fragrant; something holy turned filthy. A mother’s tits meant for a babe, now suckled by her lover, her womb about to be filled again.

“Wenda… open… your mouth… wider. Tongue out.”

She obeyed, dazed, watching him lift his face above hers. Insanity, pure shamelessness. She’d have stabbed any other man for it. But this man… he’d stolen her womb, and nearly her heart.

Then she saw it, and gods, it melted her from the inside. His mouth opened, and her own milk dripped from his lips into hers. She held her tongue out, swallowing it like the shameless whore she’d become, and fucking loved it. Her pupils blew wide, her chest heaved, every feminine place inside her ablaze.

My god! This is so… hot!

Wylis groaned low. He hadn’t expected her to take it, much less relish it. Watching her drink her own nectar from his mouth nearly broke him. He gulped, his cock twitching, aching, barely restrained.

Once again, he seized her thighs, massive palms spreading them higher, pushing her knees up until her spine arched and her tits pressed together between them. She was folded open completely, vulnerable and lewd underneath his colossal frame. He squatted there, cock dangled thick and heavy at the gates of her core, glistening with her juices. 

"Put it in… Wenda."

“Mmmmh… with pleasure, you lovely beast!” Wenda growled, snatching his cock and guiding it to her slit.

He instantly thrust forward, driven by need. The swollen head speared into her cunt, and fuck, she was tight. His teeth clenched, eyes shutting as her cunt clamped down, a hot velvet seal around his girth.

“Seven hells…” he hissed. “You’re still… fucking perfect.”

"Mmmm—aaaah!"

Her gasp broke into a cry, her hands clawing the sheets as inch by inch he fed her his length. Sticky, wet sounds filled the air, each push dragging slick from her folds, each pull sucking him back in.

Schlk… Slurp~

“Gaaaaah! F-feels like… I’m a virgin all over again!” Wenda writhed, thrashing her head, unable to believe she could still feel this tight after bearing his son.

“Fuck… likewise… you’re choking me, Wenda…” His voice cracked with strain. He kept steady, controlled, not wanting to tear her apart. With his size, roughness could easily break her. But still he sank deeper, feeding her what she begged for.

Her cunt clung, every inch squeezing, sealing perfectly around him. He felt owned by her heat, gripped like a fist made of wet silk.

"Ummh… I… I can take it… Wylis. Don't hold back… I… I'm Wenda the… White Fawn!" She panted, eyes rolling.

Her words lit a fire in him. He pressed harder, hips grinding forward until at last he buried his entire, insane length. His balls slapped her ass as he bottomed out, battering her womb.

Wenda gasped sharply, slapping both hands over her mouth to muffle the scream. It was so much, so thick, so deep. She could feel him in her belly, heavy and alive, throbbing against her cervix. Her cunt stretched around him, every nerve sparking.

She looked at him with half-lidded eyes, and the sight nearly broke her. His sculpted frame loomed, muscles chiseled like stone, while she was folded beneath him like some fragile maiden. Toes curled high, tits pressed between her knees, her body utterly taken.

Her gaze dropped, saw his thick pubes grinding flush to her swollen rim. Her voice shook. “I… f-fill me… fill your bandit whore… again…”

"Shhh…" Wylis pulled his cock back. Her body arched, chest heaving as if he’d torn her soul out with his cock. “You’re no whore. Bandit? Sure… but mine. Just mine.”

Plap!

His hips slammed home again, wet and brutal.

"Aaaaaa-mmmm!" Wenda’s muffled cry burst past her hands, body quivering as the obscene sounds of their fucking filled the tent.

He rammed into her with the whole, colossal length of his cock, thumping on her womb like a siege ram knocking at her heavenly gates. Each plunge carried the weight of him, hammering deeper, relentless, like he sought to mold her insides with his shape.

The bed shrieked with every thrust. Wenda’s body jolted under him, her back arching with each crushing, pounding stroke. He locked eyes with her, sweat dripping from his brow. When it rolled down his nose, she opened her mouth and drank it without a second thought, like it was his gift.

That added fuel to his fire. 

Wylis grinned, leaned down, and kissed her savagely. Her legs had to fold higher against her chest to fit him, but she took it, hungry for it. His lips bruised hers, then he pulled back, face tight, knowing the edge was near.

“Ooooh… I’m coming… f-fuck… leave some space… dammit!” she gasped.

His brows furrowed until he realized what she meant. He pulled back just a fraction, kept hammering into her flushed cunt, and then it hit. Her pussy convulsed, squeezing him like a vice as a flood burst from her.

Splshhh—plap! Squelch!

Juice sprayed around his cock, soaking his thighs, the sheets, everything. 

“Ahhhhh!” Wenda’s scream split the air as she arched, shaking, her entire body wracked by that messy climax. Her nails clawed at his chest, her belly quivering as her cunt gushed for him, leaking down her ass in a sinful, filthy torrent.

Just as she finished, Wylis was there. 

“Ughhh—me too,” Wylis groaned, never stopping, his thrusts squatting hard, drilling down into her deeper, faster, balls smacking her ass over and over. 

Her face twisted into pure bliss, eyes rolling, mouth wide, moans breaking raw and mindless.

“A-Are you sure? Inside?” he gasped, nearly gone.

“Yes~!” she cried, clutching him tight. “You want more… as do I… ooooh—pour it all in my womb!”

“Ummh… you’re… the best, Wenda…!”

Right on the brink, Wylis shifted. He wrapped his huge arms around her waist, and in one staggering motion, he pulled her whole body up as he sat back, settling onto his bottom. She ended up perched on his lap, splayed wide open, his cock sunk balls-deep inside her still.

The second her weight settled onto his throbbing length, he exploded. His arms locked around her soft frame, squeezing her body flush to his chest, her milk painting his chest. Her legs, stretched wide by sheer necessity, clamped around his hips as his cock erupted.

"Mmmmh~ I can… feel it. Oh yes! Fill me up!" She whimpered against his lips, kissing him wildly, tongue shoving into his mouth as though devouring him whole.

Wylis ground into her, slow and relentless, his arms keeping her on his lap. Spurt after spurt flooded her, cramming her cunt with his seed. He felt it pump out, felt her slick heat swirl with his own, overflowing, dripping out and painting their thighs with the sticky mess. She was so tight, so hot, drenched in a pool of his virile seed, and he fucking loved it. The more he pumped, the more it spread, and the more he groaned into her mouth, drunk on the feeling of being buried inside a willing cunt.

“Ooooooh gods!” Wenda’s head fell back, her spine arched, her tits pressed to his chest as she trembled. 

Her eyes clenched shut, lips parted, her entire body shuddering as she felt every pulse, every stream filling her womb. She basked in it, ruined, spent, utterly owned, memories renewed from their last time.

They stayed there, panting, trembling together. His cock softened but stayed buried in her, plugged deep. He hugged her closer, pressed kisses to her swollen lips again and again, unable to stop himself.

It was like a victory reward. And sure enough, it really was. 

Ting!

[Name: Wenda, Wenda the White Fawn

Age: 23

Occupation: Ex-bandit

Current Loyalty: 70%

Status: Impregnated]

Seventy? That's a lot for a bandit. 

He chuckled and stopped kissing her beautiful, blushing face with a last peck on her faint facial scar. 

"Wenda, you must head back to Winter Town. I'll head to King's Landing to end the rebellion for good. I'll be back soon, and the next time I'm inside you, it'll be in my castle." Wylis told her, intimately, warm and slick in sweat against each other. "I'll be there for our second babe."

Tired, nodding, Wenda panted and planted her face flat against his shoulder. "Y-You… better… be there… this time. I was… so scared."

With a lot of guilt, he hugged her tighter and just held her there. He was hard still, but he knew she wasn't in the mood to do more. So, he just held her in his arms, even as he lay down. So what if she was once a proud, famed bandit? 

She was still a woman whom he had left vulnerable, all alone in a foreign town. 

I should plan better for future pregnancies. 

####

Wylis really needed that rest before heading to King's Landing. With how much he planned to do there, he needed to be at the top of his physical state. And thanks to Wenda, he was in the best state of mind as well. 

Just three hours after bedding Wenda and sowing yet another seed, he woke up, washed himself with a wet cloth, and prepared to leave. He didn't want to waste time and reach King's Landing early. Especially now that the Lannister movement had been confirmed.

He gave one last kiss to Wenda and hugged his son, whom she'd named Simon, after the founder of her outlaw group, Simon Toyne. While it wasn't to Wylis' liking, he couldn't complain since he wasn't there for her.

After that, in the dark of the early morning, he left the camp discreetly. He left behind a letter with Wenda that she was supposed to hand to Robert or Eddard in the morning. It was just a request for guards to escort her to Winter Town, and Wylis's admission that he left for King's Landing early. 

Following that, it was just Wylis, Caliburn, his trusted sword, and the long, empty road. He didn't wear plated armor this time, just a padded gambeson under his coat. 

Ting!

Of course, there was also the flurry of pings as soon as he left the Trident region. 

[Tyrant's Title Acquired - Tyrant of the Trident
Description - You won not just with might but also with pride. You swung, you stabbed, you slayed like a tyrant. You ruled the battlefield, and now they roar your name. A name worthy of a tyrant.
Effect - Your fame has now reached every corner of Westeros. You now enjoy a greater status amongst nobles, especially women. Lesser landless knights shall fear and respect you.]

Ting!

[Hidden Quest Completed - Savior of House Manderly.
Description - Save Wyman Manderly on the battlefield.
Reward - House Manderly's friendship, and Wyman Manderly's admiration of epic proportions.]

Epic proportions? How much is that?

Seriously, he was scared of any male admiration now ever since the Mad King's admiration quest. Worse, that quest was still active.

Ting!

[Cersei Lannister Current Lust - 69%]

And then there was Cersei Lannister, the woman Wylis just couldn't predict. 

Probably found out what I did to Rhaegar. 

Ting!

What's left? 

[Tyrant's Bonus - Tyrant's Good Boy
Description - You fought well, but so did your loyal steed, Caliburn. Honest work deserves rewards.
Reward - +20% Speed, +20% Strength, +20% Load Capacity, +20% Stamina, +20% Vitality, +20% Intelligence, +20% Charisma]

Charisma?!

Wylis looked down at his horse with confusion. 

What's he gonna do with it? Fuck mares? 

Though when he moved his hands through Caliburn's mane, it did feel much softer. 

"Good boy." He patted the neck. 

"Neighehe!" Caliburn brayed merrily. 

Chuckling, Wylis focused on the road from there. The speed could be felt. Caliburn truly ran faster and longer. Where he'd guessed to reach King's Landing in two days, he reached it in less. 

But he couldn't take Caliburn all the way. He had to leave the horse at an inn away from King's Landing. From there, he walked on foot in the middle of the night and just as he'd escaped before, he scaled the city's wall with ease, one earthbending step at a time. 

"Alright…" He looked at the city from the wall. There were plenty of lights, many moving, marking the soldiers patrolling. Then he looked at the Red Keep and sighed. He still wasn’t sure what to do with Elia Martell. Saving her was risky. He'd already stolen Lyanna. If he were to take Elia, Robert might never find closure. 

Besides that, he didn't know if she'd even come with him. He didn't share any intimacy with her, nor a friendship. He only liked Rhaenys, but if he was to save her, it was best to save all three. Beyond that, the woman he really wanted to save was Rhaella. He was willing to kidnap her this time and force her into a happy life at that point. But she was in Dragonstone.

"Ugh, I don't have too much time to spare," he grunted and glanced at a few other places. After all, his main goal that night wasn't to save someone. Or to enter the Red Keep. No, his goal that night was to just dig. 

All the treasure’s buried here. 

Thanks to the 'Can’t Touch Me' quest reward, he knew the location of all buried treasure in Westeros. And sure enough, the biggest cluster of treasures was underneath King's Landing. 

One's under the Great Sept, then some under the Street of Silk… Under the Red Keep…

He revised the locations from memory. 

Ting!

What now? New quest? 

[Trueborns & Bastards Triggered!]

Hmm? He looked towards the Street of Silk right away. 

[Son(Bastard) - Chataya
Life Points Available - 10]

[Strength - 1/10
Dexterity - 1/10
Intelligence - 1/10
Charisma - 1/10
Vitality - -10/10]

Ting!

[Tyrant's Bastard Status - Dying]

What?! Negative ten?!

He immediately allotted ten points to vitality. 

[Son(Bastard) - Chataya
Life Points Available - 0]

[Strength - 1/10
Dexterity - 1/10
Intelligence - 1/10
Charisma - 1/10
Vitality - 0/10]

Zero? Is that enough? 

[Tyrant's Bastard Status - Dying]

Fuck! Not enough!

Digging for treasure could wait. He rushed to Chataya's brothel while thanking whichever god brought him there at the right time, as he was truly the only man in the world equipped to save the child.

Using Earthbending, he went down the wall and then climbed a nearby building. He jumped from terrace to terrace, using the night for cover. If the distance was too much, he used Earthbending to boost his jumps.

Street after street, he rushed. So fast that even he, with all his might, started panting. The child was his responsibility. He didn't want anything bad to happen. 

Woosh!

He leapt across terraces and finally neared the edge of the Street of Silk. 

Ting!

[Tyrant's Bastard Status - Deceased]

N-No! Fuck!

He still didn't stop running and entered an almost berserk state, leaping through buildings like a true beast. He jumped right on top of Chataya's brothel and kicked a hole in the roof, jumping in. 

"Chataya!" He shouted, no longer bothering to keep a low profile. "Chataya?!"

He ran up the spiral staircase and entered the turret room, the most luxurious one in the brothel, and sure enough, a crowd had gathered there. 

"Where?!" He shouted and zoomed past the women crowding his front. He reached the table on which Chataya was lying, panting, eyes tearful, and nearby a midwife stood with a tiny baby boy, his entire body turned blue. 

"No!" Wylis snatched the baby and held him upside down on his arm. Then he gently patted on the back to clear the air passage. But when nothing happened, he put him on the table. He checked for breathing and found none. Quickly, he started giving CPR, using just two fingers to give chest compressions to that tiny body. It truly felt like a minuscule doll in his inhuman hold. 

"Come on, champ! Wake up!" 

He breathed through the baby's nose and mouth, just a small puff, being extremely delicate. 

"Wake up!"

He kept at it—compressions, breathing through nose and mouth. He kept at it, unwilling to accept that a life he brought into the world had died. 

He kept at it, holding onto that hope. For a miracle, like he was one. 

"S-Ser Wylis…" 

"What?!" He shouted at a whore trying to calm him down. 

"He's… dead… Ser."

He knew that already. He just didn't want to accept it. He looked towards Chataya's face and saw her weak state. She wasn't faring any better. 

Useless obstetrician mastery. If only… I'd reached a few minutes earlier. 

He looked at the small babe, skin still blue, dead.

[Tyrant's Bastard Status - Deceased]

He checked the status on the blue screen one last time. 

Just two minutes… or one… This shouldn't have happened.

Exhaling deeply, he handed the body to the midwife and walked over to Chataya's side. 

He really didn't know what to say to her.