Wylis spent an hour or so talking to his curious ex-maester. The old man tried to use the machine himself and fell in love with it. It was so simple, yet ingenious. Just some gears, metal frames, ink, and paper. The repeating motion made sure you didn't need to put ink every time. One only had to keep it running with a foot pedal and feed it paper.
Slow, but it was progress.
Next, Wylis wanted to work on soap as he expected it to sell well. He had too many trees, so paper was also a lucrative industry. And finally, perfumes would bring in decent returns. But all that required standardized measurements first.
But for the day, Wylis was done. He made rounds outside to check the progress on the wall, and then returned to the castle, searching for his lovely wife. But she wasn't in the solar, bedchamber, or in any other room.
When he did find her, she was on the terrace of the castle, alone, holding a bow. She was using the wall of one of the larger towers as target practice, having hung some wooden bullseye. She looked focused, ready to let the arrow loose.
But Wylis snuck behind her and wrapped his big arms around her soft frame. Shamelessly, his hands both gripped her breasts, fondling them. His lips dotted kisses on her neck.
Lyanna's giggle rang instantly, and her hips pushed back. "Good to know I still make you hard."
"Woman, the day you can't rouse me, I'd no longer be a virile man."
She laughed even louder, lowered the bow, let it fall, and then turned around in his arms to look up at him. "And what does my strong, virile man want from me?"
Wylis shifted his arms low behind her and gripped her ass over her coat. "What any loving husband wants."
"And what is that?"
Wylis grinned and leaned his face low, a mere inch away. "A little feast. Right here and now."
"Oh? I'm to be feasted—ah!"
Wylis clenched her ass hard and really lifted her, his palms supporting her bottom. Next thing they knew, they were furiously kissing, holding no shame back, just drowning in each other's breath, tongues coiling.
Lyanna was short and light in his arms despite the perfect softness she'd gained after childbirth. And to Wylis, it meant more to squeeze and fondle. His palms never stopped groping her round ass.
"Ummmh… Wylis." Lyanna broke the kiss suddenly, a mischief on her lips. "Be patient if you want a true feast. Sunset, at the hot spring."
Wylis mused. He hadn't done anything sexual in the hot spring yet. And he very much wanted to try it. The warmth of the water and the warmth of Lyanna's gorgeous body. It really was worth the wait.
"That doesn't mean I can't do this…"
So he went back to kissing her, walked all the way to the nearby tower's wall, and smushed her between himself and the wall. He kissed her lunges out, leaving her lips red and swollen. He really was fucking passionate with Lyanna.
"That's… enough… or I won't be able to control it myself," Lyanna warned him, panting.
Wylis made a sad face, pecked her lips, and placed her down. After that, he grabbed the bow she was using and had a friendly competition of arrow shooting with his wife. He won, of course, his mastery was at its peak.
But Lyanna wasn't far behind, missing the bullseye just once. But they were shooting from a rather close range. In a real battle, Wylis was no different from a sniper as long as he had the proper bow.
After his little passionate moment with her, he went downstairs and resumed working, awaiting the sunset with much excitement.
####
Viserys Targaryen was furious.
He refused to accept that he was nothing anymore. He refused to accept that his birthright, his throne, was stolen from him. He refused to accept that a Baratheon would rule the realm.
He hated the fact that his own mother had seemingly given up on reclaiming the throne even more. All she ever did was sing praises of the large brute, the very man who killed his elder brother, her own son, and his father, her own royal husband.
"How could she?"
Bam!
He struck his blunt sword into the wall, taking out his anger.
"How could she?"
He kept striking like a madman, never stopping. Not even as his breath became hasty.
"Why would she?!"
Other than saving them from Dragonstone, the brute had done nothing for him or his mother. He was forced to be bald, locked inside that castle. His mother was about to give birth to a sister. Yes, she was certain it was going to be a girl just because the brute told her so.
"Foolish! Foolish! So fooli—Who?!"
He jumped and turned at the sound of the heavy footsteps.
"Who's foolish?"
Viserys gulped; the tall brute eclipsed him like a stallion to a kitten. He lowered his blunt sword quickly, teeth clenched. "N-Nobody."
"Rhaella?"
Viserys flinched. He cursed himself for it. It was as good as nodding.
"So your mother's a fool for being alone, heavy with child, with no men and no coin? Tell me, do you truly wish her to take up a sword and ride for King's Landing? And when she gets there, what then? Ask Robert Baratheon to hand her the throne?"
"No, but—"
"Is your mother a fool for fearing for her son and the child she carries? Do you hold the throne above your own life? If that's so, have you the strength to claim it? Speak, boy."
"N-No… I don't have the strength."
"Neither does she. Come here and sit. Best you learn of it now, before it's too late."
Frowning still, Viserys eyed the giant, moved to a stone bench, and sat down. He hesitated, but he couldn't refuse the tall creature.
"Tell me, how did Aegon the Conqueror take over the Seven Kingdoms?"
"With his dragons."
"Do you have any dragons?"
Viserys lowered his gaze and shook his head. "We don't."
"Tell me, were there no Seven Kingdoms? Kings before Aegon's arrival?"
"There were."
"You know that, yet you still fail to grasp the game of thrones. The Targaryens ruled because they could summon fire from the skies. When your foolish ancestors slew the last dragon in their quarrel, they stripped their house of its might. Tell me, then, why did the Seven Kingdoms still let them sit on the throne?"
Viserys thought about it for a while, seeking an answer. But when all failed, he shook his head. He was still too young to fully understand the complexities. Yet, only eight, the boy was still remarkably sharp.
"Have you ever seen a herd of sheep, Viserys?"
Viserys nodded.
"House Targaryen was the sheep at the front of the herd. Wherever it went, the rest followed. But then another sheep dared to move in a different direction, and unsurprisingly, a majority of the sheep followed that second one. Without dragons, the Targaryens were reduced to sheep; they were just at the front. Now, in today's time, it matters not who the sheep at the front is, the rest will just follow because that way, the Seven Kingdoms remain united, in name, at least."
"I… don't understand." Viserys frowned.
"Convenience, that's what it was, Viserys. The throne's not the true power now, only a notion that holds the realm together. The Targaryens were kept after the dragons died because folks were used to you ruling. But when that comfort turned sour, they chose another arse for the seat. Rebellions don't spring from gossip, Viserys. Your father set fire to many lords, right before you, did he not?"
He nodded.
"And then you thought the families of those same lords would bend the knee to you? Why would they? You burned all their loyalty the moment those green fires took their kin. Your father tried to play the dragon, yet he had none to his name. He let his own delusions of grandeur fool him, and he paid the ultimate price. They say he was once a good man, but that man's long gone. He failed the realm, failed his wife, and failed you."
"What did he do to mother?" Viserys asked.
"Before I answer that. Do you love your mother, Viserys?"
Viserys frowned, wondering why that was being asked. He loved her the most, of course. She was all he had now. The only person he could go to when sad or even angry. Even before all this, he was the closest to her.
"I do."
"Do you love your mother to the point of doing anything for her safety?"
"Yes! I would!" Viserys stated rapidly.
"Then answer me this. What if it were your own father who hurt her? Would you stand by and let it happen? What if he made her do things that shamed her? What if he caused her deep pain? Would you still say your father was a good man?"
Viserys glared up at the brute, seeking lies. But the brute's confident gaze shook him.
He looked away and pondered over the words. He was young, but not a fool. He'd seen his mother being particularly sad on some days. Days that usually followed his father's visit to her chambers.
"W-Why? What did father do?"
"As I told you, Viserys, he was a good man once. But something broke in him. He lost his wits, lost his hold on himself. Your poor mother he… bit your mother, cut her, clawed her, hit her, wounded her, and laughed. The Kingsguard heard her cries, but they stood fast. Their vows bound them to guard the Queen, yet not from the King."
"Lies! You're lying! Another game of yours!"
"When you see Rhaella again, keep your tongue. Words will only wound her more. Just take her hand and look along her arms, from wrist to elbow. You'll see old scars there, left by your father's nails. Her body carries more wounds than you can count, and some deep within. That woman… the castle you dream of taking was her prison, her hell."
"You're lying!" Viserys shouted and jumped to his feet. "I won't be fooled!"
He chose not to listen anymore and ran through the castle corridors. He knew the way by now and rushed straight to his mother's bedchambers on the first floor. He didn't bother to knock and just pushed it open, only to find his mother sitting by the open window, warm sunlight coming in. She had a knitting kit in her hands, making something, humming to some song, and… a beautiful, warm smile on her lips.
Viserys tried to remember when he last saw her smiling like that before. The answer was never.
"Mother!" He cried and ran straight towards her, falling to his knees beside her legs, his other half leaning on her lap.
"What happened, Viserys?"
The concern in her voice choked Viserys. He looked up at her face, no longer that sickly pale. Then he felt her hand caress his cheek, and that was his cue. He snuggled his face into her palm, gripped her wrist, and slid the sleeve back. His eyes looked without the head moving and…
There it was. The scars the brute had mentioned. He wailed more and took a peek under her other sleeve as well, finding similar scars.
That was when real tears started to well up in his eyes. He'd never known that his mother was suffering like that, wounded by his father. It didn't make sense to him. Why would his father do that? But the proof was undeniable.
"Mama!" He wailed into her lap, angry, frustrated, and sad. "I… I'll protect you! I promise!"
"I know you will, dear."
Her voice was soothing and gentle. To his little, eight-year-old heart, it was the warmest. The only family he ever knew. And yet he was so unaware of her pain.
He wailed for a long time in her arms and continuously promised that he would protect her.
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