Wylis arrived at his solar, still wearing a simple towel. He took a seat and received the two ravens from Qyburn. They were tiny folded parchments, small enough to send with a bird. But it was still sealed with wax.
He unrolled the raven from King's Landing first and read it under his breath. The handwriting clearly belonged to Lord Arryn. Robert had just gotten married, so it was nonsensical to expect his writing.
I wonder if he still panted 'Lyanna' to Cersei.
Shaking the annoying thoughts away, he read the contents and sighed. Then he read the raven from Lord Hoster Tully.
"The one from King's Landing's no command, more a request. They want me to ride to the Riverlands and settle some quarrel between House Tully and House Mooton. Blood's been spilled, it seems." Wylis said and picked the other paper. "Lord Hoster's brother, Ser Brynden, was hurt, though not too badly. Now he's asking my help to bring Maidenpool to heel, and the Crown's in favor."
"They cannot treat a Lord as some plaything to command at whim," Qyburn murmured, a strange gleam in his eye. "My Lord, you hold the right to decline, should it please you."
Hmm… Are there any penalties for failing quests?
"Or," Elia chimed in. "You could agree, but only if you're given some rewards."
"Aye, the raven from the Crown did offer me coin, armor for my men. Lord Arryn seems to know our troubles. He offers to send men and women seeking opportunities. But that's not why I'd agree. Lord Hoster offers me spoils, anything I choose to take, and if I recall, House Mooton still sails a merchant fleet."
The more he thought, the more lucrative it sounded. He didn't know if he could plunder the town. It was a pretty old and historic one.
"But such political appeasement is the Crown's duty. Lord Hand should send a Kingsguard. Why seek you?" asked Qyburn.
"Probably Robert's work," Wylis replied, puffing his chest and mimicking. "Bah! Gods be damned, just ask Wylis to finish them. He's nearby."
Neither Elia nor Qyburn had much of an impression of the new King, so they didn't say anything. But they accepted Wylis' words. If the King suggested it, then refusing wasn't the wisest decision.
Could they be helping me? Wylis pondered it. Having him, another of Robert's close friends, be a powerful lord definitely helped the Crown. They knew he was more of a warrior, not a politician, yet they wanted him to stand between House Tully and House Mooton, who supported the Mad King.
"I'll ride out in three days. I'll take fifty men with me. I've no mind to throw them into a fight, but they need the feel of the road and the weight of their arms. Ramsgate will soon swell with people, and we'd best be ready for it."
"Well thought, my Lord. I believe a few maesters will also start arriving soon," Qyburn said. "I will entertain them while you're away… outside the castle."
"Good. Brandon will remain here. Should any haughty lord cause trouble, he'll handle it without wasting thought on pride. For now, help me put together a few booklets for the men. One for simple reading, and one for the basic fighting stances."
Qyburn's eyes sparkled at the thought. "Aye, I do remember. I'll go right away and ready them."
It's great to have mad men like him. Wylis smiled, watching the old Maester leave. The man was addicted to the printing press and the entire process of printing.
"My lady."
Just as Elia also started to leave, Wylis stopped her. It was awkward with him still half-naked, seated in just the towel.
"My lord?"
"Have the Martells or the Daynes ships to sell? Or men who can build them?" He asked.
Elia pondered for a moment and took a seat before the grand table. "House Martell has a few ships, yes, though they're only meant for trade. House Dayne's are the same. Even we must look to Essos when we need more."
Wylis nodded and stood up suddenly. He walked around the table to Elia's side, his nude torso in plain view, every inch of him covered in a suit of muscles. "Can you point me to where in Essos I must look?"
"I… I…" Elia stuttered, her thin brows high, eyes dark on his chest. "I can… do that."
"Great!" Wylis clapped, breaking that little trance-like state. "I'll go and start preparing."
####
He's… big.
Elia Martell had great self-control. She was wise and knew when to step back. But that night, the memory of Wylis walking out of the water kept flashing in her thoughts. That hung log of a thing between his legs.
At least she could now understand why the likes of Lyanna, Ashara, and even Rhaella were head over heels for him. In a pure physical and lust-based relationship, she clearly saw the allure. Wylis was a lord, a self-made man, immensely powerful, battle-proven, truly handsome, tall, and his speech was gentle. She believed if Wylis was born to a Great House, he'd have been the talk of the realm.
Not that he wasn't now. But the realm currently knew him for his battle prowess. Yet, she had seen Wylis prove himself in far greater ways. That carriage, the printing press, the soap, his planned maps of the castle and city he wanted to build. Lord Wylis was no brute, but rather the perfect mix of brute and brains.
Ummh… Elia hummed, hugging the pillow between her legs. I shouldn't be having such thoughts.
Sadly, she had far too many examples around her that nudged her to the darker side. Lyanna, being the official wife, yet willing to share. Rhaella, being the ex-queen, yet willing to kiss and sleep with the very man who killed the former king and prince.
If she wanted to find a justification, she knew she could rather easily.
"Why does he want so many ships?"
She forced herself to think about other things. And there were indeed many things to think of.
####
That same night, in a bedchamber, a candle was lit on the table.
Brandon Stark sat by it, quill in hand, paper laid out before him. A frown marred his face, his brows creased. He rubbed his beard at times, and at others, wrote, only to discard that paper.
"Gods! Why is this so fucking hard?" He cursed and started to write again. "I hope you are in good health, my Lady. Remember the time w—Ah! Fuck! Her man died, and I'm reminding her of the time I fucked her?"
Yet again, Brandon threw the paper away and restarted.
"Lady Barbary, I trust you're well. I should have sent word sooner, but my thoughts have only just settled. The past years have been a storm, and I know you've weathered your share. If you ride toward Ramsgate, meet me there, or I'll ride to you. I dwell with Lord Wylis these days, and I believe I've found my purpose. Better this than sitting old and dull in a cold hall. I'm no poet, so let's speak over a cup of good ale. Lord Wylis brews a new drink, or so he claims. Perhaps you'll judge it for yourself. Good health to you, my Lady."
Finally, Brandon read it a few more times and nodded in satisfaction.
"Just took me eight tries, not bad," he mumbled and folded it, and then sealed it with wax. "Eh, should write one to Ned as well."
####
Five carriages with new suspensions were prepared for the journey. Fifty men had been recruited from the masses. Anyone interested in wielding a blade was given a chance after a short interview with the lord.
Wylis' personal armor had arrived from King's Landing days ago, and it looked beautiful on him. Regal and imposing combined, his already imposing size was heightened even more with it.
Food and wine were prepared for the road since they were going to march down into the Riverlands. The destination was Crossroads Inn, which rested somewhere between Riverrun and Maidenpool.
Lyanna and Ashara volunteered to go with him to keep him company. But Wylis refused; their safety was his top priority. Rhaella couldn't join for good reasons, same for Wenda; both were pregnant. That left just one very desirable, curvy, and needy redhead.
He settled on taking Ros with him. She was used to traveling, and she could genuinely help him put on armor, prepare him food, or… warm his bed. If it were Lyanna or Ashara, he'd have to bring more servants to care for them.
And just like that, three days passed. Preparations were completed.
The night before marching out, Wylis chose to spend his night with none other than his beloved wife.
"Ummmh… Oh!"
They'd been at it for hours, yet still going strong. But they both knew it was time to sleep, so their passionate bedding turned into a slow massage. His fat cock, after battering her womb for hours and turning her tight slit swollen, was nestled hilt-deep, forming a faint bump as he gently moved his hips.
"Gods! I love this feeling," Lyanna moaned, eyes watery, staring at her husband as his massive frame completely shrouded her, her pale legs thrown wide, folded up. He wasn't crushing her only because he braced himself with his elbows. Yet, it felt so good.
"Which feeling?"
"This! You!" Lyanna moaned, her nails clawing at his sides greedily. She loved it as he was pretty much flat on top of her, his chest squishing her breasts, their bellies glued with sweat, his fat cock stretching her to insanity. "So warm, like the warmest quilt in the world."
"Hah! And I feel like I'm in the…" He pulled out a bit and thrusted in hard, rocking the bed and her body underneath. "Tightest sheath in the world."
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