A choice

The funeral was a grand affair, and Jon’s whole family was waiting for him when he returned to the Red Keep. Aegon looking red faced, but stoic as he clasped Jon’s shoulder in support. Rhaenys was struggling to hold back tears as she threw her arms around him. Queen Elia, long inflicted with her own ailments, looked terribly pale and moved with a sudden frailty that had been there before. His grandmother, aunt and uncle had all made the journey, but looked far more restrained in their grief. Rhaella looked red eyed, but otherwise kept herself composed, while Danaerys, who had been close with her oldest brother, seemed sadden more for everyone else’s sake. Viserys’ was distant, but his face held a storm of emotions struggling for dominance.

Guests from every corner of Westeros arrived to pay their respects as well. Prince Quentyn of Dorne, his father and uncle had come in an act of solidarity for Elia and her children. The entire Lannister clan showed up, looking terrible and beautiful with their golden curls and cold good looks. Several lords of the Vale and Riverlands offered their wishes of support, but mostly just wanted to be seen by the court as having the impression of loyalty.

The Tyrells were of course all gathered together, all of them looking utterly resplendent even whilst in mourning clothes. Margaery wore a dress that, while respectful and black, almost ventured towards lusty with how well it clung to her body. She drew Jon in close when she met him, holding him tightly and crying into his chest, as if it was her father that had died.

It was a drawn out affair as the High Septon spoke at length of how the Gods give a man limited time in the mortol coil and recall them back when needed. He offered prayers of gratitude for Rhaegar’s reign and lead several members of the procession in a labourous prayer that Jon mostly ignored. Once the act was done, they went to work putting the King to flame, as was Targaryen tradition. Rhaegar looked splendid atop his funeral pyre, and Jon tried to ingrain the picture of his father laying peacefully into his memory before the flames rose and consumed him. Margaery interlaced her fingers through Jon’s, the warmth of her hand anchoring him when grief threatened to consume him.

Once the deed was done, and the procession slowly broke apart, Jon decided to return to his chambers. It was as if there was a heaviness weighing down in his chest and every action he took was profoundly exhausting. He undressed and practically collapsed into his bed, allowing the sweet oblivion of sleep to claim him and offer a reprieve from the crushing sadness.

He awoke the next morning to a familiar warm wetness and when he looked down he was greeted with the sight of Margaery suckling on his cook pleasantly. Once she knew he was awake she went about working harder, opening her throat to him fully and making delightful slurping noises as she deep-throated him again and again. Her eyes never broke away from his and her loud slurps seemed to echo across the room. Her cheeks sunk in and filled out in succession as she hungrily sucked the shaft. Casually she began to palm his balls, her fingers toying with his sack in such a way that he felt his release draw near. Instinctively he thrust further into the inviting mouth, blowing his load down the throat of the goddess before him.

Margaery closed her eyes, drawing in every last drop of his seed and savouring the taste. After a moment, she released his cock from the warm confines of her mouth and smiled smugly up at him. “Feeling better, My King?”

Jon groaned in relief and lay back down, his mind trying to process everything. He exhaled, stared at the roof of his chambers as the morning sun flowed in, blinking slowly. He felt Margaery’s hands slide up as his naked body as she pressed herself next to him, her face close to his, a glimmer of something in her smile.

“I’ve good news,” she whispered, taking his hand and running it over her breasts before bringing it to rest over her stomach. “I’m with child.”

Jon blinked at her, his half-asleep brain slow to process the words. A moment later the weight of it hit him, and he gave her a cautious smile. “You...are?”

She beamed at him. “I am...we’re going to have a child, an heir.”

His smile was unbridled then and he reached out and kissed his wife softly, resting his head against hers and fully embracing her. “I love you,”

“I love you too,” she purred, kissing him again with a little more heat, “My King”

The title made him wince a little. “No,” he affirmed, soberly, “Aegon will be king.”

Margaery gave him a curious look then, her eyes locked hypnotically on his. “And why does that have to be? You’re the more capable of the two, and with your recent victory, far more beloved. The realm would accept you as King”

“Aegon is the elder,” Jon said again, too tired to properly argue, “it is his right by birth.”

“What if he refuses his right?” She asked, her voice soft but entrancing. “What if he decided you were the better choice?”

Jon frowned. “That would never happen.”

“Wouldn’t it?” She asked again, kissing him gently, her hands tracing circles on his naked chest, “Loras sent me a raven...he told me of how you bested the Blackfyre...he also told me that he has more of the Asshai medicine, all of it on its way back for you to use.”

Jon could not look away from her sultry expression. “But...”

“Shhh,” she pressed a finger against his lips, “you are a strong man, a true king. Use these gifts...make the realm love you and take your place as it’s king.”