Family Dinner

With emptier balls and lighter steps, Lyonel swings himself through the palace. His time before the journey North had been severely limited, so he didn't get a proper chance to bask in the medieval splendor that was the Red Keep. Winterfell had no doubt had it's charm, but neither his adventure beyond the wall, nor his journey back south had been as comfortable as a man of his standing deserved. Lyonel deserved so much, now more than ever did he get that feeling. He quite literally lived out most men's maid fetish moments before and was now leasurely strolling through what was essentially his seat of power, from which his family ruled an empire. Seven kingdoms under one throne, one crown on his head and millions of heads at his feet.

Wow, it is dangerously easy to get megalomaniac once you fly on cloud nine. This was all in the future anyway, in an uncertain future at that. The heir to the throne will only sit on it in case of inheritance and Lyonel was painfully aware on how that worked out in canon. Not that that was in any way dampening his mood. The crown prince didn't fasten nor slow down his stroll. With a smile on his face, he walked on undisturbed. Corridor after corridor, beneath majestic arches and along ornated walls Lyonel took in all that the Red Keep had to offer. And it had plenty to offer.

The Iron Throne.

Her birthright. Her destiny. Her burden.

In the years past, rarely a night had gone by without her imagining the crooked assortment of molten steel, that stood for all that was lost and all that she would have to reclaim. Daenerys Targaryen, the Stormborn, first of her name and last blood of Valyria, rightful queen of the Andals, the Rhyonar and the First Men. The days when she had to cower before any man were long past. Nowadays they all did her biding, knowingly or unknowingly. Her wedding night had given her power beyond her wildest dreams. She had long dreaded that fateful day, that she would be sold off to a man in exchange for her brother getting an army. She dreaded what he'd do to her, what she'd have to endure under her new husband. But the answer, to her astonishment, was nought.

The day of her wedding had been a turning point in Danys life. The ceremony was brutal and barbaric, blood and **** flowed in equal measure and equally clouded the guests' judgment apparently. Such ruffians, such violance. When the day neared its end and the surviving guests all started to settle for the night, her betrothed had led her to the cliffs. Never had she been as afraid as in this moment. Her brother had been a cruel man, hitting her when the anger took him. Or out of malice she suspected. But her husband dwarfed Viserys in height and muscle. Khal Drogo was a mountain of flesh, his shoulders broad, his arms bulging, his chest pronounced and his midriff hard as his arakh's steel. If this man give into his urges.... Dany was sure her fear was wellfounded.

But after he told her to undress, Khal Drogo did the same.

And it took all of Danys mental fortitude not to burst into tears from laughing. She clamped her mouth shut abruptly the second Drogos nub was revealed and tightened her little fists to distract herself. Her eyes started twitching in tandem with her mouth's corners, but she was nothing if not a well-mannered lady. She had learned to hide her emotion, to remain stoic despite pain, grief or anger. But this was her noble demeanor's hardest challenge. In front her stood the epitome of masculinity with a body, hardened by countless battles. Well, hardened except for one place in particular. The pitiful thing looked like an almond atop two raisins, a comical display attached to a man whose biceps was probably the size of another mans torso. And the way he looked proud of it after discarding his clothes, reminded her of a fool with faux pride after excelling at falling on his head.

He turned her around and she was able to tell what was coming next. A good thing she had that much imagination to begin with, because she didn't feel the act of it at all. Once or twice he may have connected his pelvis with her backside, but Dany could not completely rule out that it was merely a seaside breeze. He had fallen backwards afterward and breathed labouredly. For a moment Daenerys searched her mind for ways to describe the possibility of a man ever having power over her. But the only word in her vocabulary was "No".

The castle was bursting with life, guards at every odd door and patrolling the halls, servants running around, rarely empty-handed, and clutches of nobles lounging in every courtyard and speck of greenery. Like a city of its own, the Red Keep housed more courtiers and staff than Lyonel could count, let alone learn the names or faces of. But being greeted and exchanging pleasantries with admirers, didn't require any actual memorization. So Lyonel basked in the attention of everyone that took the opportunity to get in the royals good graces. Some of them took reference to the audience in the main hall earlier, but most of the lesser nobles hadn't been allowed in and were now having their first contact with the prince. Time flew by and before he knew it, a guardsman politely closed in on Lyonel and informed him, that his presence was required. The most important meeting of the day was still before him. The family dinner, a rare opportunity at which the whole royal family assembled on one spot.

Closing around a corner, the prince was rudely interrupted on his way by a very familiar face. With a ruff gesture a wolf in ladies clothing cornered him and pressed him close to the corridors wall.

"Lyonel", Arya Stark barked out directly into his face, or based on the height difference, more aptly into his chest. "You took your sweet time to come south, didn't you? Do you have any idea how boring the castle? In Winterfell one could at least play around with bow and arrow in the yard, or ride out from time to time. In Kings Landing it is tea time here, lemon pastries there, sitting with the courtiers in the yards or, the pinnacle of boredom, study circles with the septas. I can't even sneak outside, it's like some kind of clapping sound is always alerting the guards when I try to run away."

"Well, I'm also happy to meet you too Arya. A pleasure to see you again", the nature of their size would have made Lyonel factually speak down to her anyway, but he doubled down on that with his words. The young woman in front of him almost bared her teeth at that. Standing in the presence of a feral wolf made Lyonel curse the civility of the Red Keep baring him from carrying a weapon. Self defence is important when bored Stark girls are roaming the halls. A sword would really - A sword! He had promised to do training exercises with Arya once they were both in Kings Landing!

"I wanted to do your dancing lessons!", Lyonel blurted out, suddenly understanding why Arya was blaming her boredom on him specifically.

"What?", her face got contorted in confusion and she took a step back, granting Lyonel room to breath again. "Dancing lessons? You said you would help me learn swordsmanship!" Arya caught herself being loud and shut her mouth, looking around to make sure not to have been caught. "Have you forgotten? Or was that just empty babbling from a Southern loudmouth?"

"Neither of course. But we can't go around yelling about swordfighting, can we?", he managed to make her look down guiltily. "So I'm glad to show you how to handle a longsword", a cocky eyebrow rose, "but I think we should call it our dancing lessons. That's a lot more courtly, I think the people would approve this way. A bit unorthodox maybe, but not as outrageous as a highborn lady learning the gritty arts of war. Would that suit you?"

"Fine then, I await you for the first dancing lesson tomorrow. Don't reveal yourself to be all talk, alright?", the still angry Arya turned away and walked off without waiting for an answer.

Destiny does not wait.

That is something Dany had learned, back when her brother was still stubbornly believing in the lies of the westerosi commonfolk giddily awaiting the dragons' return. Why would they? The dragons had fallen from the skies and the stags, the Usurpor's dynasty, had picked up the crown. Dany did not naively think that the people were waiting for her. The world kept moving, so she had to do the same to not be left behind. Her brother had never realized that and so that is precisely what had happened to him.

"Uuumgh"

Her brother had thought they were waiting for him, had thought he needed to merely sail over and they would rise for him, had thought the army her marriage to Drogo had bought him would hem his royal procession. What a fool he had been. Over years she had witnessed him considering the war for the throne as a mere modality. Dany had grown sick and tired of his boasting, considering himself the king of Westeros in all but name. Her and Doreah have called him a blowhard at many an occasion.

"Mmmmhhha"

Overall Dany had found a strong backing with Doreah, Irri and Jhiqui. The four of them ended each day snickering and talking about her brother, her husband and men in general. The butt of their talk was usually Viserys. The beggar king had brought Doreah so that she would train Dany on how to please the horselord, what a joke. From what Doreah told Dany, it took neither effort nor skill to pleasure a man. What it actually took was artistic talent, to pretend that not only was the mans effort not laughable, but that it indeed had any positive effect on the woman he was with. Truth be told, that was not an art that Dany really was a diligent student of. But it was seemingly sufficient in the day to day.

"Ooooouuu"

Indeed the woman that had started out as her brother's whore, had moved out of that role now that her brother had passed and became Danys confidant and lover. Oh, the pleasures that the circle of women brought each other. Dany had no qualms at all about her brother's ****. What had taken Daenerys and Doreah a few weeks of whispered words of incitement in their mens' ears, left neither of them with a heavy conscience. It was high time that push came to shove and that Dany was the one dragon left.

"Aaaaaaaaa!"

"Are you done my love?", Dany came back to the present with a desinterested shaking behind her hips. "Go to sleep now, you must be ti-", but she already heard an animalistic snoring behind herself. The final dragon walked behind herself, stepped over to her sleeping husband and brushed the few droplets of cum that had landed at the outskirts of her womanhood off with Drogos beard. Another night to seek fulfillment in the neighbouring tent.

Lyonel, the last one to arrive, entered a room in which he was the final piece of the puzzle. Servants were standing on the sidelines with sealed off plates of food and the rest of the family had already taken their seats at the royal dinner table. Robert Baratheon and his "darling" wife sat at opposing ends of the table, their two younger children sitting at the table's sides. While Myrcella choose the seat directly next to her father on her side, Tommen on the other side picked the one next to the queen. Once a mommas boy, always a mommas boy. His family looked up at him and eight eyes equally beckoned him forward. Either between the family men or between the beatiful ladies at the table. Never has a choice been easie-

"Lyonel, my boy! Come, sit and lets finally eat. You must be starving, from eating naught but fish and snow for weeks!", the king let out a bellowing laugh, that was almost as loud as Cerseis rolling eyes. Never one to disappoint, Lyonel adjusted his trajectory and instead walked over to plop down between Robert and Tommen. With a slap on Lyonels back and a nod of his head, a myriad of servants hastily began bringing forth one delicacy after the other and placing them on the table.

"We are so glad you are back darling", Cersei put her hands on the table, folded as if to thank the Seven for Lyonels return. "We missed you dearly."

Out of nowhere a dainty foot made contact with the prince's shank, making him tense up momentarily.

"Oh, we really missed you so much!", the princess on the opposite site of the table audibly pouted and pulled her little hands into fists. "It was so unpleasant", the little foot that played along his leg spread its toes and squeezed his leg playfully, "without you."

An awkward silence followed, as Myrcellla welcomed her brother home by provocatively and possessively playing along his leg and pinching more and more upward towards his groin. For the troublemaker's usually small size, her leg was extensively long, as she was sitting completely unsuspiciously while her leg under the table reached all the way up his thigh squeezed dangerously close to...

"So, do you want to start boasting on your own or do I have to squeeze it out of you?", the kings voice boomed the squablling siblings out of it and the mischievious princess withdrew her invading foot in an instant.

"Why would you assume him to be a bragger, like his father? ", the queen coquetishly answered in Lyonels stead. Robert rolled his eyes at his wife's usual antics, but didn't pay it any more mind, his eyes still pointed at his son.

"Well, I might want to boast a little bit", Lyonel grabbed his wine from the table and swooshed it around. "I traveled to the Wall, the world's end, you see? A bit of boasting is only appropriate."

"Huh, ice and stone and magic. Ned told me about it when we were at the Eyrie, said it ought to be higher than the Giant's Lance. That's probably been the only time I called him a liar and meant it. Say, what's the truth of it?"

"Back at the Eyrie he said it? Then I'd call it a child's imagination, not a bold faced lie. It doesn't rival the peaks of the Vale, but I think it's the tallest monument men have ever built. And the view? That's a spectacle, I tell you."

Tommen, not martially inclined at all, budded in with some bookish sophistication. "Actually, I think the Hightower equals the Wall in sice. And next to the Eyrie, there's of course also the Rock that's comparably high in the air."

The women at the table showed their usual reaction to the boy's additions, his mother smirked proudly at his effort to be a part of the tables conversation while his sister rolled her eyes in annoyance. The king himself was a mix between the two, on the one hand pleasantly suprised that the reserved and quirrly boy raised his voice in his company, a very rare occurance, on the other hand he had little tolerance for interruptions in the few moments that he actually cared about the conversations he was entangled in. The day to day noise of being a king had luckily calmed a bit since Eddard took over as Hand, so Robert had enough calm of mind to let it slip.

"Yes, thrilling, it truly is. But go on Lyonel, tell me more. The imp only spoke of your time at the Wall, but that was not all there was to it, was it?", the king inquired and unsure of how much to divulge of his time in the wilds, Lyonel tried to juggle it along.

"Father, of course we also went on excursions beyond the Wall. If you think hunting around here is a thrill, let me tell you that the forests beyond the Wall are leagues beyond it. There are so many animals up North that we never see down here. The Starks have shown us the direwolfs for one, yes, but what might be interesting for feline inclined here, there were also Shadowcats", the Lannister pack at the table smiled up softly, the lioness in training and the lion matriarch both. But Tommen, caught in his own expertise, cautiously intercepted from the side.

"Shadowcats are actually not just found in the North, in fact they also inhabit the mountains of Dorne and the Vale. And they can sometimes also be seen in the northern Riverlands", the boy stepped into the conversation, gaining more confidence as he was in familiar waters now.

Unknowingly Lyonel ended his recap of the Northern Excursion with this, as once Tommen does speak up, the quiet boy hardly stops. The usually refined princeling started the smalltalk by going into detail about the cats he had chased (or found? or fed?) the other day, in all truth Lyonel was just nodding it off while induling himself on the delicious foods presented to him. When he reached halfway over the table to snatch up an especially tasty looking morsel, the king and queen for once saw eye to eye. Both of them nodded proudly, one of them with more pure thoughts than the other. Either way, both were immeasurably glad to have their son back home.

"Uuugh, this is already cold!", the pampered princess drew all attention back on herself. She had, in the most ladylike manner, discarded of a bite and now holds up the plate into the air. "I'll have to give these leftovers to the poor a bit sooner than usual, I'm so sorry for the interruption."

With the air of superiority, that only a spoiled brat of medieval proportions could ever possess, Myrcella snaped her fingers in the air twice in rapid succession. Seemingly out of nowhere her call was answered and Ygritte appeared out of nowhere. The wildling woman looked decidely less like... a wildling woman. Her dress wasn't frilly or pompous, not at all, but her being clad in a dress at all, was almost jawdropping to Lyonel. But her doing an almost robotical half-bow and taking the offending dinner plate, took the cake. Literally and figuratively.

Myrcella underlined that by smugly smiling over to her brother and stated, oozingly sweet, "Oh, yes, that reminds me dear brother. I really can't thank you enough for the new servant. She's still a bit uncouth for my tastes, but she's a perfect hybrid between the protective strength of a guard and the sensitivity of my ladies in waiting. Some day soon I will have to show you my appreciation." The smuggest of smirks decorated the lionesses beautiful face, as much as confusion must have shown on Lyonels.

On her way out, while the rest of the dinners participants have already returned their eyes and ears to a fascinating story about how Tommen got stuck in one of the castle walls when he chased one of his cats, Lyonel had their eyes double-checking the departing Ygritte. As timing demands, the Northener looked back in that exact moment and throws him a well hidden wink. Oooooh, her first day in Kings Landing and she's already playing a doublesided game? A good scout is dangerous in any terrain, even behind enemy lines...