Action, all over Town

"Another ship from," Myrcella adjusted her telescope to refine the image of the galley's flags, "Lys, of all places. Uuuugh.... What is that, the fifth one today already? And don't even get me started on those big ones clouding up Blackwater Bay, only to row into the city on their little dinghies. "

The room didn't answer the princess's exhaustion, the only sounds that constituted a vague reply, was the muffled lapping that continued undisturbed. The princess had taken residence in one of the castle's highest towers to overlook the grand tourneys preparations. Her stupid (ly sexy) brother was getting a tournament in his honour. Some said it is to celebrate his betrothal or even for their father's new Hand, but they can't fool this lioness. Neither that backwater hick nor her northern brute of a father were warranting all these spittle lickers and foreign dignitaries storming her city. No, this was all one big display of submission to her brother. A display that they all rightfully owed her.

**Lap Lap** FFLLLP **Lap Lap**

It was a weak consolation prize to her that her hold on the palace's maidens was growing stronger by the minute. Since breaking the fire headed wildling whore, Myrcella had started intensifying her machinations. The ongoing rotation of the servant girls in light of the castle's turbulent weeks in the tourney's advance, meant that she had a steady supply of naive young maidens spending some private time with her. And these singular hours was all it would take nowadays to open their flower petals and put them into full bloom.

**Lap** FFFFLLLP **Lap**

Maybe that even made it worse? She was building a web all throughout the castle, playing a woman's game, quite literally so. But her brother, did he have to play it slow and steady? Did he need to work his mind to spread his eyes and ears around? No, of course he doesn't. His brother just waltzes into a room, swinging his monstrous third leg around, and everyone falls to their knees. (Figuratively!)

Now everyone was eve- The rooms background noise of constant lapping and intermitting slurps had stopped, to Myrcellas dismay. Her beautiful visage, until now only tarnished by slightly reddened cheeks, took on a deep scowl and wordlessly she tightened her thighs' grip on the head, which until now had dutifully worked her royal pleasure core. In a sudden burst of life, her redhaired lap dog started shaking and once Myrcella eased up again, she lifted her eyes to answer the princess.

"Hhhh, hhhh, I-I'm sorry mistress, m-must have dozed off there! I'll g-get right to it again, thank you for correcting me!" and instead of waiting for a reply, Ygritte burrowed her face back between the princesses' legs.

"Well, that is better", Myrcella affectionately petted the wildlings head and dug her hands through the red mane before resuming her monologue.

"So, where was I?" the self-absorbed beauty asked herself out loud, before traversing to her inner monologue again.

Now everyone was even coming to King's Landing, to pay homage to her brother. She could not stand the implications of her brother drawing the Seven Kingdoms nobility as well as Essos' famous and wealthy into the city with ease. They certainly all thought that politics was a man's game. But not for long, Myrcella calmed herself, she had her own games to play at the tourney. And looking down at the woman zealously making out with her womanhood, the princess got the warm feeling, that all the pieces would fall into place.

"The basil one," a dramatic pause, " or the chartreuse one?"

Her question was answered by an eyeroll so expressive, it could be heard across the room. And with her question answered so uncouth, she had no alternative than turning around, sending her bosom swinging from the rapid twist of her uncovered chest.

"Loras! I'll have you know, that reseda green has lost any appeal it had since the time the lass of House Meadows wore that ghastly dress on father's last visit," Margaery stemmed her left hand into her wasp-like waist. This argument has been mulled over and over. Her brother had an eye for aesthetics, but he could be so stubborn sometimes.

"Very well, I'll let it rest, my darling sister. If you want to go for a safe choice," the knight of flowers eyed the two pieces of cloth critically and pointed at the left one. "Basil it is then; you cannot go wrong with this. It suits your eyes and when I crown you the queen of love and beauty, that basil one will harmonize ideally with the crowns flower petals."

The knight smiled cockily, leaning back on his lounge chair. The dressing rooms air was ripe with the fragrances of the sibling duo's perfumes and as it was a windowless room, it was getting steamier the longer the two of them spent on their tournament preparations. For hours now, both of them had dressed and undressed and redressed, throwing exemplary strips of fabric through the air, debating over colours and styles, accessories and impressions. And yet, this was the first time one of them brought up the metaphorical aurochs' junk in the room.

"Oh brother, do not get ahead of yourself. From what I gathered, the prince is going to partake in the tournament this time," as if on instinct Margaery's nipples perked up like waiting buds at the height of spring. Something she would play off as a consequence of the open air hitting her exposed breasts, but as she had sent away her attendants when her brother came over, there was no need for any pretending.

"Hah," the Tyrell spawn got up from his seat a little too fast for comfort and walked over the Arbor gold on the side table. He filled his glass and aimed it accusingly at his sister. "Since when did you lose faith in me, sister dearest? Your nephew might handle the sword well, as many do. But jousting, now that is the true art of the tournament. We don't just best our opponents. The lance, the horse, the very audience themselves, all of those are instruments playing into the symphony. You see-"

"I do Loras, I do see. And you know what else I see? I see your chivallrous pride wilting in fear of being overshadowed by my nephew and his mind-shattering prowess."

Both siblings felt their knees weakening at the mention of Lyonels prowess. The difference between them was that while Margaery could openly praise the future king of the seven kingdoms, Loras still had to keep up some resemblance of rivalry, considering the two of them being the most likely contenders for the grand tourney's greatest glories. He downed the wine and turned towards the door, thinking up how to leave his sister with a final speck of sass.

"Thank you for your words of encouragment, Margaery, I'll take them as inspiration to train a bit more in advance to the festivities start. Well, I still have to go see your husband, so I will have to leave you to it then," he walked towards the dressing rooms door, the handle in his grip. Behind his back, his sister already smirked with confidence, the two of them always had each other's backs, but behind closed doors some cheeky badinages were no rarity. Apparently, this round was won by her. Apparently.

"Now that I think about it though, even if I don't win the finals, you will probably still be crowned queen of love and beauty. The way our crown prince looks at you, deflowering is firmly on his mind. I'm sure you can take care of that on your own, sister dearest."

Loras left the room without clarifying if "that" meant the selection of the perfect garnment, sure that he had one-upped his sister. And indeed the Reach's most beautiful woman bit her plump lip speechlessly. Now alone in the room, her hands wandered down her body to her thinly covered lower half. Her bottom lips started dripping, creating a dark spot in the matter of seconds helplessly soiling the cloth. She stepped out of the now ruined garment and opened the closet anew. She wanted hard wood, and she'd do everything necessary to make that trunk shot up for her.

A town like any other, with men like any others. Like a mantra, Shae repeated the phrase in her head. Since her father had tried to take her as his own wench, Shae had been on the road. If you ask her, her body is a wise ware to peddle on this ongoing journey. She was hopping from one village tavern to the next, spending the night with whoever paid for her bed and breakfast. The only things she had to carry with her were some few sets of clothing, a few toiletries and the spare coins she amassed. No heavy lifting, no scrubbing, no cooking. Only a few promising looks, some sweet words over a glass of wine or a local ale, and some delicate touches on the mattress.

She was quite proud of those touches too. Shae could hold a man's cock, whisper delightful nothings into their ears and by abruptly pressing her thumb and middle finger firmly, prolong his peak for some seemingly endless moments. On some sunny days, she told herself that she had to keep moving, to get away from the men who fell in love with her one after the other, because she changed their lives. She had caught a few hearts in her fingers' grip, but that was only half the truth. The hedge knights who could afford her services multiple nights in a row were few and far between, the travelling merchants who did, mostly had wives back home. Her lot was to move from one place to the next, following coin and her own intuition. Shae was free as a bird.

But as spring draws the birds back to their homesteads, some events did draw women of Shae's profession to locations like Kings Landing. A mummers circus coming to town, a mercenaries' war camp celebrating victories (or dreading their next battle) and of course tournaments. Nothing brings more coin to one place, than lords and aristocrats competing, bribing and betting with each other. So, when Shae heard word of the grand tournament happening in the capital, she swiftly finished off the local aristocrat that blabbered it out (among other things), and carried her valuable, most of all her body, south through the Riverlands into the pulsating mess that was Kings Landing.

She snickered at thinking the words "pulsating mess", as it described her surroundings now perfectly. One brothel next to the other, at most separated by taverns that might as well dabble as a whorehouse on the side. As if by instinct, Shae had wandered exactly to where she needed to be. She found her way and went, wherever whores go. And in that regard Kings Landing was just like any other place in the world. A town like any other, with men like any others.

"You there!" a hand appeared on Shae's shoulder. The man it belonged to, a pudgy guardsman either off-duty or really negligent, eyed her appraisingly, before judging the body underneath her brown garments to be of no interest to him. "Uargh", he uttered indecipherably and stumbled a few meters ahead to the next broad, this one noticeably more buxom than Shae's lithe form.

Puh, he doesn't even know what he's missing out on, Shae smirked to herself. Only two weeks ago had she collected enough spare coins to get herself her first mink. Not the best quality and potentially one of its change of hands might not have been voluntary, judging by the dodgy merchant she bought it from, but it gives her regal aura. She felt elated and special wearing it. It's only downside though was that the way she wore it around her neck and hanging down the sides of her chest, she sometimes couldn't blame potential patrons from thinking her bust to be bigger than it was, based purely from their hind view.

But Shae didn't have to seduce a hundred men in a place like King's Landing, she didn't need to burst her top luring in one client after the next. Shae had skills none of these braindead whores could keep up with. Her voice, her mind, her delicate touch and her firm grip when it mattered most to men. In a place with pockets as full as in King's Landing, Shae didn't need to seduce a hundred men. She only needed to get her grip on a single man. A man that valued that valued a woman of class, a woman that could be sweet as honey, but also harsh as rum. What she needed was a man with a full purse and an empty heart.

"Hey, uuhm, you ma'am," a man beckoned her over to her to a diverting alleys corner. The man was hooded and hard to see from this angle, but he was tall and well built. And as his voice indeed had the sophistication of a man of means, she walked over to him. Stroking along her mink with one hand, more out of instinct at this point then to actually tantalize.

"Yes, good Sir?" she come closer to him, now fully getting the delight of seeing this handsome man up close. Even through the evident concern, his face gave off the impression that it was carved into marble and atop of that, beautiful golden hair was hidden directly under his hood. Only a few locks of it were visible even from up close. This was a picture of a man; this was what Shae envisioned a king to look like. She still tried to keep her calm, a client was a client after all, and she was a mistress at her craft. "If you do need some help finding your way around town, I'm sorry to say that I cannot help you with that."

She smiled coquettishly and as he answered it with a relieved expression of his own, she knew that the game was on.

"I'm actually looking for someone to help me, you're right about that. But as I'm quite familiar with the city, you might help me with someone else?" the tall, statuesque man gave her an almost proud smile, like a lion before a roar.

The two of them walked into the deserted alley, he might be the lion any other day, but for now, he was Shae's prey. A town like any other, with men like any others.

The waves crashed against the cogs side, foam flying over the railing, soiling the sailors' trunks.

"Ah, shit!" one of them, still green behind the ears cursed, only to be laughed at by the others.

"Be glad for the Drowned God's blessing, he's washing off the blood" an elder ruffian spoke while looking into the sea. "It belongs down there, as an offering and sacrifice for getting us through another battle without having to send one of our own into his halls yet."

The younger sailor looked down and saw that his pants really didn't hold any of their opponent's blood on the anymore. Instead, the white sea foam coated his trunks outsides, leaving behind drying remains.

"Wasn't a worthy sacrifice anyway, was it old man?" a third, quite stately Ironborn joined the conversation. "I know the captain said the disguise as a merchant ship was just to bait our targets in and that the fight was still an honest one. But I can't help it, these traps aren't the Iron Way, are they?"

The old sea bear rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Their captain had come up with a plan that was both devious and brilliant. Some fest or another was drawing ships to the capital, like schools of fish to the best lure. And as the narrow sea and the coasts of the seven kingdoms where brimming with cod, ripe and fat, in came the sharks, or those that thought themselves as such. And what creature out there hunts the shark? The mighty kraken squeezes it, crushing it in the process. And so their captain had devised a plan to do the same. They'd dug through their old trophy chests for the flags of merchants and now spent their days resting the ship where it was easily spotted, waited under deck for the inevitable attack of pirates boarding them. Only to experience the final surprise of their unworthy lives.

The belly of the ship was filled to the brim with kraken reavers, which then swiftly slaughtered the pirates. Like this it didn't damage their own ship and even left the attackers ship intact for them to repurpose and bring back to the isles to join their ever-growing Iron Fleet. A procedure plain and simple, aye, but also deceptive and too clean for some of the men.

"A fight is a fight and as long as we make the offerings to the Drowne-"

"NOOOOO! IS THAT ALL YOU GOT?!"

The old man was interrupted by a young woman's voice. Their captain insisted on them sparing the enemy leaders. After the invading crews had been swiftly dealt with, the captains always conferred in her cabin alone. All the crew heard of them was muffled cries and pleas from the enemy captains and hard words of reprimand from their own. Their parley took a couple of minutes or up to an hour but always ended the same. Their captain made a show of throwing the mutilated, broken and twisted body of the naked enemy into the sea, yelling at the drowned god to continue torturing the filthy thing. Now, it wasn't strange that the offerings to the sea were delivered naked, they did that with all the slain enemies, as many a fish ate human flesh, but rarely any touched the cloth. A fully gone ship no one was missing, fully devoured pirates no one was missing, no battlefields, no signs of a fight, no tracks. But those captains? They looked completely crushed, blue and green, yet with faces a mixture of delight and torment. A truly spooky vision.