Rage

Cersei stood there, temptingly beautiful and gravid with his child, the proof of his weakness and lust. His body ached to fuck her, to continue to fuck her for the rest of his life and spread his seed. But those thoughts died when he thought of his brother, laying dead with his neck broken, and all that he felt was overwhelming rage.

He closed the distance between them, his hands finding the softness of her neck, and with a devil’s strength he began to **** the life from her. She startled in confusion, but as he **** her down her own weight worked against her, and quickly her confusion gave way to panic, and panic to **** ****. She tried to claw and scratch at him, but ultimately she could not overpower him. She was dead within minutes, their child with her.

In the days that followed there was much grief in the Red Keep, with the **** of the beloved young king and the Hand’s pregnant wife. Jon knew well enough how to disguise her ****, making it seem she had broken her neck in a tumble down the stairs that led up to his chambers in the Tower of the Hand. The remainder of his Targaryen kin gathered for the funeral, save for Elia who was now confined to a bed and on her way out of the mortal coil. Some whispered that the House was cursed and when Jon finally took the crown it was a solemn affair all round. He ruled as he lived; with a grim stoicism that was engrained into his soul.

Years later the Blackfyres resurgence came to his shores and Jon met them in battle without fear, throwing himself into the heart of the fight and slaying the Blackfyre pretender who wore his brother’s name. The battle was won, but Jon’s wounds proved too great. He died after passing the crown to his uncle Viserys, hoping that his line would not be as cursed as Jon’s.