GOT: Wolf Becomes Stag

How short the peace lasted. How pungent the scent of war felt.

Robert returned to King's Landing without gaining any victory. Dorne was in silent rebellion, the Westerlands was no longer an ally of the Crown. The Reach was undecided, the Riverlands were useless, and the North was under attack. All he had was the Stormlands and the Crownlands.

Why did I resurrect? My life and death made no difference in the realm. Robert pondered as his ship docked at King's Landing.

"Your Grace?"

Robert looked to his right. The tender frame of Lynesse Hightower stood there, her blue eyes on him. The woman had done a lot to calm his nerves over the return journey. Her hands, her lips, and her warm core accompanied him on cold nights. He willingly accepted her at that point, no longer feeling shame in lying with her.

There were no romantic emotions, however. He made her exactly what she wanted to be. A concubine, and now a handmaiden. He planned on letting her accompany Sansa and Myrcella so she wouldn't feel bored alone.

"I'll ride for Winterfell at first light, Lynesse. I'll make sure Stannis knows to give you the respect you're owed. You've no need to fear the Red Keep—live how you damn well please."

"Can't I accompany you, Your Grace?"

"It's going to be bloody, Lynesse. It's no place for a woman like yourself." Robert refused.

Lynesse giggled and softly slid closer to Robert, letting her shoulder press against his arm. "But I can handle big swords, Your Grace. You must be aware of my prowess by now?"

This woman. She knows what to say to lift up the mood.

Robert chuckled and nodded. "Aye, you're good at sheathing the sword."

Lynesse laughed and hugged his muscled arm against her soft bosom. "When will you leave, Your Grace?"

"At the break of dawn tomorrow."

She squeezed his arm harder on herself. "Then, may I accompany you to your chamber tonight?"

Robert exhaled. It was easier to control Robert's madness now, but the high libido was a biological need, not just psychological. With Lynesse, at least he found an easy outlet without fearing fathering children for now.

"You may," Robert accepted her offer. He had no idea when he'd see her again, so he liked her offer. "Let us deboard."

He removed his arm from her embrace and walked with the Kingsguards. The port was bustling with activity, and there were too many merchant ships docked there. He keenly looked around and soon noticed Tyrion walking around with his trusted sellsword and squire.

"Your Grace." Tyrion greeted the King and eyed the blonde-haired beauty behind him. "My lady."

"You did this?" Robert asked back.

"As you can see, I'm doing exactly what you commanded. Trade is the heart of coin, and coin is something I handle rather well." Tyrion's steps matched the King's as he gestured toward the foreign merchants. "These men hail from Essos, eager to barter and bargain. Westerosi steel, our garments—they have a taste for what we offer."

"Steel? I didn't permit you to sell that."

"I didn't," Tyrion replied with a half-smile. "I mainly focused on wines, scented candles for the ladies, linen to dress the rich—honey, apples, lemons, and such sorts."

Robert silently gazed at the port and nodded. "On my way, I saved a Lyseni merchant prince named Tregar Ormollen. He's interested in trading with the Crown."

"The more the merrier. I'll send word to his lot. I'd wager one of them is already skulking about here."

Robert nodded and mounted the horse waiting for him there. "Keep at it, then. Attend the Small Council before supper."

Soon after, the Gold Cloaks and the Kingsguards escorted Robert's horse and the small carriage Lynesse was sitting in into the Red Keep. The entire city still smelled of shit but to a lesser extent. With less money spent on constant tourneys and other royal expenses, the coffers had enough to clean up the city.

"Your Grace."

"Stannis." Robert got off the horse and greeted his stoic brother. "Anything to report."

"Nothing that you don't know."

"Good, I'll hold a Small Council before supper. Tell the lot of them to be on time for once. And this here, this is Lynesse Hightower. She'll be staying as a guest in the Keep. Make sure she's treated well." Robert ordered and stormed into the castle.

He didn't head towards his bedchamber, but instead Sansa's. He feared that the girl would be scared after learning about Winterfell being attacked.

"No need to follow." Robert stopped the Kingsguards and went alone.

He went upstairs and soon arrived at Sansa's personal chambers. It used to belong to Cersei in the past since it was large and well-decorated. He pushed the door and it opened normally.

"Where did she go?" Robert found the place empty. It was still morning, just a little late. He expected her to be there. "With Myrcella?"

He left the room and walked further into the same hallway and arrived at Myrcella's chamber. It was situated in one of the corners, a brilliant place for a bedchamber as the two open sides let in ample light and air.

"Is Sansa in there?" Robert asked the two Kingsguards standing outside.

"She is, Your Grace."

Robert nodded, grabbed the door handle, and pushed it open. He walked inside with his large frame and instantly froze at the scene before him. He felt his mouth going dry instantly, and his eyes bulged.

"W-W…" Even speaking felt like a chore. "What is the meaning of this?!"

####

"Morning, Sansa."

Sansa yawned and woke up from slumber. She stretched her arms high, eyes squeezed shut while the cool breeze filled her chest. It was a ritual by now to stay the night in Myrcella's chamber. "Morning."

"Why were you moaning last night?" Myrcella asked out of nowhere, her lips curved into a smirk, her eyebrows flashing. "Did you see something naughty in your dream?"

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Aaah~ Ooooh~ Mmmmm~" Myrcella moaned and cooed, hugging herself. "That's what I heard from your lips."

"No… I-I don't remember." Sansa shyly slid off the bed. She fixed her white, full-sleeved nightgown, so thin that her skin's texture could be felt, tightly clenched to her slender waist.

"Hehe." Myrcella followed right behind, her gown matched Sansa's—White, tight around her frame, thin, but sleeveless. She quickly pressed her dear red-haired friend against the wall, one arm beside her head, and the other tracing the belly. "Come on, Sansa. Aren't we close? I promise I won't tell anyone. Did you see His Grace? Did he kiss you? Did he touch you? Or…"

All of a sudden, Myrcella lowered her hand from Sansa's belly and raised the gown high from her legs, quickly finding the naked, tight, virgin lower lips. She teased with her finger right away, pressing herself closer against Sansa. Her other hand untied the lace on her neckline and pulled out the handful, soft breasts. She smothered them under her palm and whispered.

"Did he do it with you? In your dream? Oooh~" Myrcella pressed herself harder on Sansa, using her dear friend's taller height to her advantage.

As Sansa bent one knee in reaction to being touched on her delicate bundle of nerves, Myrcella herself started to ground her loins on the knee. She also freed her own exquisite breasts through the wide neckline, her pink tips obviously starting to harden.

"Ah~" Sansa moaned, finding Myrcella's fingers too teasing. She pressed herself harder back on the wall and turned her face, shyly avoiding eye contact. Yet, she didn't push her friend away. "N-No… His Grace didn't… Umm… Do anything. W-We just hugged."

"Hugged?" Myrcella exclaimed, a bit disappointed. "Wait, have you ever been kissed, Sansa? I suppose it's obvious nobody touched you there."

"Kissed? No." Sansa denied, her eyes half closed. She felt Myrcella's breath reaching her ear, so close. "S-Septa said…"

"Oh, Stranger take the Septa. Those witches touch themselves too. But seriously? You never kissed?" Myrcella breathed into Sansa's ear and finally bit softly on her earlobe. Her finger also started to press into her delicate, drenched core after playing with the hidden clitoris. "Maybe I can help?"

"What?"

"Like this—Ummm~"

Myrcella stole Sansa's lips the moment the redhead reacted in shock. Myrcella didn't want to take it too far and only used the lips, sliding the soft texture, rubbing against hers. Her hand also picked up the pace, sliding up and down Sansa's sensitive petals until she felt the silent throbs on her fingertips.

"Um!"

Myrcella kept on kissing, now more openly but without tongue, nibbling, and suckling on her lips. She felt her friend was close, Sansa's slender belly tightening up. So, she added her thumb on the clitoris, round and round with slick slides of Sansa's nectar. The little ball of flesh danced around her wet thumb, slipping and sliding. Her hand moved wildly, as did her own hips as Sansa's knee rubbed on her.

Both girls felt the unbearably hot need from each other's bodies, sweat rolling down from their fair skin. The silent but delectable friction teasing at their loins intensified from the conscious thought that this was someone else's skin, someone else's finger, not their own. Another body submerging them into bliss, lost in lust.

"Mmmm~"

At last, Sansa hummed into the kiss and felt the pressure of something wonderful breaking through. She felt her insides turn scorching hot, and the spasms all over her body. It was a heavenly feeling, and she loved all of it.

Before she realized it, she felt something—something hot drenching her walls and oozing out as her clenching muscles finally gave up the stifling resistance. It felt so good, so warm, and somehow she wanted more of it. A silent need tingled up her body, somehow wanting Myrcella to move closer, and go deeper. She wanted that feeling to happen again, taking over her very being.

All she could think about was the craving. More… More… Please….

Clack!

Thud!

"What is the meaning of this?!"

"Ah!

"Your Grace!"

The two girls jumped in fright and looked at the door.

Both of them froze instantly, fright painting their faces. They failed to realize how bare they were, as their breasts dangled in plain view. Sansa's gown still clung to her belly due to sweat, leaving her drenched, and climaxing petals uncovered.

"Y-Your Grace… We–we were…" Myrcella tried to calm the situation. "We just…"

"What were you two doing?!"

Myrcella gulped and looked to her side. She frowned, finding Sansa tearing up and still not covering herself. But then, an idea erupted, and she looked back at Robert, reckoning he'd be ogling at the redheaded maiden's body.

What? Why? To Myrcella's surprise, the King was looking at her bare chest instead. Me?

"Sansa, cover yourself!" Robert bellowed, trying not to look at her.

"I-I'll help." Myrcella used the chance to move, feeling too confused by the King's interest in her. She rapidly fixed Sansa's gown and then proceeded to fix herself. Sadly, they sweat-drenched their gowns so much that everything was still visible.

"Your Grace, Sansa had never kissed someone and I was just teach—"

"Enough! I gave you freedom, and you misused it! I'm disappointed in both of you girls. Very well, I shall call a stricter Septa to reside in the Red Keep to teach you two some manners." Robert bellowed in rage and turned around to leave. But before he fully left, he glared back. "And hear me now—no more sharing rooms or beds at night."

Thud!

The door slammed shut.

Myrcella sighed and looked at her teary-eyed friend. "I'm sorry, Sansa."

"I-I made him angry. He hates me."

"No, he doesn't! I saw him looking at you," Myrcella whispered softly, wiping away Sansa's tears with gentle hands. "I think... Once he holds you close, once he feels your warmth, he'll love you. Be strong, Sansa. You are braver than you know."

"But he'll send a Septa now."

Myrcella smirked, a touch of resolve in her voice. "I can handle any Septa that comes, don't worry."

Sadly, the blonde-haired Lannister bastard girl found it hard to hold her own ambitions back now. What if the King desired her instead? Can she be the next q…

No, no, no… I don't want to.

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