Reign of the Dragonking - Chapter 171

Chapter 171: The Weight of Victory

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The familiar scent of King's Landing hit me before Rhaegal's claws touched stone. It was fine flowers, smoke, and the peculiar sweetness of too many bodies pressed too close together. 

Home sweet home. 

The dragon settled onto the courtyard with surprising delicacy, probably sensing my mood. Even monsters knew when to tread carefully.

I'd barely dismounted when a flash of auburn caught my eye. Sansa rushed across the stones, her blue skirts hiked up in a way that would've scandalized her old septa. The panic in her Tully-blue eyes told me everything I needed to know about what she'd heard.

"D-did you see Robb's letter?" The words tumbled out before she'd even reached me, breathless from running. "I heard you went to Winterfell. What did you talk about?"

I kept walking toward the keep's entrance, letting my longer stride force her to half-jog beside me. "I asked them to kneel."

The sharp intake of breath beside me was almost musical. Sansa stopped dead for exactly three heartbeats before her footsteps resumed, faster now, angrier.

"You asked them to– Viserys! Really?! Come on, that's my brother! My family! How could you use the White Walkers as leverage against–"

"Would you prefer I let them die nobly?" I didn't slow my pace, guards scrambling to open doors ahead of us. "Very Stark-like, dying for honor. Your father would approve."

"I… Viserys! That's not fair!"

"Fair?" I let amusement color my voice. "Your brother crowns himself, breaks from my protection, then expects me to rush north with dragons the moment things get difficult? That's your definition of fair?"

Her hand caught my arm, surprisingly strong for such delicate fingers. "They're facing the apocalypse! We are too!"

"So dramatic. It's an army of corpses, not the void itself." I finally stopped, turning to face her properly. The corridor stretched empty around us, servants having mysteriously vanished at our approach. Smart of them. "Besides, they have three days to decide. Plenty of time for northern stubbornness to wrestle with northern survival instincts."

"T-three days?" Horror painted itself across her features. "The dead will reach Winterfell in three days?"

"Give or take. Depends on whether they stop to recruit more villages along the way." I resumed walking, enjoying how her moral outrage battled with practical concern. "Don't look so stricken. Your brother's not stupid, just proud. He'll kneel."

"How can you be so certain?"

"Because he has children now. Amazing how tiny humans make even kings reconsider their priorities."

****

A couple hours later, I was in the chair of my solar and let out a sigh. The papers in my hand weren’t important. I was rather busy thinking about the game's next moves. 

I relaxed into my chair, putting the accumulated paperwork across the mahogany surface while trying to focus on trade agreements that suddenly seemed pointless when ice zombies marched south.

A wet, warm sensation around my cock dragged my attention downward. It reminded me that I wasn’t the only one working here.

"Comfortable down there?" I asked the space beneath my desk.

Ros pulled back just enough to speak, her lips swollen and glistening. "You've been busy with others these days. Girl gets lonely." She punctuated the statement by swirling her tongue around my tip in a way that made my breath catch.

"Careful now. That almost sounds like sentiment. Wouldn’t it be scandalous to fall for your King?"

"Oh, please, I’m not in the mood for silly banters. I just need this down my throat…" She took me deep again, her throat working in ways that would've made her fortune in any pleasure house from here to Yi Ti. Not that she needed to work brothels anymore. My Mistress of Whispers had found far more interesting uses for her talents.

I tried to focus on the parchment before me. Something about grain shipments from the Reach. But the words swam as Ros demonstrated why she'd been worth elevating from whore to spymaster. Her technique had only improved with years of exclusive practice.

A soft hum escaped me as she did something especially creative with her tongue.

She withdrew slightly, green eyes studying me with unusual intensity. "You're bothered. The documents shouldn't be that complicated."

The laugh that bubbled up held genuine mirth. "Haven't read a single line yet."

A frown creased her brow, an oddly endearing expression while my cock rested against her cheek. "Are you… nervous, maybe? The White Walkers do sound crazy."

"Nervous about corpses?" I threaded fingers through her red hair, copper bright in the afternoon sun. "Sweet girl. I’m not. Just considering how to handle Sansa's inevitable tantrum about the North."

She gave me a look that said volumes about what she thought of my family management skills, then returned to her task with renewed vigor. Despite her previous profession, this woman had always been competitive, even if she hid it well. As if to say, ‘you’re thinking about another while I’m doing my best to please you?’

In hindsight, it was a rude thing to do, indeed.

Three knocks echoed through the door. Formal. Precise. Maester-like.

"Enter," I called, not bothering to adjust my position. It wasn’t someone important anyway. Even if they were, they’d learn that the Dragon King's schedule bent for no one.

Samwell Tarly shuffled in, chains clinking with each movement. The Citadel's little joke. Sending me their disappointment when I'd demanded youth over tradition after firing that old fucker. They had no idea they'd handed me one of the few genuinely brilliant minds in their entire organization.

"Uh… Your Grace." He kept his eyes carefully averted from my desk, though the flush creeping up his neck said he knew exactly what was happening below it. "Another raven arrived from Winterfell."

His fingers trembled slightly as he extended the small scroll. Interesting. That hesitation spoke a lot. He’d not only come here to hand over that parchment, but also say something.

Before he could make such a mistake, I should at least warn him.

"Going to advocate for your friend Jon Snow, Samwell?" The mana flowed through me like warm honey, invisible threads wrapping around the parchment and pulling it from his grip without my hand moving an inch. His eyes widened. He'd never seen me do that before. "Don't. I'm aware of your friendship, but don't try to manipulate me, Maester."

Sam swallowed hard. "I wouldn't presume…"

"Good." The seal broke with a thought, another little mana trick I'd been perfecting. The words inside made my lips curve into something predatory.

I, Robb of House Stark, do hereby acknowledge Viserys of House Targaryen as my rightful king and...

I didn’t bother reading more. My free hand found Ros's head, fingers tightening as satisfaction rolled through me in waves. The groan that escaped held layers. Pleasure, triumph, and something darker that made Sam step backward. Ros moaned for me as if sharing my feelings.

"Perfect," I muttered, spending myself down Ros's eager throat while she swallowed with practiced ease.

Victory tasted sweeter when seasoned with submission.

"My sister," I said to Sam, who looked ready to flee. "Have you summoned her from Essos, as I asked?"

"The ravens were sent, Your Grace. Queen Daenerys should receive them within days."

Good. The board was almost set. The North had bent rather than broken, choosing survival over pride. Now came the interesting part. The Targaryens and their dragons, against the White Walkers and their wights.

"That will be all, Maester."

Sam fled with admirable speed for someone his size. The door clicked shut, leaving me alone with Ros, who emerged from beneath the desk looking entirely too pleased with herself, fluid dripping down her lips.

"The North submitted?" she asked, reading my expression with the skill that made her invaluable.

"They always do, eventually." I tucked myself away, already considering the next dozen moves. "Pride makes for beautiful last words but poor shield walls against the undead."

"You could have helped them without the ultimatum."

"Could have." I stood, moving to the window where King's Landing sprawled in all its filthy glory. "But where's the lesson in that? This is the best and easiest time to get the North return under the fold without them getting prideful and resisting. You grew up there, so you’d agree, no? The North needs to remember they're part of something larger. This reminder will last generations."

Ros hopped on my lap, resting her head against my chest, her warmth pressing against me. "Yeah, yeah. You were going to save them anyway."

"...Obviously. Can't rule ashes and ice." I wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. "But they'll remember who saved them. And more importantly, they'll remember the price of defiance."

Sometimes mercy required cruelty first. The North would survive because I allowed it, not because they deserved it.

And that, more than any crown or title, was what made me king.

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