GoT: A New God's Conquest

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Feeling the carriage stop, Varys let out a sigh, finally able to stretch his tired muscles after a long day's travel.

His hips popping and a twinge in his lower back, he once again lamented the need for him to leave the Red Keep. Alas, for such an important event, he couldn't rely on his little birds for the matters to come.

Not that he believed his presence would change the outcome of the coming events one bit. No, in Varys's humble opinion, the Baratheon reign was doomed, and his only goal was to gather any information he could for what would come after.

Because as much as he loathed himself for resorting to such means, he knew that his only hope for seeing Young Griff take his rightful seat lay with the vile sorcerers of the Red Temple.

But it would be worth it in the end. No matter the levels he had to stoop to, with his guiding hand, the Blackfyres would rise again. And this time, it wouldn't end with mere rebellions.

Already, the temple had the Beggar King in hand, manipulated for whatever foul deeds they hid behind closed doors, and with the boy as their puppet, the powers from Volantis to Ashai were quickly falling under the Red Priest's control.

To Varys, the exiled Targaryens' only purpose had been to act as a distraction for his nephew. But there was magic in King's blood, something he was sorely aware of after his encounter with the warlock who made him into what he now was.

He could only imagine what horrors young Viserys was experiencing under the temple's tender care. Not that such thoughts would ever halt the path he'd long since decided to walk.

In fact, Varys only wished he'd not lost the girl. Surely, another expendable source of blood from the Valyrian Freehold would have only hastened his plans.

"Lord Varys," a voice interrupted his musings, making him turn to see the newest member of the small council giving his greetings.

"Ah, Lord Baelish, are you enjoying our journey as much as I?" He tittered, easily reverting to the demeanor he'd carefully cultivated over the years.

"Indeed, there's nothing quite like waking up to the smell of unwashed soldiers before taking my morning shit in the woods," Baelish quipped, his usual smarmy grin on his face, and Varys had to wonder if this was simply a casual conversation or if the young man was up to something.

Even with their short acquaintance, Varys had already recognized that the council member dubbed 'Little Finger' had his own aspirations in this great game they all played, and only time would tell how far he'd reach.

For now, he'd only keep an eye on the Master of Coin, something made simple with their similar background—those considered by most to have ascended beyond their birth.

Though this sentiment was more so true for himself, as a lord from the backwaters of the Vale, Baelish was equally looked down upon by the fools of the Red Keep. But Varys knew that this underestimation could be used as a weapon just as deadly as any sword, and up to this point, Little Finger seemed to be wielding it to the best of his abilities.

"Has our king given any word?" Baelish asked, breaking the lull in the conversation and interrupting his musings.

"Aside from demanding to be left alone after entering the local pillow house? No, he has not," Varys informed the scheming lord, an amused smirk forming on the man's face.

"It seems the loss of the queen hasn't lessened His Grace's spirits in that particular department," Baelish commented, making him grimace.

It truly was a distasteful display for that of a ruler. Simply an additional reason as to why he was determined to place a worthy king on the throne.

"His grace grieves in his own way, I suppose," Varys politely excused.

"Nevertheless, us lesser lords have a duty to the realm, and even on the road, the small council awaits our presence. Will you walk with me?" Baelish asked, making him hide a scowl.

"You'll have to go without me; there are still a few arrangements I must prepare," he told the Master of Coin, deciding to relieve himself of further conversation.

"Very well," Baelish nodded, walking off before he let out a sigh. One day he would have enough sway to cleanse the court of such filth, Varys vowed.

—A New God's Conquest—

With the Crossroads coming into view, Tywin's usual cold heart yearned to return to the warmth of his keep for the first time in years—not since his dear Joanna had passed on the birthing bed.

But now, it was the return of his beloved that had him feeling this unfamiliar way.

When Kevan had returned from his negotiations, he'd initially been more than livid at the terms his brother had agreed to.

He'd felt that the lives of all the men involved in the incident with Prince Rhaegar's family was a price too great for what they were gaining. That was, until the cloaked figure at his brother's side finally dropped her hood, the beautiful visage standing before him sending him into a daze, almost not believing what he was witnessing.

Treating behind the throne's back with King Tenebris was a risky move, he had thought. There was always the chance that the remaining kingdoms would group up to see his house fall, but with being the first of the lords to know that the presumed sorcerer king was no mere man, there was no doubt that it had been the correct call.

And while the hope he'd had for a Lannister reign over the complete Seven Kingdoms was now naught but ashes, his family's current power was secure, with plenty chance of advancement with Cersei performing her duty as the King's paramour.

"My lord, the Baratheons, Arryns, and Tyrells have already made camp outside of town," one of his scouts reported with a bow, riding off after receiving a nod.

Tywin scowled looking at the heraldry emblazoned with a blue falcon; Jon Arryn would be his greatest obstacle after Robert is dealt with, he thought.

But the Lord of the Eyrie was an old man. Who's to say he wouldn't have an accident on his return to King's Landing?

After that, the only contender would be the drunkard's kin, a prospect he wasn't much worried about for the time being. Not with Stannis still fighting for the loyalty of the lords sworn to Dragonstone, and Renly only a child of three and ten.

Yes, it was all coming together. While the lesser lords squabbled over nonsense, he'd solidify his position as Joffrey's regent within two moons at most.

"Stake our tents next to our King's," Tywin commanded his steward, setting aside his ambitions for the moment.

Riding past the Tyrell vassals, scowls on their faces as his entourage passed by, Tywin only spared them a glance before urging his horse ahead. As the father of the queen, it was only proper that he claimed a more fitting position for himself.

And after ensuring that his men were in order, Tywin headed for the main tent, presumably where he'd find the notable lords waiting, and where the new game would begin. Because he had no doubt that he hadn't been the only lord audacious enough to treat with the northern king.

—A New God's Conquest—

Using his cane to hobble through the rows of tents, yet feeling none of the usual pain, Doran once again checked that his younger brother was at his side and not off causing trouble.

He'd have honestly preferred leaving Oberyn behind, but alas, there was no knowing what nonsense he'd pull this time.

At least he was feeling better than he'd ever remembered; he soothed himself, again reminding himself that his heir hadn't been wasting her time in captivity for nothing.

After Arianne sent that magical elixir, her letter claiming it would heal all that ailed him in, Doran felt twenty years younger, a fact that his lovely wife was now sorely aware of, countless nights spent rekindling what was left of their vows.

To say the least, Doran was thankful that his spirited daughter hadn't forgotten about her father, something he'd not put past the girl from what Tyene had reported, so infatuated with her lover as she was.

Smitten children aside, they'd finally reached their destination, Oberyn's grumbling all along the way as they passed by Baratheon banners the furthest thing from his mind.

"My lords," Doran nodded after stepping through the flaps and finding his fellow lord paramount's along with the small council seated, representatives from lesser houses standing at the side.

"Good, with everyone of note joining us, we can finally begin," Jon Arryn spoke from the head of the table.

"Will His Grace be joining us?" Doran asked, taking an unoccupied chair as Oberyn moved to stand beside the other lords.

"The king is currently preoccupied," the hand grumbled, and he could easily guess as to the reason. Robert was known for his proclivities, after all.

"Then let's begin, and to make things perfectly clear, I believe I speak for us all when I say that a war is the last thing our realm needs," Tywin Lannister began, and Doran had to take a moment to look over to his brother, worried the fool might draw a dagger on the man he hated with all his heart.

"Nonsense! How can we let these offenses go unpunished?!" The lord of Highgarden slammed his meaty palms on the table. "I want my daughter returned and their heads on spikes!" the Fat Flower continued, those around the table, including himself, giving the man an odd look.

"Please, Lord Tyrell, we must keep our heads, else we'll never get anywhere," the Lord of the Eyrie tried calming, the Reach lord huffing his indignation.

Leaning back in his seat, Doran realized this was likely to become a lengthy endeavor. Something he wasn't looking forward to.

—A New God's Conquest—

Lounging in the pavilion erected next to her wheelhouse, Olenna happily picked through the dishes prepared for breaking her fast, no longer having to worry about pesky issues such as the stomach pains that came along with old age.

No, she'd no longer need to worry about any of that, she thought, twiddling with the pendant around her neck—a part of the bargain she'd made with Queen Tenebris and the only thing keeping those around her from making a fuss—its only purpose meant to disguise her new appearance.

Olenna had her youth back, and even with the heavy price, she felt it was worth it. If only for the fact that if she were to one day keel over, Mace would surely bring their house to ruin with his stupidity.

She should show her gratitude. Maybe she'd allow the young king a night with an experienced woman, Olenna thought with a snort.

But that would have to wait. Once their whoremonger of a king got himself killed, only then would she think about taking a long-needed respite to this new capital she'd heard so much of.

In the meantime, life was good, she decided, the only worry she had left being that Mace was most likely making himself look the fool in front of the gathered lords.

—A New God's Conquest—

"Yes! Harder! I'm almost there!" His buxom queen cried, and Lux of course obliged, his hips slamming against the pert rear with enough force that any mortal's pelvis would have been shattered to pieces by now.

"Do you even know what your request has cost me, love?" He growled into his wife's ear, one hand firmly gripping onto her beautiful blonde locks while the other grabbed onto one of her wonderful milk-filled tits, all while not once pausing his long and deep thrusts.

"Please, work your frustrations out on me," she begged, her needy cunt gripping his shaft like a vice before letting out a scream of pure ecstasy. "Ah! Fuck, I'm cumming."

"Don't think I'm done with you just yet," he told his panting and exhausted woman. "Because of your little games, I've missed out on a perfect mother-daughter pair."

"There's nothing stopping you from stealing the woman. Surely she couldn't resist your charms," Val suggested after catching her breath, making him hum in thought.

"Nah, I don't think I will. Tywin is one of the few lords of this shitty realm that I can respect," Lux decided, drawing a moan from his lover as he pressed his arousal-slicked head against her crinkled hole.

"If that's so, then I can only continue paying for the error of my ways," Val purred, slowly spearing herself onto his twitching rod, her puckered asshole welcoming his intrusion.

"Hmm, and you're already off to a great start," Lux chuckled, enjoying his woman's tightest hole. "We'll just have to find time to work on your negotiating skills," he told her, not knowing if his first wife was even paying attention to his words, so focused on pleasing his cock as she was.

Lux let out a satisfied sigh, simply kneeling behind his Nordic beauty, letting her do all the work as she worked off her debt.

It truly was a sacrifice he was making, but he could be patient just this once. Besides, it wouldn't be long until little Dany and the unborn Myrcella blossomed into the beauties they're destined to be, he thought with a smirk on his handsome face.

But he wasn't lying when he told Val that she was a terrible negotiator. After she'd contacted him, interrupting the fun he was having in the other world, he couldn't believe that she'd only been planning on demanding Cersei's hand in return for a resurrection.

After all, that specific gorgeous bitch was already his.

Luckily, nothing had been made official, and after knocking some sense into his Wildling wife, she'd added more to the deal, including the lives of Gregor Clegane, Amory Lorch, and all their men.

Lux didn't really give much of a hoot about Tywin's dogs, but he figured that giving his Dornish princesses their revenge would make them much less pissy once they eventually found out he'd allied with their sworn enemy.

Feeling his balls twitch, Lux put any further thoughts of politics and such out of his mind, leaning over to catch his lover's soft lips in his own before depositing his load into her deepest depths with a grunt.

"You know, as troublesome as you can be, you're worth it, Love," he told her, collapsing onto his back and pulling his sweaty partner into his embrace, enjoying his wife's warmth in the afterglow of their rough fucking.

"Of course, dear husband," Val giggled, drawing light circles on his chest with her dainty fingers that held enough strength to crush skulls with ease.

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