Playing the Game (Game of Thrones)

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If you wanted something done right, you did it yourself. This adage was something their father had lived by, and why he had personally gone to King’s Landing to try and avenge his sister, their aunt. It was an adage that he had tried to instill into each and every one of them.
 
… But they’d grown up together, and Nymeria had to be honest, she had never even considered that the statement might apply to her sisters. It was simply inconceivable. Obara and Tyene were each so reliable in their own way, specializing in their own fashions. Nymeria had always been able to count on them… until now.
 
Not that she blamed either of them for their failures, necessarily. It wasn’t their fault that the Pretender King had proven immune to both poison AND venom. Nymeria didn’t doubt for a second that they’d both tried their best. She knew for a fact that neither Tyene nor Obara would betray their sisterhood, so when Tyene told them that she’d applied more than enough poison to kill ten men over and the Pretender hadn’t even flinched, Nymeria believed her.
 
And when Obara had spoken of how she’d gotten on her back for the Pretender and raked his flesh with her envenomed nails dozens of times as he fucked her, Nymeria believed her as well. The two women wouldn’t lie to her… but it didn’t change the fact that their efforts had ended in failure.
 
In the end, it was up to Nymeria. And the Justice that could not be accomplished with neither poison nor venom, would instead be delivered at the end of her blade.
 
Luckily, these halls are her home. She knows the hidden areas of Sunspear’s Palace well and does not even have to rely on the usual corridors to sneak into the Pretender King’s quarters. Instead, she comes in through the ceiling, through a ventilation shaft carved to increase airflow through the Palace, given just how hot it got in Dorne.
 
It’s a bit of a crawl, and not at all comfortable, but Nymeria makes the journey all the same. After all, unlike Tyene and Obara, she cannot be seen or fingered by anyone other than her target. Her purpose is not to seduce, nor to make it look like an unfortunate accident, but to kill the Pretender dead in his sleep.
 
As she slips into his quarters, Nymeria draws her blade. Left bare rather than coated with any poison, she will have to deliver a true killing blow to make sure the deed is done. Up through the throat, under the chin, pinning his tongue to the roof of his mouth and stabbing directly into his brain. A swift killing move, to be sure.
 
Creeping closer to the bed, Nymeria can see him clearly in the moonlight drifting through the nearby open doors that lead out onto a balcony. That was another possible entry point, but she had passed it up out of concern that scaling the outside of the palace, while simple for one such as her, would have seen her caught.
 
She has not been seen; she has not been identified. No one knows she is here, and no one will know. She will complete this assassination and go back the way she came, and all will be well with none the wiser.
 
Arriving at the bed, Nymeria prowls onto it, being very careful to keep her movements as unobtrusive as possible. She is weightless as a feather, and silent as a mouse. He will not awaken… not until it is too late. She is almost there. All that is left is to position the blade and drive it in for the kill. She will-
 
“I’d wondered, when you would show up.”
 
Nymeria’s eyes widen, as the Pretender suddenly comes alive beneath her. Before she can do anything, his hands have captured her wrists, and she finds herself on her back as he turns the tables on her so effectively that she actually freezes for a moment in terror. She’s been caught. She, Nymeria, has been caught!
 
“After your sisters, I knew it was only a matter of time before you made the attempt. Nymeria, yes?”
 
For a heart-stopping moment, she assumes he somehow knows. That he was aware Tyene and Obara both tried to kill him, and that she was here to do the same. After all, she still has a dagger in her hand. How can he not see it? And yet… his tone is jovial rather than truly accusatory, and his eyes… those dark eyes of his only have time for her face, she belatedly realizes.
 
He does not see the dagger, and quick as a whip, she hides it behind her hand, along the back of her fingers, a somewhat shoddy effort at mimicking an old coin trick her father taught her many years ago. He doesn’t notice though, just grinning at her wickedly, knowingly. As if he’s quite sure he knows exactly why she’s here.
 
“What is it about you Sand Snakes, hm? All three of you vying for my attention in such a short amount of time.”
 
He thought she was here to seduce him! Not an unfair assumption, given what had happened with both her sisters. This… Nymeria could use this. Still very aware of the dagger she’s concealing and the strength of his grip on her wrists, Nymeria flashes the Pretender a wicked smile dripping with sultry, seductive energy and licks her lips. She tells him precisely what she knows he wants to hear.
 
“Power, my lord. You have so much of it… and we crave but a taste.”

Then, she makes a show of spreading her legs for him, even though she’s still fully clothed.
 
“I thought to take, but I understand now… I am the one who will be taken.”
 
He looks at her for a moment longer, and then chuckles.
 
“Indeed, you will be.”
 
The barrier provided by her garments proves to be nothing to a man as ravenous and debauched as the Pretender King. He gathers her wrists in one hand and holds them above her head as he uses his other hand to pull her top up and free her breasts, and then pull her pants down to expose her slit. He is not too rough, but neither is he gentle.

 
She’s sure she could break free of his one-handed hold with ease and bring the dagger up into him… but Nymeria can’t be confident she’ll kill him in one blow like this. He is heavier and bigger than her, and she can’t risk him using his last moments to take her life or do some irreparable damage in retaliation.
 
And so, she goes along with it, gasping as he frees his cock from its confines and sheathes it inside of her without so much as a ‘by your leave’. He does not hesitate to fill her like he no doubt filled her sisters, and Nymeria has to work hard not to give off how angry she is by the liberties he’s taking. To be fair, she offered herself up ‘willingly’ once she understood the circumstances. Still, she is annoyed.
 
This was not supposed to happen. She was not supposed to have to fuck the Pretender like Tyene and Obara. And yet, here she was on her back all the same, and all the angrier for it. More so even, because he makes it feel good. As he slides in and out of her, he quickly realizes she’s not quite wet. Rather than complaining about it or even pointing it out in a disgruntled manner like some men would, he says nothing. Nor does he do what most other men would do, and just fuck her dry for his own pleasure, ignoring hers.
 
He's a downright considerate lover, bringing his hand up to her breast and leaning forward to suckle at the other one as he pleasures her while fucking her. It’s enraging, because no matter what sort of sham act he puts on to try and facilitate her enjoyment, he is still a Pretender, still the man claiming to be proof of serious infidelity done against their Aunt. And that, Nymeria refuses to be swayed into forgiving him for.
 
With a grunt, she bucks her hips and spins them both over, so that he’s back on his back and SHE’S on top, where she belongs. As he lands with a grunt, the air expelled from his lungs, Nymeria revels in that feeling of power for a moment. She probably should have gone for the kill right then and there, while she had the moment of surprise.
 
… But her cover is intact, from what she can tell. He knows nothing. And so, Nymeria takes a moment to slide up his length and gyrate her hips, smirking easily as she teases just the tip of his cock with her pussy lips, kneeling over him, straddling him and running her free hand down her front. He gazes up at her hungrily, and she lets him do so. Let him have one last look at Dornish Perfection before she ends his life.
 
Still, she cannot prolong this forever, and she is NOT planning on letting him reach climax. And so, Nymeria prepares to end it, her dagger coming up from the side, ready to drive right through his ear and into his head and-
 
The Dornish woman’s eyes widen as the Pretender’s hands suddenly fall upon her gyrating hips… and slam her back down. She hadn’t realized it before, but his cock… he hadn’t been using all of it, when she was on his back. Only now, with her on top, has she put herself in a position where he could surprise her with his entire length all at once.
 
His cock punches up against the entrance of Nymeria’s womb and causes her to let out a squealing cry.  A blessing in disguise really, because the sudden jolt sends her dagger flying from her loose, prepared grip and skittering off into the room’s shadows. She has no idea where it goes, but thankfully the Pretender doesn’t seem to notice because of the noise she makes when he fills her with his cock.
 
Grinning up at her, the despicably handsome man chuckles.
 
“Like that, did you? Well, there’s more where that came from.”
 
And then he begins to fuck her, and Nymeria quickly loses any semblance of control she still had over the situation. This has… never happened to her before. Oh, she’s had a few dominant men take her to bed, though she always picked them out for a good time. But she’s never ever been so thoroughly dominated from below like this. She’s never been on top, seemingly in control with all the power… and taken for a ride by a man she HAS ON HIS BACK!
 
But the Pretender King does exactly that, and he doesn’t let up. Nymeria’s moans are reluctant but very real, and her body betrays her as her cunt clenches down upon his pistoning cock. He thrusts up into her, bucking his hips at a rapid but measured and controlled pace that she can’t get enough of. Eyes rolling back in her head, Nymeria grits her teeth.
 
This was NOT how this was supposed to go… but she had no choice but to bear with it. She would simply have to outlast the Pretender, and once he was worn out, exhausted, and asleep, she could find her dagger, finish the job… and get out of here without anyone being any the wiser.
 
Yes. Yes, that would work perfectly. She just… she just needed to hang on.
 
-x-X-x-
 
Needless to say, Nymeria did not manage to outlast him. Not that night, and not in a million others if he gave her the chance. Jon fucked the last of the three Sand Snakes in quite the stupor without her ever even being aware that HE was aware she was there to kill him the whole time. And when morning comes and the servants arrive, Nymeria gets to make quite the walk of shame as numerous people see her in his bed despite her best efforts.
 
After that… well, Jon knows what to expect. And really, it’s a crying shame, because the food… the food is delicious.
 
Sitting at a small dining table absolutely covered in gorgeous, well-cooked dishes, Jon sets down his fork and looks to their hostess for the evening, giving her a smile.
 
“My compliments to the chef. This is amazing.”
 
Ellaria Sand looks right back at him, smiling as well like she hadn’t poisoned every single dish at the table.
 
“I will be sure to let him know. He was so very excited to serve a King.”

And the sad thing was, she wasn’t lying. Ellaria Sand, despite being a Bastard, was Oberyn’s Paramour when he was still alive. And so, she lived like a Princess here in Sunspear, with her own private chef. And that man, a Dornish as well, had put his heart and soul into making this meal that Jon, Daenerys, Arianne, and Ellaria had all just consumed.
 
Yes… they had gone that far. After the failure of all three Sand Snakes, the trio had turned to Ellaria… who had decided the only way forward was to burn and salt the fields entirely, by killing not just him, not just his Queen… but also Princess Arianne Martell as well.
 
Jon supposed this was their attempt at taking over all of Dorne, though it seemed rather poorly thought out in his opinion. Indeed, the sheer variety of odorless and tasteless poisons that Ellaria had stacked the deck with was miraculous… but even if she had succeeded, he wondered what she really thought would happen next.
 
He and Daenerys were fine of course, despite both consuming great amounts of the delicious, incredibly poisonous food in front of them. Arianne though, the poor dear, was beginning to feel it. Just barely, but the signs were there, a drop of sweat beading on the Princess of Dorne’s forehead as she raises a goblet and smiles as well.
 
“Yes. Thank you for the invitation, Ellaria. This meal has been phenomenal.”

 
Smiling coyly, Ellaria bats her eyelashes.
 
“Well, I felt it only appropriate. After what I’ve heard about how Oberyn’s daughters have been cavorting about… they’re not my own flesh and blood, but they might as well be, you know. I do hope you aren’t just stringing them along, your Majesty.”
 
Jon raises an eyebrow at that. Was Ellaria trying to sow dissent between him and his Daenerys, with how she coyly glanced at the Targaryen Queen at the end of her statement? But why? She thought they were both dying tonight. What would be the point?
 
… No, he knew. He could see it in her soul. Ellaria Sand was the most poisonous, irredeemable, twisted one of the four of them. She was once a woman who loved and was loved in turn. Not necessarily good, but she cared for Oberyn as much as he cared for her. His death however, had twisted her heart and soul into a blackened morass from which nothing good could come.
 
Far from being upset, Daenerys takes another swig of very poisoned wine and gives Ellaria a giggle.
 
“Oh? I’m not so sure it’s my King who’s doing the stringing along. After all… poison, venom, a dagger… one has to wonder just what ARE your girls’ intentions towards my beloved husband, Ellaria Sand.”
 
Ellaria’s gaze travels down to the blade Daenerys has been playing with for quite some time now. One might be excused for mistaking it for a simple knife at first glance… but upon closer inspection, any inspection at all really, one would recognize it as an assassin’s blade. Nymeria’s blade in particular.
 
Eyes widening, Ellaria abruptly stands, her chair knocked back onto the ground with the speed she moves.
 
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. Poison? Venom? Dagger? Are you feeling alright?”
 
It’s a sickeningly sweet, perfectly timed statement, because it’s immediately followed by a sudden cough from the Princess sitting with them. As Arianne Martell begins to choke, the poisons coursing through her veins moving faster now, Ellaria gets a satisfied look on her face… one that Arianne sees, her eyes widening in realization and horror.
 
“E-Ellaria… what… w-what have you done?”
 
“What I needed to do, Princess. For my daughters and for Dorne. It’s starting now. Unfortunate, but-!”
 
Ellaria’s smugness evaporates, her victory speech cut off at its knees by its own orator as she realizes something very important. Jon and Daenerys aren’t reacting in the slightest. Still seated, they watch her with interested looks on their faces, as if they’re watching a play and are simply two uninvolved observers. While Arianne is rapidly losing all function and will likely die within a few minutes, they sit there, perfectly fine.
 
“… No. No, that’s not possible. You-!”
 
Leaning forward, Jon furrows his brow.
 
“We… what? Did you think Tyene’s poison simply wasn’t rare or obscure enough, Ellaria? Did you think I could not convey my immunity to more than just my dragons? No, rather, more than that… what did you think was going to happen if you DID kill us? Dorne would have burned.”
 
Eyes wide, Ellaria’s jaw clenches and she stands straight.
 
“Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken. Dorne will never fall to the likes of you, Targaryen Scum.”
 
A choking noise from Arianne forces Ellaria’s eyes to the side, and for the briefest of moments Jon sees regret appear in the Dornish woman’s face. Of course, he also sees where the regret stems from. Ellaria regrets that ONLY Arianne will die. That her gambit has only managed to kill one of three targets, and the one that Ellaria least wanted to do away with personally herself.
 
Shaking his head, Jon finally stands up, steps over to the dying Dornish Princess, and puts his hands upon her. Under the smiling gaze of his wife and Queen, and the shocked eyes of Ellaria Sand, Jon uses his divinity to not just scour Arianne Martell’s body of the poisons she ingested, but also heal the damage left behind, until she’s once again at peak health.
 
“You… what are you?”
 
Looking to Ellaria, Jon smiles a sad smile.
 
“I am the King of Westeros. And you and your ‘daughters’ have made your last attempt upon my life.”

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