Playing the Game (Game of Thrones)

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To His Grace, Jon Targaryen, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm. May this Letter find you well.
 
I know that even now, you encroach upon the Westerlands. You come with armies, to take what is rightfully yours by birthright and conquest. There is little I or my people can do to stop you. There is even less I wish to do to stop you. The Ironborn raid our shores even now, harassing us, burning our homes, stealing our women, killing our men. Consider this missive my complete and utter surrender.
 
The soldiers of House Lannister, what little remain, will stand down. All I ask is that you grant them clemency. Many were conscripted and want little more than to return to their farms and families… if they still remain. The damage done by our forefathers to not just the Westerlands, but Westeros as a whole, is immense. An entire generation, lost to needless bloodshed.
 
No more, I say. If it pleases you, Your Grace, I would invite you to Casterly Rock, for the official and public handover of all the Westerlands to your control. We submit, totally and utterly.
 
I know that my life, and the life of my mother, are likely forfeit. All I ask, if our deaths are necessary to satisfy any grudges that exist between our Houses, is that you let it be swift and relatively painless. My mother is not well, and for all that her crimes may deserve judgment, she is a shadow of her former self.
 
Still. Whatever is necessary for you to leave the rest of the Westerlands in peace… whatever will move you to save what remains of my people from the Ironborn… you need only ask it of me. I am, for better or for worse, the last voice of authority in these lands. I await your response or your arrival with anticipation.
 
Yours,
Myrcella Baratheon
 
-x-X-x-
 
“It’s, mm, a trap, of course.”
 
Jon can’t help but be a little amused as Daenerys advises him. She was so quick to push for him to show mercy and understanding to the other women they’d found struggling with different circumstances up and down the length of Westeros. From Sansa to Margaery to most recently Arianne, they’d all received Daenerys’ pity and sympathy, in the end.
 
But now… as they were marching on the Westerlands, making their way to Casterly Rock, Daenerys had changed her tune. The two of them were enjoying a little break together, and Jon had shared with her the letter that Myrcella had sent to them. Notable was the complete lack of titles at the end of it. It went a long way towards making the offer of surrender and utter submission appear more legitimate.
 

And yet, at the same time, the young woman clung to her last name even now… the last name that more than half of Westeros whispered she was not entitled to. Even Jon’s ears, all the way over in Essos, had heard the rumors. That NONE of the children supposedly born between Cersei Lannister and Robert Baratheon were actually legitimate.
 
The rumors stated that every single one, was in fact the product of incest between Cersei Lannister and Jaime Lannister, the twin siblings engaging in cuckolding the King right under his very nose for over a decade and a half.
 
Of course, Jon didn’t need confirmation from mortal sources to know the truth. He might not be a God of Truth, necessarily, but he could peer into a mortal’s soul all the same. And while Westeros was… clouded, most of that darkness was centered around King’s Landing. The Westerlands, ironically enough, was very clear.
 
As he and his armies got closer and closer to Casterly Rock, the clearer everything became. Indeed, at this point Jon could reach out and gaze upon both Myrcella and Cersei and recognize the truth of the matter.
 
Still, he keeps his knowledge to himself as he looks over at his Queen. Daenerys is laid out on a bed, naked with her pale chest heaving. There’s a dark-skinned beauty, kneeling between her legs, and as Missandei eats out Daenerys’ cunt, one of her hands is up on the Mother of Dragons’ chest as well, groping and squeezing it as Daenerys moans throatily.
 
Jon himself is sat nearby in a cushioned chair, watching the spectacle… but not idly. No, between HIS legs kneels Doreah, the gorgeous handmaiden sucking his cock dutifully and most importantly quietly. She COULD have choked down his dick with greater enthusiasm and eagerness, but that would have made all sorts of noise, and she was quite aware that there was a time and place for such things.
 
Instead, she’s much less obtrusive than Missandei is… not that Jon minds watching the dark-skinned translator’s gorgeous peach-shaped derriere sway back and forth in the air like a cat while she drives her tongue wildly as deep into Daenerys’ cunt as possible.
 
“Hm. Do you think so?”
 
His belated response to Daenerys’ words causes the blonde’s eyes to snap to his and she clearly notes something in his tone or his face, because they narrow for a moment.
 
“O-Of course. Jon… House Lannister is not to be, nngh, t-trusted. They betrayed our f-family in the worst possible way during the Rebellion. The, ooh, Usurper, at least, was upfront about his l-lack of loyalty.”
 
Jon tilts his head to the side at that.
 
“Everyone involved in the decision making is dead, darling. Your father. My father. Tywin Lannister. Jaime Lannister.”
 
Daenerys’ eyes flash, especially at that last name. Jaime Lannister. Kingslayer. The man is fortunate to be dead, truth be told. Jon would not quite know what to do with his grandfather’s killer, if he weren’t already deceased.
 
“And what… of Cersei Lannister’s crimes?”
 
Jon sighs at that, and glances to the side. He gazes off in a seemingly random direction… but it’s not random at all. They are in fact only a day’s march away from Casterly Rock, where both Cersei Lannister and Myrcella Baratheon await their arrival. The former, unknowingly of course. Cersei isn’t in any sort of state to understand why her daughter, her last remaining child, is doing what she’s doing.
 
“Myrcella is not lying, dear heart.”
 
Daenerys’ eyes widen at that. She, out of everyone in the world, is closest to him. Bellegere is a very, very close second, and maybe some would argue that the former Black Pearl deserved to be first in his heart, but it’s simply not the case. Jon has to be honest with himself, if nothing else. Still, Daenerys knows well what he’s becoming… what he’s already become. She understands his divinity better than most, and not just trusts, but believes IN him wholly and utterly.
 
And so, she knows that when Jon says what he says, he means it. Myrcella’s letter… is the truth. The Westerlands lay in shambles, and the Ironborn pick at its rotting carcass like the scavengers they are. Furthermore, Cersei Lannister, for all her crimes against his Northern Family, is a shadow of her former self, a complete and utter shell of a woman. The deaths of not just her sons but also her brother and father and everyone she has ever known or loved save for Myrcella… have shattered her completely.
 
Killing Cersei now would be like putting down a sickly, elderly animal. Maybe such a mercy killing would even be appropriate, but it would be neither satisfying nor righteous.
 
“Cersei Lannister does not even know herself any more. She is a broken woman, and I am inclined to let her die naturally, at this point.”
 
Daenerys digests this, even as Missandei, likely detecting her Queen’s turmoil, slows down her efforts a bit to give Dany a little bit of room to breathe. Meanwhile, Doreah’s efforts are bearing fruit. Jon is ready to blow at any time. Of course, he’s currently holding himself back, choosing not to cum in Doreah’s mouth. That would be a waste of his load.
 
This was, after all, a meeting of two-fold purpose. Yes, he and Daenerys were here to discuss Myrcella’s letter. One might question why they were doing so, when Jon was a God and Daenerys was still a mortal woman. But any who did question such a thing simply didn’t understand WHO Jon was at this point in time.
 
For so long as he retained his physical flesh, for so long as he still remained a man as well as a god, Jon refused to just stop listening to those around him. He refused to always assume he knew best, even if most of the time he did. He would not let hubris take him in the way it seemed to take almost every other God and Goddess he’d encountered in his travels.
 
So many deities, all convinced of their inherent superiority. Jon… Jon knew what he was and who he was. But that didn’t mean he was so far removed from the human condition that he couldn’t still take advice and accept outside opinions.
 
That said, there was no problem with multitasking. Myrcella’s words about the Lannister Troops standing down had been accurate. None of the Westerlands’ soldiers had tried to fight them as they marched on Casterly Rock this past week. As a result, Jon had had a lot more free time… time he had spent with his lovely ladies.
 
Doreah and Missandei… were as competitive as ever. And their most recent competition had ended in a decisive victory for Missandei, one that Doreah was still smarting over, even now. That was almost certainly why she was currently quietly trying to make him blow his load in her mouth. Not going over the top, not choking herself on his cock… but putting every bit of her skills and training into making him cum all the same.
 
Swirling her tongue over his glans one moment, sliding it down over his balls the next, she quietly but expertly works to get him off… to no avail, alas, as he continues to deny her this, continues to hold back his release. He is no mere mortal man, for all that she has the training of a pleasure slave to back up her exquisite technique.
 
Smiling down at the former prostitute, Jon runs a hand through Doreah’s head… and then slowly pulls her off of his cock, before standing up. Doreah gasps as his member pops free of her lips, and pouts mightily as well. But if she thought she could somehow change his mind, she was mistaken. Missandei had won fair and square… and thus Doreah had been reduced to the position of fluffer, while it was Missandei who would be bred today.
 
Moving over to the bed, Jon climbs up into position between the gorgeous, dark-skinned translator. He takes her shapely hips in his hands and drives his cock right into her from behind. There is no resistance beyond the usual tightness. Her sopping wet slit spreads open wide for him, accommodating his shaft as Missandei moans wantonly into Daenerys’ cunt. In response, Dany moans as well, his Queen reaching out and grabbing Missandei’s hair, driving her deeper into her crotch as she arches her back.
 
The sounds of moans and squelching noises fill the air, their three bodies a mixture of undulating flesh and pleasure. Ecstasy fills every fiber of Missandei’s figure, and it’s clear she knows what’s coming next… she’s going to get exactly what she deserves, exactly what she’s earned even.
 
Together, the King and Queen spit-roast the beauty between them. Jon’s cock spears in and out of Missandei’s hungering twat, her pussy positively begging for a breeding. Daenerys, for her part, humps up into Missandei’s face. Though, even as they’re tag-teaming the woman, Daenerys’ lidded eyes find his and she looks at him from over Missandei’s arched form.
 
“You’re absolutely certain, Jon?”
 
Nodding, Jon once again glances in the direction of Casterly Rock, before speaking confidently and with a certain surety.
 
“There is no trap. If House Lannister were more intact, there might have been one… or they might have simply been planning to bend the knee and bide their time for a generation or two until a better opportunity presented itself. It would have been a toss-up, I imagine. But now? There’s no great schemer left. Cersei Lannister sits in her room all day, plotting her own death half the time for fear of being held accountable for her actions. Myrcella, meanwhile, tiredly tries to hold everything together, while the Ironborn snatch more and more people and resources from her lands.”
 
He finishes his long-winded explanation with a grunt, driving deep into Missandei’s cunt and drawing a muffled squeal from the linguist. She cums for him then, but it doesn’t take him over the edge just yet. Rather, he doesn’t let it. Instead he’s looking to Daenerys rather seriously, staring her right in the eye as they continue to enjoy Missandei between them, while also driving her absolutely wild with ecstasy as well.
 
Her pussy walls tighten and clench down around his cock. Her ass jiggles with thrust after thrust. Her soft body gives way beneath his strong, domineering motions. His hands grip tightly on her hips, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into her flesh. In turn, Missandei pushes back into his thrusts as best she can.
 
To be fair, her eagerness is to be expected. She and Doreah had been competing for this for a little while now. Not that they needed to, Jon would be happy to impregnate both of them. It was just the way they were with each other, and Jon… well, Jon was all about freedom of expression, needless to say. Doreah wouldn’t be deprived for too long anyways. Jon wasn’t that cruel. But Missandei was definitely first. Their latest competition had assured that much.
 
Regardless, Jon looks Daenerys in the eye and asks her point blank.
 
“What would you have me do, my Queen?”
 
Perhaps its cheating. He already knows, after all, what Daenerys is going to choose. And yet, he refuses to take her agency away from her. She, more than anyone, deserves a voice. Especially against the House that caused their family so much harm and sent her and her brother on the run so, so long ago.

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