Playing the Game (Game of Thrones)

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Taking a moment to consider it properly while Missandei continues to eat her out, his Queen eventually lets out a shuddering breath.
 
“… Myrcella is not responsible for the crimes of her parents. By your words, she sounds… sounds like an honorable young woman.”
 
Jon inclines his head in acknowledgment of Daenerys’ point, while his hands remain affixed to Missandei’s hips, his fingers digging into her dark skin, his cock pistoning in and out of her cunt. The beautiful translator cums for him again and again, while Jon himself is slowly reaching the point where he will tip over the edge.
 
Of course, he decides when that happens… and he’s not done talking with Daenerys just yet.
 
“… But Cersei Lannister’s crimes are too numerous to be forgiven. And… if her malady is one of the mind, could it not c-cure itself? Could she not one day return to the vindictive and vile woman she, nngh, once w-was?”
 
Its not an unfair point, and Jon once again tips his head in acknowledgment of Daenerys’ words. Emboldened, his beautiful Queen continues on.
 
“An example needs to be made, Jon. The Westerlands must learn who their true King is. Myrcella… Myrcella should live, but Cersei should d-die. That is what I would have you do, my King.”
 
Not a moment later, Daenerys is arching her back, thrusting up her chest as Missandei sends her over the edge into another mind-melting climax of her own. It was to his Queen’s credit that she’d controlled herself long enough to tell him her advice. Smiling, Jon thrusts forward a handful more times into Missandei’s clenching cunt, and then proceeds to cum, filling her with his seed, pumping a hot, thick load directly into her womb.
 
Missandei, trapped between her King and Queen and all the happier for it, shakes and spasms, gurgling into Daenerys’ quim as she takes Jon’s load deep into her body. There’s no doubt he’s knocked her up right here and now in this moment, and as he pulls out, he watches Missandei bring a hand down to frig at her clit, before running it over her abdomen, just above her womb.
 
Gently and carefully, he sets the translator aside, letting her rest next to them as he moves in on Daenerys and leans down, not penetrating her, but embracing her all the same. As he brushes a hand through Daenerys’ hair, he gives his Queen a proud smile.
 
“You’re right, my love. Myrcella has done nothing deserving of punishment. Cersei, on the other hand, cannot be allowed to live.”
 
Oh, he could force things into such a shape where she COULD be allowed to live. He could even twist Cersei up, making her into a toy for him and his Queen, and get their vengeance on the practically defunct Houses of Lannister and Baratheon that way. But no… that would be against who Jon was at his core.
 
He was a God of Freedom, after all. To subjugate and warp Cersei’s already ruined mind even further, to make her compliant and pliable… it would go against his truest principles. He had not worked so hard against slavery over in Essos to turn around and engage in a more personal form of slavery here in Westeros.
 
But at the same time, Daenerys was right. Cersei Lannister’s malady was one that was self-inflicted. As such, she could technically snap out of it at any time and become just as much of a nuisance as she ever was. Even if she hadn’t necessarily ordered his uncle’s death, even if she hadn’t played too much of a role in the wars that followed and nearly wiped out House Stark… she had still been a part of all of it. And if she were to recover, she would eventually be his enemy.
 
Better to handle Cersei now, rather than let her become a problem in the future. While Jon himself was not in danger from the deranged woman’s machinations, it would only result in further heartache for Myrcella if they let Cersei become a threat to the Seven Kingdoms at some point down the line. And perhaps it was odd for Jon to already care so much about Myrcella… but to be fair, he had been watching her via his divine senses for some time now. She had a good heart. He would be happy to call her one of his allies… and of course, something more than that.
 
Daenerys looks vindicated beneath him and pleased that he’s listening to her. Which is why Jon regrets having to say what he says next, even though he knows he has to say it.
 
“However… there will be no public execution, my Queen. In that regard, you are incorrect. The Westerlands are already broken. They do not need another example of how little they have left. Cersei Lannister’s execution would not convey the message you might want it to convey… instead, her quiet passing and Myrcella’s complete submission will serve us better.”
 
For a moment, Daenerys appears mulish… but then she ducks her head and lowers her gaze.
 
“As you say, my King.”
 
Jon lets out a sigh and runs his hand through her hair again, before pulling her into a kiss. Their tongues are soon swapping spit, and after a moment he slides his cock inside of Daenerys, thrusting up into his Queen as she moans for him. They might not always see eye to eye on everything, but that was fine. Jon didn’t want to surround himself with people who only agreed with him. At the same time, Daenerys knew that he was in charge, and that ultimately the final decisions HAD to lie with him.
 
And this was a very final decision indeed… with this, the Westerlands were already theirs. They would arrive at Casterly Rock soon enough, and everything would be settled once and for all.
 
-x-X-x-
 
She doesn’t cry, as she leaves her mother’s chambers for the final time. Stepping out, Myrcella looks to the guards there.

 
“… The Queen Mother has passed. Have preparations made for a quiet funeral, so that she may be interned in the crypts.”
 
The Lannister Guards share a look, but neither says what they’re probably actually thinking. Instead, they snap off a pair of salutes and bow their heads.
 
“As you wish, your majesty.”
 
Shaking her head, Myrcella smiles a faint smile.
 
“You shouldn’t call me that any longer. I am not your Queen. If all goes well, I may still be your Lady… but the rightful King and Queen of Westeros are here now. And we will soon owe them everything. Do not forget that.”
 
After another long moment of silence, the two guards bow their heads again, this time without saying a word either way. Myrcella figures that’s the best she’s going to get and makes her way through the castle. It’s honestly a testament to the trust placed in her that she didn’t have an escort from the Targaryen forces following her everywhere she went.

They’d arrived just yesterday after all. The Targaryen King and his Dragons, as well as his armies. Upon seeing them, Myrcella had honestly been outright relieved. She’d made the right decision in offering her letter of complete and utter submission. The loss of life if she had tried to fight it out, or even if she had attempted to negotiate terms… Myrcella didn’t want to even think about it.
 
But then, she also didn’t want to think about having to poison her own mother. The Targaryen King had been merciful about it, at least. When she and he had met with one another, the conversation had been brief. Her and her people’s clemency was predicated on one simple thing… the quiet removal of Cersei Lannister.
 
Rather than ordering a public trial and execution for a woman who was barely capable of telling you what time period she was in, the Targaryen King had allowed Myrcella to handle things privately. He had not demanded it be painful, he had not demanded it be a spectacle. He had simple demanded her mother’s death.
 
Even a year ago, Myrcella wouldn’t have been able to do it. Even a year ago, she would have wailed and cried at the injustice of it all, and ultimately begged to die in her mother’s stead. But time changed everything. Cersei Lannister was a shell of her former self, and after watching her mother deteriorate as much as she had, Myrcella didn’t consider this a betrayal, not anymore. Hell, if Cersei had it her way, they both would have gone to sleep and never woken up again a hundred times over.
 
… Myrcella had been tempted to engineer a situation in which Cersei demanded they both drink poison, as she’d done countless times before. But in the end, that had felt more than a little crass. Ultimately, Myrcella had dosed Cersei’s wine with the painless, fast-acting poison and simply not partaken on this day. When her mother’s strength began to fail her, she’d helped Cersei to the bed and stayed with her until the end.
 
It was all over now, but at the same time it was all just beginning. Arriving outside of another set of quarters, Myrcella nods stiffly to the dark-skinned Unsullied standing guard there.
 
“The King is expecting me, I believe?”
 
They step aside without a word, allowing Myrcella to pass them by and enter the chamber. As she does so, she’s a little surprised to see not just the King… but also his Queen, Daenerys Stormborn. She goes a little stiffer, and her lips thin out as she tries not to make a fool of herself. Bowing deeply at the waist to both monarchs, Myrcella clears her throat.
 
“My King… my Queen. It is done.”
 
There’s a beat of silence, before suddenly she’s wrapped up in a set of feminine arms.
 
“Oh you poor thing.”
 
Receiving comfort from Daenerys of all people was not something Myrcella was expecting, especially not after the history between their families. House Baratheon were the infamous usurpers in Daenerys’ eyes after all, or so Cersei always said, and House Lannister were traitors. So yes, the hug is very unexpected indeed.
 
When Daenerys finally pulls back, she looks ashamed.
 
“You’re just a girl. A young woman with the weight of the world on your shoulders. I know that feeling all too well… you didn’t deserve any of this. I’m so sorry.”
 
Blinking rapidly, blushing profusely, Myrcella shakes her head.
 
“Y-You have nothing to apologize for, Your Grace. It is my family… BOTH of my families, who have wronged yours.”
 
“The sins of our fathers and mothers should not stain us. I DO have something to apologize for, because initially, I believed you to be a copy of your mother, and your letter to be a trap. I see now I was wrong… you are merely in over your head.”
 
It was true, but Myrcella still feels a little bit of irritation. She might have been in over her head, but she’d done her best, hadn’t she?! She bristles for a moment before getting herself under control, but it’s too late… Daenerys noticed her momentary indignation. Rather than getting upset with her however, the Targaryen Queen… pulls her into another hug?!
 
Myrcella doesn’t really understand what’s going on. She’d just killed her mother on the orders of her new King. Dress it up as nicely as you wanted, but that was what she’d done. As for herself, King Jon had made no allusions one way or the other about what would happen to her next. She had done this for her people, in the end. Not for herself.
 
“We have things to discuss now.”

 
The King’s voice cuts through the moment that she and the Queen are apparently having, and Daenerys reluctantly pulls away from Myrcella, giving her an encouraging smile and a squeeze of her hand. As for Myrcella herself… she turns to King Jon and bows her head, waiting for his judgment.
 
“You have offered your complete and utter submission, in exchange for the safety and well being of your people. I have accepted that offer. With the passing of your mother, you have held up the first part of your end of the bargain. In turn, I strip you of the name Baratheon. You were never one to begin with, as we both know. Instead, I raise you, Myrcella Waters, to the name Lannister. You are the Lady of Casterly Rock now, Warden of the West and Lady Paramount of the Westerlands.”
 
At first, his ‘reward’ for the quiet execution of her mother doesn’t sound very good. But then he keeps talking and Myrcella is left wide-eyed and awestruck by his generosity. Indeed, she was always a bastard… but then, it was the right of the King of the Seven Kingdoms to grant a bastard legitimacy any time he wanted. Normally, a House would petition for the King to do so, but there was no one in House Lannister left. No one but her.
 
“Next… there is the matter of the Ironborn. I will deal with them for you, Lady Myrcella. I will deal with them for you most thoroughly. But I will require repayment. Your oath of fealty for one… and also, a child.”
 
Myrcella blinks, and then blushes as Daenerys gives her another encouraging smile and nod.
 
“A c-child, Your Grace?”
 
“Indeed. You have no suitable matches at this time, yes? The Seven Kingdoms is very much lacking in eligible male nobility at this point.”
 
Wracking her brain for a moment for any potential suitors, Myrcella blinks again in shock as she finds herself coming up short.
 
“… No, Your Grace. No one comes to mind.”
 
“As I thought. Then I shall be the donor. I will get you with child, and you will bear a son or daughter who will inherit the Westerlands upon your passing. House Lannister will be reborn through you… and myself.”
 
That was… it made sense. She had, after all, offered total submission. Such orders should not be unexpected. And Myrcella had been willing to die for her people, if it meant King Jon would save them from the Ironborn. She supposed she should have been ready to live for them too, hah. A child… she was afraid of being a mother, after seeing how Cersei did it truth be told. But at the same time, she could do it better, couldn’t she?
 
She could be better than Cersei Lannister, better than everyone she’d ever known. The King was giving her an opportunity here.
 
Bowing her head yet again, Myrcella doesn’t hesitate.
 
“I accept, Your Grace.”
 
“Very good. I will not ask anything of you until the threat is dealt with, however. The Ironborn will be defeated. All that’s left is to decide how exactly I will destroy their culture.”
 
Myrcella’s eyes widen at that. The Targaryen King sounds MOST wrathful. She can’t help but be a little intimidated… but also a little aroused.
 
-x-X-x-
 
Jon, meanwhile, is focused more on what comes next. He would bed Myrcella eventually, but he refused to do so until after he’d saved her and her people. The only problem was… the Ironborn were backed by a God. To be fair, the Drowned God was a fickle thing that rewarded only strength and victory, and even then, if it wasn’t the right kind of strength or the right kind of victory, he might rescind his favor at a moment’s notice.
 
The Ironborn were not unbeatable in the water, as proven multiple times over the years, their ill-fated rebellion being the most recent. However, it was obvious, at least to one such as Jon, that the Ironborn had seen more success than not in more recent times, and the Drowned God currently favored them. He could fight them as a man would, with his armies and fleets and dragons.
 
There was every possibility the Drowned God would not interfere, so long as Jon kept things within reasonable limits. But at the same time, there was also every possibility that the Drowned God would decide to interfere solely because of what Jon was… a divinity encroaching on his territory.
 
Perhaps, then, it was better to come out swinging so to speak. To fight as a God would fight a God, and not engage in petty mortal warfare but instead in divine combat for control of the seas.
 
One thing was for certain, as he’d told Myrcella, Jon would not suffer the Ironborn culture to remain. He intended to dismantle their culture of slavery and raiding and evil, just as he had done with the Dothraki. No matter what it took.

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