Playing the Game (Game of Thrones)

EDIT: YO PLEASE READ! So I fucked up and this is the ACTUAL Chapter 58 that should have gone up yesterday. Yesterday's Chapter is 59. I am fixing that by placing this chapter where it belongs now. Sorry bout that!

A/N: If you've enjoyed reading this story and want to hop on board my next story right at the moment of its conception, please check out The Soul Engine for me! It just started and I'm really excited for it~

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“I would…”
 
The words catch in her throat, which convulses nervously as her eyes dip down in consternation. At the same time, Jon sees her true desire crystallize in not just her thoughts, but in her very soul. She struggles to ask for it because it goes against everything she’s ever been taught, everything she was raised on.
 
He’s half-tempted to force her to finish the sentence anyways. Half-tempted to make her say the rest of the words. ‘I would have you take me like one of your Greenlander women. Gently and tenderly, and with love and care.’ That is what he sees in Yara Greyjoy’s mind’s eye. And perhaps it was only fair that he force her to say it. To make her atone for her actions over the course of her life if nothing else.
 
But Jon wasn’t here to exact vengeance or even justice from the mortal woman in front of him. She had made the right decision in the end, and he refused to punish her, even if she deserved it. Any censure would have to come from her new god, which Jon was not.
 
“Very well.”
 
He gives her a smile of understanding and offers her his hand, watching as she freezes up for a moment before realizing what his being a God truly means. It’s nice having it all laid out on the table, Jon supposes. As she takes his hand, he leads her away from her father’s study and down the hall to her quarters. As they go, Jon reflects on the woman he’s about to bed.
 
Yara Greyjoy was not necessarily a bad person. She was simply… hard. Her hard life had turned her into a hard woman. The circumstances of her existence had forced her down a specific path. In order to survive, she had done quite a few questionable things. She had made quite a few questionable decisions. But if she hadn’t, she would likely be dead or subjugated to another man at this point, maybe even her own kin.
 
In the long run, Yara Greyjoy made a better Lady Reaper of Pyke than Euron Greyjoy would have made Lord Reaper. Euron Greyjoy, Jon now knew from his divine senses, was a threat to not just the Drowned God’s power, but all divine power. And to be fair, Jon was well aware that there were plenty of Gods on this world that deserved to be threatened, that should in fact be put on notice.
 
But Euron Greyjoy was not the one to put them on notice. He was a man who had not known how to stop. He would have kept going and going and going. For her part in dealing with him, if nothing else, Jon would make sure to give Yara exactly what she wanted.
 
As they near her bed, he stops her and wordlessly strips her down. She doesn’t fight him on it, but neither does she help him. He can sense her feelings, can tell exactly what she’s thinking. She is… in awe of him. It’s not entirely unexpected, Jon supposes. He did save her from not just death, but having her soul consumed by a ravenous, desperate God.
 
The Drowned God wouldn’t have just killed her, he would have taken everything she was and assimilated her into his power to further his fight against Jon and the Storm God. And certainly, an argument could be made that it was Jon and his ally’s fault in the first place that the Drowned God had been backed into such a corner. But it wasn’t an argument that Yara was trying to make.
 
Instead, she says nothing at all as she’s stripped bare before him. Removing his own clothes is the work of a moment, causing her to gasp as he’s suddenly just as naked as she is. The Lady Reaper’s eyes dip down briefly, before darting away in an embarrassed flush. She’s even more embarrassed because she’s embarrassed.
 
If he weren’t a God, she would never be capable of showing this vulnerability to him. Even as a King, he would still have also been just another man. Yara might have gone to her death defiant and angry. Only her brief touch with soul-death and the unique glimpse she’d gotten into the three way battle between him, the Drowned God, and the Storm God had given her the perspective she needed.
 
As such, she lets him lie her back on the bed. She spreads her legs as he moves between them and fits himself against her slit. Her arousal is such that he doesn’t have to wait long before penetrating her. Jon barely even grunts as he pushes into her. Slowly, gently, and tenderly. Just as Yara had wanted in her heart of hearts, even if she hadn’t been able to voice it out loud.
 
He takes his time with her, letting her get used to his size before ever even moving. He slides his hands up and down her body, feather-like touches at first followed by slightly more pressure. But he never gets rough with her. He fondles her and massages her but does not grope or maul her. He touches her with an affection that Yara can feel in every move he makes.
 
For all her faults, for all her weaknesses, Yara Greyjoy had been the key to the Drowned God’s defeat. She was the weak spot through which their victory had been attained. For that, Jon doesn’t even have to feign his affection of her. She might not have been perfect, but then no mortal being was. Even Gods weren’t perfect, not by a long shot.
 

As far as demands go… the Storm God’s demand was perhaps an unreasonable one. And if Jon had thought for even a second that he would have to force Yara into this, he would have found another way. Thankfully for all parties involved, when he’d checked she’d proven willing. For her savior… she was more than willing, she was ecstatic.
 
They kiss, their tongues intertwining as Yara moans into his mouth. Her hips buck up into his thrusts, her inner walls clenching along his length. He drives deeper into her, but never harshly, never roughly. Still, he stretches her out in a way Jon can tell is just as satisfying for her as it is for him. It’s not long before Yara squeals into his mouth, and cums upon his cock.
 
He spends a bit more time with her after that, making sure the entire experience is as pleasurable for her as possible. In the end, he fills her with his seed though. By the time he does so, by the time he cums inside of her, Yara is quivering beneath him, perhaps a little overwhelmed by his… aggressive gentleness. He is still a God after all, and she is but a mortal woman.
 
As he pulls out of her, Jon considers leaving it at that for a moment. He considers getting back on his dragon and flying away, leaving the Iron Islands behind him in the process. He still had Myrcella to lay with as well to finalize their deal, and then he had King’s Landing at long last. There was no more escaping the latter, as it were. He would have to finally confront whatever evil lurked there once and for all.
 
For now though… he runs a hand through Yara’s hair as she lays there drowsy and slowly recovering. He’d stay with her for a little while longer. A day more, perhaps. He’d help make sure the Storm God and the former Ironborn got off on the right foot, and maybe have Yara write a letter for him as well. Then, he would return to the Westerlands.
 
-x-X-x-
 
To the Lady Myrcella Lannister of Casterly Rock,
 
The Ironborn are no more. Raids on your shores will stop. The Storm’s Chosen will make sure of it. If any dare to reave you further, know they are pirates and we shall get to them sooner or later.
 
Sincerely,
Yara Greyjoy, Lady of the Storm Islands
 
… It’s a much shorter, much more concise letter than the one Myrcella had sent to the Targaryen King weeks ago. To think it had only been weeks since she’d sent off that letter. Hell, it had only been days since he’d promised her he would follow through on his end of their deal. It wasn’t like he had to. He could have been a tyrant if he wanted to and forced her to bend the knee without doing anything to help her on his end.
 
Instead, he’d gone on dragon back alone to the Iron Islands and came back with… with this. Standing there in her grandfather’s study, Myrcella’s mouth opens and closes wordlessly as she stares at the writing. It’s not that she doesn’t believe its real. Nor does she doubt Jon believes he’s succeeded. But still…
 
“You’re wondering how you can trust it.”
 
Myrcella jolts and blushes as she looks up into the smiling face of the handsome Targaryen King before quickly ducking her head again.
 
“It’s alright. I can understand why you might doubt the word of the Ironborn. But please, do not doubt my word. The Ironborn truly are no more. Their God, the Drowned God, has been destroyed. Their culture has been turned on its head. From now on, the Storm God will shepherd them as a people, and while he is a harsh deity… he is not an evil deity.”
 
There’s a surety in Jon’s words that makes it impossible for Myrcella to doubt him. Still, all this talk of gods and religion… truth be told, the blonde has not been overly religious for a long time. When she was younger she was taught all about the Seven, of course. She was raised to be pious and devout, and she had been. But as she got older and the world got bigger and crueler, Myrcella had ultimately drifted away from her faith.
 
Now… now she wondered if maybe her faith had merely misplaced. Certainly, the Seven had never gotten the results that the man in front of her had gotten.
 
When Jon suddenly chuckles softly, seemingly for no reason at all, Myrcella jolts before blushing and looking at him.
 
“… Then I suppose it is time for me to uphold my end of the bargain, isn’t it?”
 
Jon sighs, giving her a wry smile.
 
“We don’t have to if you’re not ready, Myrcella.”
 
She can tell that he both means it… and is merely saying it because it’s expected of him. She can also tell he knows that she’s ready but is still willing to give her an out just in case. Honestly, it’s quite nice of him… but Myrcella has been ready since before he even left.
 
Grabbing him by the hand, she leads him not to her bedchambers, but around her grandfather’s old desk. She hasn’t spent much time in here since her and her mother had retreated to Casterly Rock so many moons ago. It felt almost like disturbing the dead, and if there was one dead man that Myrcella did not want to disturb, it was Tywin Lannister.
 
But the Old Lion’s ghost didn’t seem quite so scary now, not with Jon by her side. And so she sits the Targaryen King down in her grandfather’s old chair, almost marveling at how good he looks in it. Then, she drops to her knees between his legs and begins taking out his cock.
 
“You don’t have to do this either, you know.”
 
“I know… but I want to.”
 
Extracting his member from its confines is not difficult. Myrcella is proud to say she doesn’t even hesitate in doing so either. Once she has his length in her hands, she does pause for a moment to stare at it however. Her hot breaths of air ghosting across it cause it to grow and twitch in her grasp, until she’s staring at quite the impressive length of specimen.
 
Biting her lower lip, the young blonde’s eyes dart between Jon and it for a moment… before she finally leans forward and begins to lick at it. She doesn’t know what she’s doing, she’ll be the first to admit as much. But she doesn’t mind all the same. In fact, she quite enjoys the taste to her mild surprise. Licking up and down his cock also prompts all sorts of interesting noises from the King as well. As she services his member, as she worships his dick with her mouth, Jon groans in appreciation, and places a hand atop her head.
 
She half expects him to take over from there. She knows she’s doing a pretty poor job altogether and wouldn’t be surprised if he was suddenly taking charge. But no, his hand just sits there atop her head, relaxed as she continues to lick at his cock. Of course, as active as her tongue is… there’s more she can do, isn’t there? She’s heard all about it, though she knows she wasn’t meant to.
 
Such crass language was not meant for a Princess’ ears, but Myrcella had listened all the same. And she’d listened well. Moving in further, the blonde finally descends down Jon’s cock, taking him past her lips properly.
 
As she fellates a man for the first time, Myrcella knows she’s still not very good at it. And yet, Jon doesn’t seem to despise her for her inexperience or failings. Nor does he deride her for them. The Targaryen King truly is a good man, even if maybe this isn’t the best estimation of his ‘goodness’.
 
Still, she can’t help but relax into it, never going too far, never pushing herself too hard. He doesn’t ask it of her, and she doesn’t dare try for something she’s not capable of. Instead she happily suckles at the top few inches of his cock, swirling her tongue around the head of his member every time she pulls back.
 
In the meantime, she finds herself pondering how he’ll inevitably take her. There’s a variety of positions that her mind ends up conjuring. On her back across her grandfather’s desk. Or even bent over it. Perhaps on the floor, like… like some bitch in heat. It would be no less than a bastard like her deserved.
 
She’s not sure she minds any one of them. She’ll happily go along with whatever he wants after what he’s done for her and her people. That’s not something her mother would have appreciated… but her mother wasn’t around anymore. Myrcella had done the best she could for Cersei Lannister. The Queen Mother had gotten to go quietly, and that was probably better than she deserved.
 
Now… now it was Myrcella’s time. She didn’t know what the future held, but she was eager to find out all the same.

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