A Life in Westeros [Game of Thrones] (Patreon)

A Life in Westeros

Chapter 1 - Catelyn Tully

This will be a Game of Thrones Series. Here is the Full Story Link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/15ZO8GulD1Cn1e3ClZ74Df3JuwXE-Tr-jpaysvu3xXy8/edit?usp=sharing Attached also are the pdf and word files of the story. Thank you for the Support!

(This will be a Game of Thrones Series. Timelines/birthdays are automatically adjusted for the characted to be 18+.)

Adian Frey was born beneath gray skies and the sound of river water rushing past stone.

The year was 259 AC, the same year Prince Rhaegar Targaryen first drew breath in the Red Keep, though no singer would ever bother to tie the two together. One was born to prophecy and song. The other—to the Twins, to tolls and oaths, to a name spoken with thin smiles and clenched teeth. 

Walder Frey acknowledged the boy without ceremony. He had sired so many sons by then that another infant scarcely merited more than a glance. Adian's mother died quietly not long after his birth, and so the boy was passed from wet nurse to tutor to castellan, raised among stone corridors and careful words.

From his earliest memories, Adian dreamed. 

They were not nightmares, nor were they visions clear enough to name. Only fragments—faces without names, places that felt wrong, thoughts that did not belong to a child of the Riverlands. A sense, always, that the world moved along a path already worn smooth by countless footsteps.

He learned quickly, but not eagerly. He listened more than he spoke. When other Frey boys jostled for notice or favor, Adian lingered at the edges, watching, remembering dreams he could not quite grasp when waking came.

And he told no one.

Instinct told him that some things were better kept close to the chest, like a hidden knife or a private sin.

By the time he reached boyhood, Adian had discovered two truths that shaped him more than any lesson from a maester.

First: the world did not reward effort—only survival.

Second: life, when it could be enjoyed, should be. 

He trained his body diligently, not with the desperate hunger of a glory-seeker, but with steady discipline. Swordplay, riding, endurance—he learned enough to defend himself, enough to endure hardship, enough to not be helpless when fate turned cruel. 

Yet he did not chase renown. He drank when drink was offered. He laughed when laughter came easily. He found warmth where warmth was available and did not burden himself with guilt over it. The world was harsh enough without denying oneself its few pleasures.

For a long time, the dreams remained distant echoes. 

Then, at thirteen, they sharpened. 

A bandit camp had taken root not far from the Twins—deserters and river thieves preying on merchants who paid their tolls but never arrived. A small force was sent to deal with them, and Adian, too young and too unimportant to refuse, rode along more as baggage than blade.

The fighting was chaos. 

Mud, blood, screaming men who died without ever understanding why. 

Adian fought because there was no other choice. 

He killed his first man there, and nearly died for it. A rusted axe split his shoulder, another blow crushed him into the dirt, and he would have been trampled if not for a soldier dragging him clear. 

He spent weeks fevered and broken. 

It was during that time—hovering between life and death—that his memories returned. 

Not all at once. Not neatly. 

But enough. 

He remembered a world like this one, and yet not. He remembered stories he had once consumed rather than lived. He remembered knowing how this game was played—how thrones rose and fell, how noble names became curses, how even dragons could bleed.

When he woke, the world felt heavier. 

Adian did not emerge from that bed with ambition blazing in his eyes. If anything, the opposite. He now understood just how fragile everything was. How easily men died for causes that did not remember them. 

There were enough people holding up the sky already, he decided. Kings, lords, heroes, traitors—let them play their parts. 

His goal was simpler: do not die early, and enjoy what life offered while it lasted. 

But enjoyment required survival. Survival required strength. 

So he trained harder, more quietly than before.

Years passed. 

When Lord Denys Darklyn took King Aerys hostage during the Defiance of Duskendale, banners were called. Adian rode with the Frey forces, neither eager nor reluctant—only aware.

He did what was required. No more. He guarded where ordered. Fought when forced. Saved a knight pinned beneath rubble during the chaos, earning just enough notice to matter—but not enough to be remembered.

When the city finally fell and the king was freed, Adian knelt, bruised and bloodied, as a sword touched his shoulder. 

"Rise, Ser Adian Frey." 

A knight of the Seven Kingdoms. No songs followed him. No banners bore his name. And that suited him just fine.

 As he rode away from Duskendale, the memories lingered quietly in his mind, like a map he chose not to unfold—yet. 

For now, Westeros turned as it always had. 

And Adian Frey intended to move through it carefully, savoring what he could, and leaving the fate of the realm to those foolish enough to chase it.

The feast at Riverrun was in full swing, the great hall echoing with laughter, clinking tankards, and the strains of a minstrel's song. Adian Frey sat near the end of a long table, observing more than participating. At twenty, he had grown into his frame—lean but corded with muscle from years of disciplined training. His hair, the color of dark river mud, fell across his brow as he watched the high table where Lord Hoster Tully presided with his children. 

Catelyn Tully sat there, resplendent in a gown of deep blue that matched the Tully colors. Her auburn hair was arranged in an intricate braid, her face composed in the polite mask of a highborn lady. But Adian had learned to read the tells in people—the slight tightening around her eyes when a bannerman spoke too loudly, the way her fingers traced the rim of her goblet as if seeking solace in its smoothness. 

Rumors had preceded this gathering. Catelyn was promised to Brandon Stark, the wild heir of Winterfell. A good match, politically sound. But Adian saw something else in her—a restlessness, a curiosity that warred with duty. He had been playing this game subtly for months, never overt, always maintaining the proper deference of a vassal's son to his overlord's daughter. A shared glance across a courtyard, a brief conversation about a tapestry, a compliment on her riding that was just personal enough to linger. 

Tonight, he intended to press his advantage. 

When the dancing began, Adian waited until Catelyn had taken a turn with several eligible bachelors before approaching. He bowed deeply, his movements fluid from years of practice. 

"My lady, would you honor me with this dance?" 

Catelyn's eyes met his, and for a moment, he saw something flicker there—surprise, perhaps, or something more. 

"Ser Adian," she said, her voice smooth as river stones. "I would be delighted." 

As they moved to the dance floor, his hand found the small of her back. Through the fabric of her gown, he could feel the warmth of her skin, the subtle shift of muscles as she moved. Their steps were formal at first, following the prescribed patterns of the dance. 

"You seem distant tonight, my lady," Adian said, his voice low enough that only she could hear over the music. 

Catelyn's gaze darted to his face. "I am merely observing. It is a lady's place." 

"Is it also a lady's place to look as though she'd rather be anywhere else?" 

A faint blush colored her cheeks. "You are bold, ser." 

"Only when I see something worth being bold for." He guided her through a turn, his fingers pressing slightly against her back. "I have watched you these months, Lady Catelyn. I see the weight of expectation in your eyes. The burden of being always proper, always perfect."

 Her steps faltered for just a moment. "You presume much, Ser Frey." 

"Do I?" Adian's thumb traced circles against her back, a gesture that could be mistaken for guidance in the dance but was nothing of the sort. "Or do I simply see what others are too intimidated to notice?" 

The music swelled, and he drew her closer than was strictly proper. Her scent filled his senses—lavender and something uniquely her, like rain on stone. 

"My father would not approve of such familiarity," she whispered, but she did not pull away. 

"Your father is not here," Adian murmured. "Only us. And the gods, if you believe they watch over such small moments as these." 

Catelyn's breath hitched. "I do believe. The Seven Face—" 

"Are watching from afar," he interrupted smoothly. "They see a lady dancing with a knight. Nothing more." 

But it was more, and they both knew it. The dance ended, but Adian did not release her immediately. His fingers lingered at her waist. 

"The gardens are beautiful this time of year," he said. "The moonflowers will be be blooming." 

She knew what he was suggesting—knew she should refuse, call him insolent, perhaps even slap him for his presumption. But instead, she found herself nodding almost imperceptibly.

 "I would like to see them," she said, her voice barely audible. 

Adian offered his arm, and she took it, her gloved fingers resting lightly on his forearm. As they slipped away from the feast, through a side door into the cool night air, neither spoke. The weight of what they were doing—what they were about to do—hung between them. 

The gardens of Riverrun were meticulously maintained, even in the growing darkness. Stone paths wound between beds of flowers and neatly trimmed hedges. Above them, the moon cast a silver glow over everything, illuminating the white moonflowers that had just begun to open. 

"They're beautiful," Catelyn said, her voice regaining some of its formal composure.

"They are," Adian agreed, though his eyes were on her, not the flowers. "But not as beautiful as you." 

Catelyn turned to face him, her expression a mixture of shock and something else—something he couldn't quite name. "Ser Adian, you must not—" 

"Must not what?" He stepped closer, backing her gently against a stone wall covered in ivy. "Must not speak truth? Must not notice that the lady of Riverrun is more than just a political pawn to be traded to the highest bidder?"

Her breath came faster now. "You know nothing of it."

"I know that Brandon Stark is a wild man, more suited to the forests than a lady's chamber. I know that your father has sold you like a prize horse to secure an alliance with the North. And I know," he added, his voice dropping to a near whisper as he placed a hand on the wall beside her head, "that you wonder if there is more to life than duty and sacrifice." 

Catelyn's eyes darted around the garden as if seeking an escape, but there was none. Adian had cornered her deliberately, knowing that the physical proximity would make it harder for her to maintain her composure. 

"The Faith teaches us that our duty is our purpose," she said, but her voice trembled slightly. 

"And what of pleasure? What of desire? Are those not also gifts from the gods?"

"That is different. That is for marriage."

"Marriage," Adian scoffed softly. "A contract. An arrangement. Tell me, my lady, when you imagine your wedding night with Brandon Stark, do you imagine passion? Or do you imagine duty performed in the dark?"

Catelyn flinched as if struck. "How dare you—"

"I dare because I see you," Adian interrupted, his other hand coming up to trace the line of her jaw. "I see the woman beneath the lady's mask. The woman who wonders what it might feel like to be touched not out of obligation, but out of desire." 

His fingers continued their exploration, moving down her neck to the collar of her gown. Catelyn shivered, her body responding even as her mind recoiled.

"This is wrong," she whispered, but she made no move to stop him. 

"Is it?" Adian leaned closer, his lips near her ear. "Or is it simply... forbidden? There is a difference, you know."

His mouth found the sensitive spot just below her ear, and Catelyn gasped, her hands coming up to push against his chest. But the push was weak, half-hearted at best.

"Ser Adian, please..." "Please what?" he murmured against her skin. "Please stop? 

Or please don't stop?" When she didn't answer, he took it as permission. His lips moved along her neck, planting kisses that grew progressively more intimate. Catelyn's resistance crumbled with each touch, her body betraying her mind's protests. Her hands, which had been pushing him away, now clung to his tunic as if afraid he might pull away. 

Adian's hand slid from her jaw down to her breast, cupping it through the fabric of her gown. Catelyn arched against him, a soft moan escaping her lips.

"You see?" he whispered. "Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind has been taught to deny it." 

He guided her away from the wall, deeper into the shadows of the garden where a stone bench sat partially concealed by overgrown rose bushes. The moonlight filtered through the leaves, creating dappled patterns on the ground around them. 

"Kneel," Adian said, his voice low but firm. 

Catelyn's eyes widened. "What?"

"Kneel," he repeated, not unkindly but with an undeniable authority. "Let me show you what pleasure can be when it's not tied to duty."

For a moment, she hesitated, the weight of her upbringing warring with the curiosity he had awakened. Then, slowly, gracefully, she sank to her knees on the soft grass before him. 

Adian stood before her, his silhouette framed by moonlight. He watched as she looked up at him, her expression a mixture of fear and anticipation. This was it—the point of no return. If she continued, there would be no pretending this was merely a stolen kiss or a moment of weakness. 

"Unlace me," he commanded softly. With trembling fingers, Catelyn reached for the laces of his breeches. Her movements were hesitant at first, but as she worked, a certain resolve seemed to settle over her features. She was making a choice—deliberately, consciously. 

The laces came undone slowly, Catelyn's fingers fumbling in the moonlight. When his breeches fell open, his cock sprang free, already hard and thick in the cool night air. It was larger than she might have expected, a testament to his strength and vitality. 

Catelyn stared, her lips slightly parted. The Faith taught that such things were for marriage alone, for the dark confines of the marital bed. Yet here she was, on her knees in a moonlit garden, about to commit a sin that could see her condemned to the Seven Hells. 

"What does the Mother say about this, I wonder?" Adian's voice was a low murmur, laced with amusement. "Does she weep for your lost virtue? Or does she understand that a woman has needs too?" 

Catelyn flinched but didn't look away. "The Mother teaches us to be chaste, to save ourselves for the marriage bed."

"And the Maiden?" Adian pressed. "Does she not desire? Does she not wonder what it might feel like to be touched, to be filled?" 

Before Catelyn could formulate a response that wouldn't betray her turmoil, Adian's hand came to rest on her head, his fingers tangling in her auburn hair. 

"Show me," he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Show me what the Maiden hides." 

With a soft sigh that was part resignation, part curiosity, Catelyn leaned forward. Her tongue darted out, tentative at first, tracing the head of his cock. The taste was salty, masculine, utterly foreign to her experience. She circled the ridge, then took him into her mouth, her lips stretching to accommodate his girth. 

Adian groaned, his hips shifting slightly. "That's it," he murmured. "Just like that." 

Catelyn found a rhythm, her movements guided more by instinct than experience. She took him deeper, her tongue exploring the sensitive underside, her hand coming up to cup his balls. The weight of him in her mouth was overwhelming, a tangible reminder of how far she had strayed from the path the Faith had laid out for her. 

"Look at me," Adian commanded. 

Catelyn's eyes lifted to meet his, and what she saw there made her stomach clench with a mixture of fear and excitement. There was power in his gaze, a raw masculinity that promised pleasure and danger in equal measure.

"Brandon Stark," Adian said, his voice rough with desire. "Do you think he would appreciate this? Do you think he would know how to guide you, how to teach you the pleasures of the flesh?" 

Catelyn moaned around his cock, the vibration sending shivers through his body. The mention of her betrothed was meant to shame her, but instead, it ignited a fire in her belly. She was betraying him, betraying her family, betraying the gods themselves—and she had never felt more alive. 

Adian's fingers tightened in her hair, his control beginning to slip. "You're a natural, my lady. A natural born sinner." 

With that, he began to move, his hips thrusting gently at first, then with increasing urgency. Catelyn's eyes widened as she realized what was happening. He was taking control, using her mouth for his pleasure. She should have been horrified, should have pulled away, but instead, she found herself relaxing, allowing him to set the pace. 

The sensations were overwhelming—his cock hitting the back of her throat, his balls slapping against her chin, the guttural sounds he made with each thrust. Tears streamed down her face, a mixture of exertion and emotion, but she didn't stop. Couldn't stop. 

"Take it," Adian growled, his movements becoming more erratic. "Take all of it." 

With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing as he released down her throat. Catelyn choked, her body convulsing as she struggled to accommodate him, but she held on, her nails digging into his thighs. 

When he finally pulled away, she gasped for air, her chest heaving. Her lips were swollen, her face flushed, a mess of saliva and tears and seed. She should have been disgusted with herself, but all she felt was a bone-deep satisfaction, a sense of having crossed a threshold from which there was no return.

"Strip," he commanded against her lips. "Let me see what the Maiden hides."

With trembling fingers, Catelyn untied the laces of her gown, letting it pool at her feet. She stood before him in nothing but her shift, the moonlight turning her skin to silver.

"All of it," Adian said, his eyes dark with desire.

The shift joined the gown on the ground, leaving her completely exposed. Catelyn shivered, partly from the cold, partly from anticipation. No man had ever seen her like this, naked and vulnerable. It was terrifying. It was exhilarating.

Adian's gaze swept over her, lingering on her breasts, her stomach, the thatch of red hair between her legs. "Beautiful," he murmured. "Absolutely beautiful."

He led her to the stone bench, sitting down and pulling her onto his lap. Catelyn straddled him, her knees on either side of his thighs, her core pressed against his already hardening cock.

"Ride me," he said, his hands coming to rest on her hips. "Take what you want."

Catelyn hesitated, the weight of what she was doing settling over her once more. This was it—the ultimate betrayal, the final step into sin.

"Remember the Stranger," Adian teased, his thumbs rubbing circles against her skin. "He waits for us all, my lady. Why not give him something to remember?"

With a soft cry that was part pleasure, part anguish, Catelyn positioned herself over his cock and slowly sank down. The stretch was intense, a burning sensation that bordered on pain. She had never taken a man inside her, had never imagined her first time would be like this—outdoors, with a relative stranger, while her betrothed waited in the North for a bride he believed to be pure.

"That's it," Adian encouraged, his hands guiding her movements. "Take all of it."

Catelyn lowered herself further, her body accommodating him inch by inch. When she was fully seated, his cock buried to the hilt inside her, she paused, adjusting to the fullness. It was overwhelming, a feeling of being completely and utterly possessed.

"Move," Adian commanded softly. "Show the gods how a Tully rides."

Catelyn began to rock, her movements tentative at first, then more confident as pleasure began to build. The friction was exquisite, each shift of her hips sending sparks of desire through her body. Adian's hands roamed over her back, her breasts, her ass, his touch igniting fires wherever it landed.

"Imagine Brandon Stark seeing you now," Adian murmured against her neck. "Imagine his face when he realizes his bride is not the chaste maiden he was promised, but a woman who knows her own desires."

Catelyn moaned, her movements becoming more erratic. The mention of her betrothed should have killed her arousal, but instead, it heightened it, adding a layer of taboo to their encounter that was utterly intoxicating.

"What would the Seven say, I wonder?" Adian continued, his voice a low murmur against her skin. "The Father, judging us from above? The Warrior, pleased with your ferocity? The Maiden, weeping for your lost innocence?"

"Stop," Catelyn gasped, but her body betrayed her, her hips grinding down harder, seeking more of him.

"Never," Adian growled, his hands tightening on her hips as he began to thrust up into her. "I want to hear you beg. I want to hear you cry out my name as you forget everything you were taught to believe."

Catelyn's head fell back, her auburn hair cascading down her back as pleasure overwhelmed her. The sensations were too much—his cock hitting a spot deep inside her that sent shockwaves through her body, his hands roaming freely over her naked skin, his words destroying the foundations of her faith.

"Say it," Adian demanded, his movements becoming more forceful. "Say my name."

"Adian," she breathed, the name feeling foreign on her tongue.

"Louder."

"Adian!" she cried out as his thumb found her clit, rubbing circles that pushed her closer to the edge.

"Who owns this sweet cunt?" he growled, his thrusts becoming more erratic.

"You," she gasped. "You do."

"Who?"

"Adian! Oh, gods, Adian!"

With a final, powerful thrust that buried him to the hilt inside her, Catelyn shattered. Her orgasm ripped through her, leaving her shaking and breathless. Adian followed moments later, his cock pulsing as he filled her with his seed.

Catelyn's body was still trembling in the aftermath of her orgasm, her mind a haze of pleasure and guilt. She collapsed against his chest, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her face buried in the crook of his neck. The scent of sweat and sex and moonlight filled her senses, a potent cocktail that overwhelmed the last vestiges of her restraint.

For a moment, they remained joined, their bodies bathed in moonlight as they struggled to catch their breath. Catelyn's mind was reeling from what they had done, what she had allowed to happen. Adian's arms came around her, holding her close. For a moment, there was only the sound of their breathing, the distant music from the feast, the rustle of leaves in the night breeze.

But Adian's hold was not one of comfort. It was a cage of flesh and bone. As Catelyn's breathing began to even out, a sense of false security settling over her, his arms tightened. He shifted, and without warning, he withdrew from her, leaving her feeling suddenly empty and cold. Before she could process the loss, his hands were on her shoulders, spinning her around.

"On your hands and knees," he commanded, his voice a low growl that held no trace of the gentle lover from moments before. It was the voice of a commander, of a man accustomed to being obeyed.

Catelyn blinked, her mind struggling to catch up. "Adian? What... I thought we were..."

"You thought wrong," he said, giving her a firm push between her shoulder blades. She stumbled forward, catching herself on her hands on the cool, damp grass. The position was humiliating, exposing her to his gaze in a way that felt more raw, more primal than anything they had done yet. Her ass was raised high, her most intimate parts on display. She felt a blush creep up her neck, hot with shame.

"Please," she whispered, looking back at him over her shoulder. "I am sore. I cannot..."

"You can," he said, kneeling behind her. His hand ran possessively over the curve of her ass, his touch sending a shiver through her despite her protest. "And you will. A lady must learn to endure. Isn't that what your septas taught you? To suffer for your duty?"

His words were a twisted mockery of her upbringing, a deliberate corruption of everything she held sacred. Before she could form a response, his hand came down in a sharp, stinging slap on her right buttock.

Catelyn cried out, more from shock than pain. The sound echoed in the quiet garden, loud in the night air.

"Did the Maiden teach you about this?" Adian asked, his voice a low murmur as he rubbed the reddening flesh. "Did she tell you that sometimes pain is the best teacher?"

Another slap, this time on her left cheek, harder than the first. Catelyn flinched, her body tensing. The pain was sharp, but it was followed by a strange, spreading warmth that pooled in her belly. Her body was betraying her again, responding to his degradation with a sickening thrill.

"Count them," he commanded.

"What?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"Count every strike. If you lose count, we start again."

He brought his hand down again. "One!" The word was torn from her throat, a sob of humiliation and unwilling arousal.

"Two!" she cried out as his hand met her flesh again.

He continued, a steady, rhythmic spanking that alternated between her cheeks. Each slap was a punctuation mark in a sentence of her submission. With each strike, the pain blended more seamlessly with pleasure, until Catelyn couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. Her ass was on fire, a throbbing, aching heat that centered in her core, making her wet and ready for him again.

"Ten!" she gasped as the final blow landed.

"Good girl," Adian murmured, his hand now gently caressing her heated skin. "You see? You can be obedient when you try."

He positioned himself behind her, the head of his cock nudging against her entrance. Catelyn braced herself, expecting another brutal thrust. Instead, he teased her, sliding his length along her slit, coating himself in her wetness without entering her.

"Tell me what you want," he said, his voice a low rumble.

"Adian, please..." she begged, pushing back against him, trying to impale herself on his cock.

"Please what?" he asked, slapping her ass again, lighter this time, a reminder of his control.

"Please... fuck me," she whispered, the words feeling alien and filthy on her tongue.

"Louder."

"Fuck me," she said, her voice stronger this time.

"As you wish, my lady," he said, and with one smooth, powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt.

The sensation was overwhelming. From this angle, he felt impossibly deep, stretching her in ways that bordered on pain. He set a punishing rhythm, his hips slapping against her sore, reddened ass with each thrust. The sound was obscene, a wet, rhythmic smacking that was the only music in their private world.

"Look at you," Adian grunted, his hands gripping her hips tightly enough to leave bruises. "The Lady of Riverrun on her hands and knees in the dirt, begging for a Frey's cock. What would the Seven say, I wonder?"

Catelyn could only moan in response, her mind too overwhelmed by sensation to form words. Each thrust drove her forward, her hands sinking into the soft earth as she struggled to maintain her position. He was taking her from behind, like an animal, and the rawness of it, the primal nature of the act, was pushing her closer to the edge again.

"Who do you belong to?" he demanded, his hand coming down to tangle in her hair, pulling her head back.

"You!" she cried out, the word ripped from her throat. "I belong to you!"

"Then take it," he growled, his movements becoming more erratic. "Take all of me."

With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself deep, his cock pulsing as he filled her with his seed for the second time that night. The feeling of him coming inside her triggered her own release, and Catelyn shattered, her body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her, leaving her limp and breathless.

She collapsed onto the grass, her body too weak to support her any longer. Adian followed her down, his body covering hers, his weight a comforting, possessive blanket. They lay there for a long moment, their bodies bathed in moonlight as they struggled to catch their breath. Catelyn's mind was a haze of pleasure and guilt, her body aching in ways she had never imagined. She was ruined, and she had never felt more alive.

But the sound of rustling leaves was not the wind. It was the soft, frantic scuff of a shoe against stone, the gasp of a witness who had seen too much.

From behind a cluster of moon-kissed rose bushes, Lysa Tully watched, her hand clapped over her mouth to stifle a sound. She had only come out for a moment of air, to escape the cloying attentions of a drunken lordling. She had not expected to find her sister, her perfect, pious sister Catelyn, being fucked like a common tavern wench by a Frey. The sight was a physical blow. Catelyn, naked and wanton, her head thrown back in ecstasy as a man who was not her betrothed drove into her. Lysa should have run. She should have screamed. But she didn't. A heat, sharp and unfamiliar, bloomed in her lower belly, a liquid fire that pooled between her legs. Her own breathing grew ragged, matching the rhythm of the couple before her. Her hand, still pressed to her lips, trembled. Slowly, as if drawn by an invisible string, it slid down her neck, over the fabric of her gown, and pressed between her thighs. She bit her lip hard enough to taste blood as she began to rub herself in frantic, desperate circles, her eyes locked on the scene of raw, primal possession.

Adian's eyes, which had been closed in bliss, snapped open. He had heard it. That soft gasp. He hadn't needed to look to know someone was there. His gaze swept the garden, casual and unhurried, and landed directly on the shadowed bushes where Lysa hid. He saw the frantic movement of her arm, the pale oval of her face illuminated by a stray beam of moonlight. He saw the raw, undisguised hunger in her eyes.

A slow, predatory smile spread across his face. One Tully daughter was a conquest. The other, a voyeur. The possibilities were endless.

He gave no sign that he had seen her. Instead, he looked down at the spent woman in his arms. Catelyn was limp, her body pliant and sated, a faint smile on her lips as she drifted in a sea of sensation. She thought it was over. She was wrong.

"Up," Adian said, his voice a low growl, devoid of its earlier teasing warmth.

Catelyn stirred, blinking slowly. "What? Adian, I... I cannot move. I have no strength."

"Strength is not required," he said, his hands moving from her hips to her thighs. "Only obedience."

With a fluid motion that spoke of immense power, he stood, lifting her with him. His cock, still buried deep inside her, never left its sheath. Catelyn cried out in surprise, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist to steady herself. The sudden change in position forced him even deeper, a fresh, sharp jolt of sensation that cut through her post-orgasmic haze.

"Adian! What are you doing?" she whispered, her voice a mixture of alarm and renewed excitement.

"Showing you the stars," he murmured, but his eyes were locked on Lysa's hiding spot. He began to move, not with the gentle rocking from before, but with deep, powerful thrusts that used his entire body. He was holding her effortlessly, his hands cupping her ass, spreading her cheeks as he drove into her again and again.

Each thrust was a statement. A performance. He angled his body slightly, giving their hidden audience a perfect view of his cock disappearing into Catelyn's body, of her slick folds gripping him tightly, of the heavy sway of his balls with each movement.

"Does this feel different, my lady?" he grunted, his voice low enough to be a private intimacy, but loud enough to carry on the night air. "Being taken like this? Held up and fucked for all the world to see?"

Catelyn's head fell back, her auburn hair a dark cascade down her back. "The world... there is no one here..."

"Are you so sure?" he teased, his pace quickening. The slap of flesh against flesh was loud, obscene, a percussive beat to their illicit symphony. "The gods are always watching. The Mother weeps for your lost virtue. The Maiden... I think the Maiden is touching herself right now, wishing it was her."

Catelyn moaned, a long, drawn-out sound of pure pleasure. The words were blasphemous, degrading, but they only fueled the fire building within her. He was using her body, and in that use, she was finding a freedom she had never known.

"Look at you," Adian panted, his muscles straining with the effort of holding her and fucking her with such intensity. "The Lady of Riverrun, a cock-sleeve for a Frey. What would your father say? What would Brandon Stark say if he could see you now, bouncing on my cock like a dockside whore?"

He shifted his grip, one hand moving up her back to tangle in her hair, pulling her head up. "No, don't hide your face. Let them see. Let them see the pleasure in your eyes. Let them see how much you love being defiled."

He was looking directly at Lysa now. He could see the frantic motion of her arm, the way her other hand was pressed against her mouth to muffle her cries. He could imagine the slick heat of her, the desperate need clawing at her. He put on a show for her, for this silent, desperate audience of one.

"Who do you belong to, Catelyn?" he demanded, his voice rough with dominance.

"You," she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders. "Oh, gods, Adian, you!"

"Say it louder. Let the Seven Hells hear you."

"YOU!" she cried out, her body convulsing as another orgasm, more powerful than the last, ripped through her. "I BELONG TO YOU!"

As her inner walls clenched around him, milking him for all he was worth, Adian let himself go. He drove into her one last time, burying himself to the hilt as he poured his seed deep inside her. He held her there, his body tense, his eyes locked on Lysa's.

He saw her shudder, a silent, violent convulsion that mirrored Catelyn's. He saw her slump against the rose bush, her body spent. He had claimed them both, in different ways.

Slowly, carefully, he lowered Catelyn to her feet. She sagged against him, utterly spent, her mind blank with pleasure and exhaustion. He held her for a moment longer, his gaze still on the shadows where Lysa Tully slowly, shakily, pulled herself up and slipped away into the night.