Rhaella Targaryen, The Sovereign of the Oceans – In Route to King's Landing

"Are you feeling well, Your Grace?" asked Ser Gerold's old and weary voice. As Aemon had ordered a couple of weeks earlier, the knight had become Rhaella's shadow, with the sole purpose of protecting her.

Although both the Queen and the knight knew perfectly well that it was a punishment imposed by Aemon.

For the moment, however, her grandson's actions in Mole Town were far from her thoughts. The Queen was simply too enchanted by this magnificent ship.

The Sovereign of the Oceans, as Aemon had named it, the former Queen thought, taking a moment to admire the surroundings of the luxurious and gigantic vessel.

Rhaella Targaryen had believed herself familiar with the most luxurious ships of the Seven Kingdoms and Essos, from the great royal galleys to the magnificent merchant vessels of the Free Cities, but none could compare to the Sovereign of the Oceans, her grandson's personal ship.

A magical ship, in every sense of the word, Rhaella thought, admiring the imposing vessel upon which she stood.

Its decks were constructed from perfectly joined black timber, polished until they possessed the luster of onyx, while delicate filigree of gleaming bronze adorned the railings, staircases, and elaborate stern balconies, all covered in strange inscriptions unknown to the Queen.

Runes, Lord Sirius had called them. Apparently, they were a magical discipline in which the Starks excelled considerably, Rhaella thought, filled with envy at the mere thought of the vast gifts and favors the Wolf Lords had received from her grandson.

Although she would not bring up that subject again. The King's position had been perfectly clear in Mole Town, Rhaella thought, shuddering at the mere memory of what had happened.

Wisely, Rhaella returned her attention to admiring the immense ship, awaiting her guest with all the patience in the world.

They were still a week away from King's Landing, after all, and the capital was a place Rhaella was in absolutely no hurry to visit.

Aemon's ship was magnificent, clearly arcane in nature, and its stability was extraordinary. Despite the immense waves crashing against the hull and the wind stirring her silver hair, Rhaella could barely perceive any movement beneath her feet. It was like standing within the halls of a palace rather than aboard a vessel cutting through the waters of the Narrow Sea at an impossible speed. The ship's very construction proclaimed one thing: absolute luxury. Enormous crimson sails crowned its three central masts, adorned with the image of a white tree with intertwined roots.

It was neither the Targaryen dragon nor the Stark direwolf, but curiously, a tree. One that apparently held great importance for both Aemon and the Coalition in general, although Rhaella did not understand why. Whenever she asked about it, everyone gave her the same simple answer, as though those two words alone should allow the former Queen to understand their meaning immediately.

The White Oak.

Every Lord and Lady with whom Rhaella had spoken and negotiated on behalf of House Targaryen had given the same answer, and all of them spoke those words with reverence and respect.

And all of this belonged to her grandson, Rhaella thought with a certain satisfaction, a warm sensation gently spreading through her body whenever she thought of Aemon.

Although accompanied by plenty of headaches, naturally.

The idea was still difficult for her to comprehend. Aemon, the son of her beloved Rhaegar, that boy who had grown up far from his family and everything that should have belonged to him by birth, had managed to amass power beyond anything she could ever have imagined.

A part of her, buried very deep within, even felt…relief at all the hardships Aemon had been forced to endure. Rhaella sincerely doubted that her grandson would have become the impressive wizard and man he was today if he had grown up surrounded by the comforts and luxuries of the Red Keep.

Perhaps, instead of becoming the capable, intelligent, and ruthless wizard Rhaella knew and admired, the luxuries of the royal court would have transformed him into a disappointment.

Hardship had forged her grandson into precisely what the House of the Dragon needed, something that filled her with as much relief as guilt.

But her strained relationship with her grandson was not important, at least not today. The Queen had…other, far more pressing matters on her mind, such as the imminent arrival of her frequent guest.

Rhaella ran her fingers along the ebony railing, contemplating the enchanted copper inlays while an incredulous smile adorned her lips. How many kings could boast of possessing such a marvel? How many lords of Westeros would have surrendered their fortunes, daughters, and sisters for something even remotely similar to this vessel? And yet, Aemon seemed to regard this floating palace as little more than a means of transportation, rather than the wonder Rhaella saw before her.

The magic permeating every plank, every sail, and every corner of the vessel spoke of knowledge that not even the ancient Dragonlords of Valyria had mastered. Her grandson needed neither a throne, a castle, a crown, nor dragons to demonstrate his greatness.

Aemon possessed something far more interesting and dangerous.

Power.

But beyond the luxury, the magic, and the wonders surrounding her, there was something infinitely more precious.

For the first time in her entire life, Rhaella felt truly safe.

She no longer needed to fear the outbursts of a cruel husband, the intrigues of a merciless court, or the threats of men who regarded her blood and beauty as mere instruments for satisfying their ambitions, as had been the case during her secret stay in Braavos.

Rhaella closed her eyes and allowed the sea breeze to caress her face. How strange it felt, after so many years of fear and caution, to breathe without wondering when the next blow, the next assassin, or the next threat would arrive.

The Queen sighed with relief before looking toward Ser Gerold, who was still awaiting an answer.

"I'm merely lost in thought, Ser. Still remembering that tense week in Mole Town and Eastwatch, and what His Grace's orders mean for the Royal Family," Rhaella replied with a heavy sigh.

As expected, Ser Gerold frowned. The knight did not dare make any comment regarding the King's decisions, although it was evident that he did not agree with Aemon's orders in the slightest.

However, Rhaella was not about to allow the knight to remain silent. Not this time. She was genuinely curious to discover what was going through Gerold's mind.

"What troubles you so deeply, Ser?" she asked, curious to hear his answer.

The aging knight, former Lord Commander of the now-disbanded Kingsguard by order of Aemon himself, sighed heavily before replying.

"It's just…that I imagined it very differently, Your Grace. Our reunion with our King," he confessed, causing Rhaella to grimace uncomfortably at the memory of that first meeting.

One that, even now, several weeks after it had taken place, still made Rhaella sigh at just how…implacable Aemon could be.

The meeting in which he had officially disbanded the Kingsguard.

Flashback.

"Your Grace, we are at your command," Oswell and Gerold declared, kneeling before Aemon's desk, undoubtedly expecting warm words or some acknowledgment of their presence.

But one thing Rhaella was absolutely certain of was that neither knight had expected the complete indifference the King displayed toward them.

"Rise, Sers," her grandson said, his attention focused not on the surprised and cautious knights, but on the documents before him.

Aemon was reading letters written by Lord Stark from King's Landing, while several others originating from Winterfell lay prepared beside them.

Gerold and Oswell exchanged glances before obeying Aemon's command, rising to their feet with evident caution.

"The North…isn't what I imagined, Your Grace. These people are prosperous and organized," Ser Oswell remarked, attempting to break the ice.

But Aemon did not even respond, continuing to read the letter in his hand before nodding to himself.

Still not bothering to acknowledge the knights, Aemon raised his gaze and spoke.

"Chiara, inform Sirius that the next shipment will arrive from Topaz Island in two weeks. The Veela Council will contact him," he said simply.

The blonde woman nodded and left the room, leaving the monarch alone with the two knights and Rhaella.

Daenerys was flying on her new broom with Clarissa, while Harry was recruiting people outside Mole Town for certain activities. Therefore, at least for the moment, only Aemon and Rhaella remained in the office with the knights.

"Ser Gerold, from this moment forward, you are the sworn sword of my grandmother, Queen Rhaella. You will command a small regiment of Lycants and Veela that I have assigned to her protection. Once this meeting concludes, the Artificers will provide you with proper armor and a suitable sword," Aemon declared calmly, much to the surprise of both knights.

Rhaella began to experience a terrible premonition, one that apparently was shared by both knights. However, before either could say anything, Aemon continued.

"Ser Oswell, from this moment forward, you are the sworn sword of my uncle Viserys. The armorer will provide you with proper armor and a suitable sword, and once we reach Eastwatch, you will assume your new position. My uncle will not accompany us south. I have work for him in these lands, and he will be responsible for administering, governing, and bringing prosperity to the Wall and the Gift, along with certain other…assignments in my name. You will remain at his side at all times until further notice," Aemon declared with finality.

He sealed two documents upon his desk and handed one to each man, both of whom stared at her grandson in complete disbelief.

"But…Your Grace! We are Kingsguard! Our duty is to…"

However, Aemon's next words were enough to shock not only the knights, but Rhaella as well.

"The Kingsguard no longer exists."

A single sentence, simple and precise, spoken with complete tranquility and absolute control of the situation, yet its effect was devastating.

Gerold and Oswell looked as though they had been punched in the stomach, and Aemon was not content to leave matters there. Instead, he delivered the final blow.

"Seven men to defend the Royal Family is…unrealistic and impractical. The Order's shortcomings became painfully evident during the Usurper's War. Therefore, I have officially decided to dismantle it, permanently. The Kingsguard of House Targaryen has ceased to exist," Aemon declared with complete normality before the nearly catatonic Gerold and Oswell.

Rhaella wanted to rise and intercede on behalf of the two knights, but the truth was that, in her opinion, Aemon had a point.

Seven men to defend the entire Royal Family was…stupid.

Ser Oswell took a step forward, his face filled with shock, and spoke.

"But…Your Grace! Our duty is to protect you! We…"

However, Aemon did not allow him to finish.

Her grandson's irises illuminated like two brilliant amethyst stars, while the flames within the fireplace roared with a crimson radiance, almost like a dragon, instantly silencing the knight.

"Don't worry, Ser Oswell. Chiara is a fierce warrior and my sworn sword, more than capable of protecting me should the need arise," Aemon said calmly, causing both knights to frown.

"Your Grace, our oaths are to protect you. We…" Oswell attempted again.

But this time, Aemon intervened with greater firmness.

His words were surgical, lethal, and as cold as the winter beyond Mole Town's walls.

"You will go wherever I order you. Don't worry, Sers. I have no intention of burdening you with the torturous duty of guarding Lyanna Stark's son. How did you refer to her in the past, Ser Oswell? The maiden of questionable virtue?" Aemon asked coldly, taking his seat once more and leaning back.

Rhaella raised both eyebrows at Aemon's words, particularly when she saw both men turn pale.

But the King showed no mercy and continued.

"You both have your orders. House Targaryen thanks you for your loyalty, Sers," Aemon declared, bringing the conversation to an end.

Both knights lowered their heads in shame before leaving the office in silence, beneath Aemon's implacable gaze.

The gaze of a King.

End of Flashback.

Rhaella studied Gerold's face, burdened with regret.

Gone were his white armor and cloak, a privilege that, for the moment, only Lady Chiara possessed.

Now, the dismissed Lord Commander wore black armor with a tree engraved upon its breastplate. It was constructed from metal plates, and yet Gerold retained excellent mobility.

According to the knight himself, the metal was strong and durable, but considerably lighter than conventional steel. Its quality was exceptional, far superior to anything Rhaella had seen outside Aemon's forces.

A gray cloak now rested upon his shoulders, embroidered with the same tree. Like his armor, it had been tailored specifically for Gerold, both comfortable and elegant.

"His Grace…has more than enough reasons to be displeased with us, particularly Oswell, considering everything he said about Lady Lyanna," the knight admitted.

Only to be interrupted by a masculine, powerful voice that, much to Rhaella's embarrassment, sent a mischievous warmth through her womanhood.

"Princess…Lyanna, mother of your King. I see some lessons need to be taught twice," Lord Sirius's voice declared, startling both Gerold and Rhaella.

"Lord Black!" Rhaella exclaimed with a smile, ignoring Ser Gerold's startled reaction and the look of cruel amusement in the Lord's eyes.

"How are you handling your daughter's departure?" the Queen asked elegantly, changing the subject to Gerold's gratitude and Sirius's concealed amusement.

Lord Black shrugged and replied, as usual, with that self-satisfied smirk upon his face.

"Hogwarts is a fundamental part of any wizard's or witch's education. Clarissa is a magical prodigy, but there are things that must be learned at school. I know Harry will look after her, so I'm not worried," he replied calmly and sincerely.

Rhaella nodded gently, tucking her hair behind her ear as she prepared to speak again.

If there was one thing she had learned about the Coalition, it was that Aemon, Sirius, and Harry, at least, detested wasting time with empty words and exaggerated gestures.

Business and proposals needed to be direct and precise.

Therefore, drawing a deep breath, the Queen spoke.

"Have you considered my proposal? A marriage between us would be beneficial to the Coalition. My hand for you, and Daenerys for Lord Potter" Rhaella declared naturally, firmly, and without the slightest trace of tact.

As expected, Ser Gerold stared at her in shock and disbelief, while Sirius laughed heartily, regarding her with amusement, respect, and unmistakable interest in his eyes.

"I see you're already learning how we conduct business among ourselves, Rhaella," Sirius remarked casually.

A blush appeared upon the Queen's cheeks, while an expression of disapproval crossed Gerold's face.

The knight was preparing to step forward, only to be interrupted by Rhaella, who spoke again, this time with even greater determination.

"What can I say? I'm a dragoness. I won't deny that the political advantages of cementing the Coalition's trinity through blood are considerable. But don't misunderstand me, my Lord. I'm…very interested in what my eyes are seeing," the Queen declared firmly, although inwardly she was as excited as a maiden.

Particularly when she saw the desire in Sirius's gaze.

Not for her title.

Not for her womb.

But for her.

For Rhaella.

For the woman who had lived without a man's caresses for more than a decade, and feeling that animal attraction toward Sirius was…addictive.

"Has my grandson spoken about the lands that will be assigned to the Blacks?" Rhaella asked curiously, approaching him gently and taking Sirius's arm with feminine grace.

It was an elegant yet daring gesture, one Rhaella would never have attempted with anyone other than Sirius.

"Aye, the Vale. Difficult territory, but with tremendous potential. He mentioned a castle called the Eyrie. As we speak, Lady Koslova and her girls are exploring the lands. Aemon plans to hold another Council in King's Landing, in Lord Eddard's presence."

At those words, Rhaella couldn't help worrying for a moment.

"Won't that be too risky? King's Landing, at least for the moment, remains the Usurper's domain," Rhaella remarked.

Sirius chuckled softly and raised his hand toward a pocket in his robes, from which a letter gently levitated into his palm.

Rhaella still hadn't entirely grown accustomed to all this magic, something Ser Gerold evidently shared, judging by the way his hand moved toward his sword for an instant before he lowered his arm again.

Rhaella gently accepted the parchment and began reading.

Her eyes widened further with every word.

Disbelief overwhelmed the Queen before she looked toward Sirius with wide eyes, her mouth opening and closing without producing a single sound.

"This…is this real?"

Sirius nodded, still chuckling softly as he prepared to answer.

"Aye. Lord Stark has made a rather unusual ally in King's Landing," he remarked with amusement.

Rhaella snorted, stunned and filled with disbelief.

Because if Lord Stark could bring that mad bitch named Cersei Lannister to heel…

He would have Rhaella's respect permanently.

The meeting would be…far more interesting than she had expected.

Cersei Lannister, Beneath the Red Keep – King's Landing

"Impressive, my Lord," Cersei remarked with a falsely indifferent voice, watching the bare torso of the Lord of Winterfell.

Lord Eddard merely grunted, a deep, guttural, masculine sound that sent a delicious shiver through Cersei's hungry cunt.

The Queen licked her lips as she watched what the Lord of Winterfell was doing here, within his small, secret quarters beneath the Red Keep.

The Lord was lying upon a kind of bench, using his strong, muscular arms to lift an enormous metal bar above his chest, again and again.

Something that was clearly doing wonders for his body, the Lioness thought, hypnotized as she watched a thin layer of sweat cover Ned's delicious physique.

She couldn't help herself.

Cersei had always regarded Northerners as creatures of limited intellect, unattractive and utterly incapable of surviving at court.

And then Cersei met Eddard.

Physically, he had nothing to rival Jaime's beauty, that pillow-biting Tyrell, and certainly not her beloved Prince Rhaegar.

But Lord Stark possessed a kind of…wild, dominant aura that attracted Cersei like a moth to a flame.

Surprisingly, the Lord Hand had become her ally and, in a certain sense, her confidant.

Of course, their objective was to destroy that vermin Baelish, something about which the Lord was proving…more than imaginative, proposing tortures and punishments that caused even Cersei to raise her eyebrows in a mixture of admiration and interest.

Their mutual favorite, without question, was the Blood Eagle.

And the manner in which Eddard intended to execute it was…sublime, calculated, and enormously satisfying.

The Queen could scarcely wait, she thought, discreetly rubbing her thighs together as she watched the Lord of Winterfell lower the enormous, heavy metal bar and slowly rise to his feet, granting Cersei a privileged view.

Along with the outline of something enormous and monstrous beneath the Lord's trousers.

By the Gods! Were the Starks half horses? the Queen wondered as the Lord took a nearby cloth and began slowly wiping himself clean.

"I have news. My son is on his way. He'll be in King's Landing for the Tournament. With everyone distracted, his men will seal every possible escape route Baelish might use. I intend to make that vermin's crimes public at the conclusion of the jousts or the melee, and execute him after the awards ceremony," the Quiet Wolf declared.

Much to Cersei's disappointment, he pulled a tunic over his delicious body.

Cersei frowned at the mention of the bastard.

A tale of triumph worthy of a song. He had disappeared for a couple of years, only to return with wealth and connections, expanding his influence and riches throughout the North.

"Are you certain it will work? I don't want mistakes or unexpected complications. That damned vermin thinks he's making fools of us, and he dared involve my children. A message must be sent," Cersei declared firmly, rising to her feet and approaching the Lord Hand.

Cersei was particularly tall, but the Wolf Lord's physique was…imposing.

He wasn't a beast like Ser Gregor or the Hound, but the man commanded respect in ways her father's dogs could never hope to achieve.

The Lioness had to raise her face to look at the Lord, who returned her gaze with implacable gray eyes, eyes that betrayed cunning, intelligence, and a carnal desire roaring to be released.

By the Gods, nobody had ever looked at her that way, the Lioness thought, shivering and biting her lip as she slowly raised her hand toward the Lord's chest.

Cersei inhaled deeply, feeling her pupils dilate at the masculine scent emanating from the Lord, one that drove her increasingly mad.

"Any other unfinished business?" Cersei purred softly, gasping when she felt the Lord's enormous hand settle upon her hip.

"A couple of things, but nothing important. They can wait," he growled in a deep voice, sliding his hand toward the Queen's ass.

Cersei gasped and looked at the Wolf indignantly.

"I could have your hand for such insolence!" Cersei challenged, although inwardly, the Queen could barely suppress a moan at feeling, for the first time in her life, the touch and desire of a man.

Lord Stark's response?

He slapped the Queen's ass as though she were some common whore.

And much to Cersei's embarrassment…

She moaned, feeling a warm wetness between her thighs as she leaned against the Lord's body.

Cersei gasped.

Was this what a real man felt like? the Queen wondered, before releasing a small cry when Lord Stark lifted her by her butt with a single hand, causing her to wrap her legs around his thick body, enjoying the way her burning cunt was dampening his abs, marking him as hers.

"You could, but you won't," the Lord retorted, confident and totally in control, to Cersei's increasing desire.

Cersei could only gasp with desire as she watched the Lord Hand's eyes glow an intense amber, although she was far too aroused to think about it.

Lord Stark laughed, a dark, dominant sound, while the Queen couldn't resist pressing herself against him.

"I'm not one of your toys, Cersei. I'm not that little vermin Lancel. If you want some spineless fool to order around, you've chosen the wrong man," the Lord mocked.

Cersei frowned, preparing to respond.

At least until Eddard's other hand moved toward her chest, tearing her dress and exposing her huge and perfect breasts to his feasting eyes, causing her to cry out in indignation.

"BRUTE!!!" snapped the queen, before rolling her eyes and moaning as she felt Eddard's lips kiss and bite her pink nipple, with a mastery that betrayed that she had done this a thousand times before.

not surprising, considering that he had put six pups in that Tully cow in the North.

The strength was just right, just enough to make it painfully pleasurable, a feeling Cersei wasn't used to, and when the hand on her butt began to lift her dress and caressed her drenched womanhood...

The queen screamed, bathing his hand in love juices that were expelled from within her cunt with a force she had not felt before...

Cersei could only gasp, she had felt orgasms before, but never like this... never something so intense and... addictive.

Normally she had to have her maids or Lancel lick her for several minutes, but this...

No one had ever touched her like that before, no one had ever made her feel as much of a woman as Eddard Stark at this point.

But when the queen felt Lord Stark's huge cock kiss her cunt gently, provoking and threatening her... her green eyes stared at the Lord in a new light.

"I'm a Wolf," he whispered, as he inserted his member inside Cersei slowly, making the queen gasp and open her eyes like a fucking maiden as she felt her insides slowly open at the relentless pace of her new owner.

"And from today on, you're one of my bitches" he whispered, in the queen's ear, before lunging in one thrust, scratching her insides in a delicious and addictive way.

And Cersei, in that instant, knew only one thing, that she could not live without this cock, and that if the kingdom burned so that she could continue to be ridden by Eddard Stark...

So be it.

This illicit affair was just beginning... and none of them noticed... the pair of blue eyes that spied on them from a dark corner of the hidden room.