Nathaniel Baratheon (CH 1.5) (Patreon)

A/N: This story is rated M for mature content not suitable for children.

This chapter is just an extention of what happened in chapter one.

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Chapter 1.5: The Conquest of the Reach

The cave was a cathedral of stone and shadow, tucked away beneath the jagged cliffs of Shipbreaker Bay. Outside, the storm raged, a classic Baratheon gale that whipped the sea into a frenzy, the waves crashing against the rocks with the sound of a thousand war hammers. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of burning driftwood, and expensive Tyrell jasmine.

Nathaniel stood by the mouth of the cave, his back to his captives. He was stripped to the waist, his skin slick with rain. The firelight played across the massive landscape of his back, the broad shoulders that had held the line at the Trident, the corded muscle of his spine, and the scars that marked him as a warrior who led from the front.

Alerie Hightower watched him from the pile of furs, her breath hitching in her throat. She had been a captive for two weeks, and in that time, the world she knew, the world of courtly manners and soft Highgarden nights, had burned away. In its place was this golden brute, a man who didn't ask for loyalty but commanded it with his very presence.

"You're pacing again, Alerie," Olenna’s voice drifted from the shadows. The older woman was draped in a silk robe that had seen better days, yet she carried herself with more authority than most kings. She was watching Nathaniel too, her hazel eyes sharp and calculating. "The stag is restless. And a restless stag is a dangerous thing."

Nathaniel turned, his violet-blue eyes catching the firelight. He didn't look like a lord; he looked like a god of the storm. He walked toward them, his boots thudding rhythmically on the stone.

"The storm isn't letting up," Nathaniel growled, his voice a low vibration that seemed to settle in the pit of Alerie’s stomach. "And my patience is thinner than the silk you're wearing."

He stopped in front of Alerie, looming over her. She looked up, her silver-gold hair falling over her shoulders, her heart hammering against her ribs. She was a woman of the Reach, meant for soft words and flower-strewn beds, but as Nathaniel reached down to tilt her chin up, she realized she might wanted the rougher.

"What do you want from us, Nathaniel?" Alerie whispered.

"Everything," he replied.

Lemon Scene Ahead

Nathaniel didn't wait for an invitation. He sank onto the furs, his weight shifting the entire pile. He pulled Alerie toward him, his hands, calloused and powerfulfinding the small of her back. He kissed her, not with the practiced grace of a knight, but with the hunger of a conqueror. It was a deep, soul-claiming kiss that tasted of salt and wine.

Alerie surrendered instantly. Her hands found the heat of his chest, her fingers lost in the golden hair that dusted his skin. She moaned into his mouth, her body arching against his as if trying to merge with him.

"The girl is eager," Olenna remarked, moving closer. She knelt behind Nathaniel, her hands sliding over his shoulders. "But the Reach is a vast territory, Nathaniel. It takes more than one woman to hold it."

Nathaniel let out a low, predatory chuckle. He leaned back, pulling Alerie with him so she was straddling his lap, her silk gown riding up to reveal the creamy, lush curve of her thighs. He looked at Olenna, his gaze a challenge. "Then show me what the Queen of Thorns has to offer besides words."

Olenna didn't hesitate. She leaned down, her lips finding the sensitive skin of Nathaniel’s neck, her teeth grazing him just enough to draw a sharp intake of breath. At the same time, Alerie’s hands moved downward, fumbling with the heavy leather fastenings of his breeches.

When she finally freed him, his length sprang forth, heavy, tensed, and radiating a heat that made the air between them shimmer. Alerie gasped, her eyes widening as she took in the sheer scale of him. The Baratheon vitality was no myth; he was built to breed women, for endurance, and for the total satisfaction of the women in his path.

"Gods," Alerie breathed.

"Don't pray to the gods, Alerie," Olenna whispered, her hands guiding Alerie’s head down. "Pray to the stag."

Alerie slowly took him into her mouth, her lips stretching to accommodate his thickness. She was inexperienced in this, Highgarden didn't prepare its ladies for such visceral acts, but she was a quick study. She used her tongue with a desperate, intuitive rhythm, her silver-gold hair falling around his lap like a silken curtain.

Nathaniel let out a long, gutteral groan, his head falling back against the stone wall. His hands tangled in Alerie’s hair, guiding her, his hips bucking slightly as she sucked him deeper. Beside him, Olenna wasn't idle. She stripped away her robe, her mature, elegant body glowing in the firelight. She leaned over, her breasts, full and still firm with a matriarch’s pride, pressing against Nathaniel’s arm as she used her hands to stroke the base of his shaft, adding her own expert friction to Alerie’s wet heat.

The sound in the cave was a symphony of wet, rhythmic sliding and the heavy, ragged breathing of a man being pushed to his limit. Nathaniel reached his breaking point quickly, his hands tightening in Alerie’s hair.

"Enough," he grunted, pulling her up. He didn't want to finish in her mouth; he wanted to be inside her.

He flipped Alerie onto her back, her legs falling open in an invitation she couldn't retract. He positioned himself between her thighs, the tip of his cock weeping with anticipation. He looked into her eyes, those wide, violet-blue eyes that mirrored his own, and drove home.

Alerie screamed, a high, sharp sound that was swallowed by the roar of the ocean outside. He filled her completely, stretching her to her absolute limit. She was tight, far tighter than a woman who had already birthed children should be, but her body welcomed him, her internal muscles clenching around him in a frantic, rhythmic pulse.

"Nathaniel!" she cried out, her fingers digging into the muscle of his forearms.

He didn't give her time to adjust. He began to move with a brutal, unrelenting pace. He was a man of action, and his lovemaking reflected it. Each thrust was a hammer blow, a physical assertion of his right to rule. He wasn't just fucking her; he was colonizing her.

Olenna moved in then, her body pressing against Nathaniel’s back, her hands reaching around to tease Alerie’s nipples, her thumbs circling the dark, aching aerolas until the younger woman was sobbing with pleasure.

"Look at her, Nathaniel," Olenna hissed into his ear, her own breath hot and jagged. "See how she breaks for you. See how the Reach opens up."

Nathaniel’s pace quickened, his breath coming in short, explosive bursts. He felt Alerie’s climax building, a tidal wave of heat that threatened to drown them both. When she finally broke, her body bucking violently under him, her internal walls convulsing around him like a vice, Nathaniel let out a roar, his own release hitting him with the force of a battering ram.

He poured his potent seed into her, his head buried in the crook of her neck, his body trembling with the sheer intensity of his climax.

They lay there for a moment, a tangle of limbs and sweat, the fire dying down to embers. But the night wasn't over. Nathaniel’s Baratheon blood didn't allow for long rests. He felt the stirrings of his second wind almost immediately.

He sat up, pulling out of Alerie leaking cunt, his gaze settled on Olenna. She was watching him with a smirk, her body relaxed but her eyes hungry.

"You've had the flower," Olenna said, her voice a low challenge. "But the thorns have yet to draw blood."

Nathaniel grabbed her by the waist, pulling her toward him. He didn't lay her down. He turned her around, forcing her onto her hands and knees on the furs. Olenna didn't protest; she arched her back, her gaze fixed on the fire, her breathing shallow and expectant.

"You think you're so clever, Olenna," Nathaniel whispered, his hand sliding down her spine to the firm, pale curve of her backside. "You think you can manage me like one of your lords."

"I know I can," she replied, even as she gasped when his hand landed in a sharp, stinging slap across her cheek.

Nathaniel didn't wait. He didn't use oil or wine. He used the slickness of his own previous release in Alerie and the natural readiness of Olenna’s body. But he didn't aim for her pussy like he did Alerie. He aimed higher, for the tight, puckered entrance that Olenna had kept guarded for decades.

He pressed the head of his cock against her rosebud, the resistance immediate and daunting. Olenna’s breath hitched, her fingers clawing at the furs.

"Nathaniel... that is... that is not a place for a future king," she managed to gasp.

"A king goes where he pleases," he growled.

With a single, steady surge of his hips, he forced himself inside. The sound that left Olenna’s throat wasn't a scream; it was a choked, guttural sound of pure, unadulterated shock. She was incredibly tight, the muscles of her rear fighting against his intrusion, but Nathaniel was unrelenting. He pushed until he was seated deep, his balls resting against her thighs.

Olenna trembled, her head hanging low, her silver-streaked hair shielding her face. Alerie crawled over, her face full of concern and awe, her hands reaching out to stroke Olenna’s hair.

"Mother?" Alerie whispered.

"I'm... fine," Olenna wheezed, her voice regaining its strength. "He is... he is quite the monster, isn't he?"

Nathaniel began to move. It was a slow, agonizingly deep rhythm. He felt every ridge, every tight contraction of her body as it tried to accommodate his mass. He was stretching her, changing her, marking the matriarch of the Reach in a way that no man ever had.

As the friction began to generate its own heat, Olenna’s pain turned into something much darker and more intense. She began to push back against him, her own rhythm finding his. She was a woman who craved control, and in this moment of absolute surrender, she was finding a different kind of power.

Nathaniel’s hands gripped her hips, his fingers bruising the skin. He was a beast in the dark, his movements primal and focused. Behind them, Alerie moved in, her own body aching for more. She knelt in front of Olenna, her breasts swaying as she offered them to her mother-in-law. Olenna took one into her mouth, suckling fiercely as Nathaniel drove into her from behind.

The scene was a chaotic blur of silver hair, golden skin, and the scent of salt and sex. Nathaniel felt the pressure building again, the second climax of the night, more intense than the first. He increased his speed, his thrusts becoming short, sharp, and devastating.

"Now!" Olenna cried out, her voice a command and a plea.

Nathaniel didn't hold back. He drove into her one last time, his entire body tensing as he erupted inside her. The sensation of his hot seed filling her most private reaches sent Olenna into a violent, shaking climax. She collapsed onto the furs, her body twitching, her breath coming in ragged sobs of pleasure.

Lemon Scene End

An hour later, the fire was a pile of white ash. The storm outside had begun to subside, the thunder distant and muffled.

Nathaniel sat in the center of the furs, Alerie draped across his chest, her head resting on his shoulder. Olenna lay on his other side, her hand resting on his thigh, her eyes closed but a satisfied smile playing on her lips.

"The siege will end," Olenna said quietly, her voice echoing in the silence of the cave. "My son will find a reason to retreat. The grain will be 'misplaced.' And the Reach will remember the month the Stag came for the Rose."

Nathaniel looked at the two of them. He was a man of war, a man of blood. But in this cave, in the heat of the 'Lost Month,' he had found something else. He had found the keys to a kingdom.

"You're both pregnant," Nathaniel said, his voice flat and certain.

Alerie looked up, her eyes wide. "How can you know?"

"I know how strong my seed is," Nathaniel said, his hand gliding over Alerie's abdomen and then Olenna's. Although he had lost his chakra and was no longer an Uzumaki, he was still filled with life, and his essence was incredibly strong. "You will bear my sons. And those sons will guarantee that the Reach will forever remain under the Baratheons' influence, even after I am no longer here."

Olenna opened her eyes, looking at him with a newfound respect. "You're a terrifying man, Nathaniel. But perhaps that's exactly what this realm needs."

Nathaniel didn't answer. He simply pulled them closer, the King of the Storm finally finding a moment of peace in the arms of the women he had conquered.

Chapter End

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A/N: I wish you all have a great time reading this chapter, see you later!