Playing the Game (Game of Thrones)

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"Glughk! Glughk! Glughk!”
 
As she graduates to throat-fucking herself on the Targaryen King’s member, Margaery reflects how easy it would be to just focus on the goal, to ignore his Queen entirely and work towards only what was right in front of her.
 
However, had she really gotten where she was by taking the easy route? Just because something was easy, didn’t mean it was smart. And Lady Margaery Tyrell prided herself on being relatively smart. As such, as she takes Jon’s cock down her throat, filling her mouth and esophagus with his meaty, throbbing shaft, Margaery slides one hand off of his leg and over to the side… into his Queen’s lap.
 
Daenerys doesn’t stop kissing her husband, the gorgeous couple still making out with one another quite heatedly. She does, however, spread her legs open after a moment of stiffening at Margaery’s touch. If she didn’t currently have a mouth full of pulsating man-meat, Margaery would be smiling like the cat who caught the canary.
 
As it is, her eyes flash with excitement, even as she looks up at the two royals. They’re still paying her little to no mind, but she doesn’t let that stop her. As her tongue swirls around Jon’s cockhead and glans, before she descends once more to the base of his shaft so his balls can bounce on her chin, Margaery works her fingers into his Queen’s quim.
 
Daenerys Targaryen has everything Margaery Tyrell thought she ever wanted. The other woman is everything Margaery thought she would get to be for much of her life. Her father was a blowhard and something of a dullard, and on account of that fact, her grandmother had been forced to effectively rule Highgarden via Mace Tyrell as proxy.
 
But it wasn’t Mace Tyrell who told Margaery she would be Queen… or at least, it was not solely his idea. No, it was Olenna Tyrell who had put her seal of approval on the plot to have Margaery ascend to Queenhood. It was a plan that they’d practically been aiming towards all of Margaery’s life. After all, who else was Joffrey Baratheon going to marry? Sansa Stark? Hah, she was all the way in the North, and besides, it was rumored that Lord Eddard Stark and King Robert had had a falling out at the end of the rebellion, all those years ago!
 
… Needless to say, it had been quite the little upset to House Tyrell’s plans, when the Hand of the King had died and Robert Baratheon had immediately decided to go North to ask Eddard Stark to be his Hand, and even gone so far as to engage their two children to one another. Sansa had been Margaery’s competition, sure, but she had seemed so far away it wasn’t even funny.
 
They had certainly underestimated how deep Robert’s love for the Starks went… but in the end, it had worked out all the same, hadn’t it? House Tyrell had adapted, as it always did. First, by aiming to back Renly. With over a hundred thousand men, Renly Baratheon had seemed like he had it all in the bag. Never mind that he loved her brother more than she. They didn’t need love to produce a couple of children, even if Loras would have likely had to join them in their marital bed to help things along.
 
But then Renly had been assassinated, and House Tyrell had pivoted yet again. Margaery had ended up married to Joffrey Baratheon after all… for all that they hadn’t even gotten the chance to consummate their relationship before he too was assassinated. Ah, but Tommen would have been a fine husband, if a bit young… yet, it was not to be.
 
Margaery and her grandmother had barely made it out of King’s Landing alive. As had Cersei and Myrcella, from what Margaery had heard after the fact. Everyone else had died… and the Faith Militant had gotten worse and worse.
 
Meanwhile, sat before her were the would-be King and Queen of Westeros. They hadn’t been there for any of it. They hadn’t seen the things she’d seen; hadn’t had to survive the things she’d survived. And they were just going to come in and take the Iron Throne for themselves.
 
If Margaery were a lesser woman, she might have been jealous to the point of rage. But how could she be? Maybe it wasn’t fair. Maybe it wasn’t right. But if there was one thing that Margaery Tyrell had learned over the last few years, it was that nothing in this world was fair or right. In the end, you could only do your best by yourself and those you loved… nothing else mattered.
 
Her family’s bid to put her on a throne and a crown upon her head had nearly led to their extinction. Let it not be said that Margaery Tyrell could not see when they were beaten. That, however, didn’t mean she wouldn’t do everything in her power to shore up her position all the same.
 
And if that meant serving these two beautiful people right in front of her, then that was what she would do. The Lady of Highgarden bends the knee in more ways than one as she fingers her Queen and sucks off her King, submitting herself to the two of them at the same time, working two digits in and out of Daenerys’ sex while continuing to throat Jon’s cock.
 
Until finally, a strong, powerful hand lands atop her head and pulls her away from the cock before her. At the same time, a delicate set of fingers grasp her wrist and drag her digits out of the slit she was pleasuring with them.
 
“She’s an eager one, my King. But I sense only minor subterfuge. How about you?”
 
Margaery goes still. She’d intended on looking up at the two of them and smiling suggestively, offering herself up for them to take. But when she makes eye contact, it’s like she’s looking into the eyes of not just royalty… but divinity. Her mouth opens and then closes shut, as she stares up into Jon and Daenerys’ eyes and they in turn stare back down at her, down into her very soul.
 
After a moment, the corner of Jon’s mouth quirks up and he chuckles.
 
“I think we both know what she wants, my Queen. Are you saying we give it to her?”
 
Margaery’s heart pounds in her chest. She’d thought she was doing well, but from the sound of things, they had seen right through her. They knew what she desired more than anything and were debating whether or not to gift her what she so desperately needed… an heir.
 
If she couldn’t get Jon to impregnate her here and now, well then… she’d probably end up having to marry Dickon after all. The upside would be that she was established now, and so long as the Targaryen King lived long enough to unify the Seven Kingdoms, House Tyrell would remain in charge of Highgarden. Dickon would have to take her name, instead of the other way around.
 
Still, it wasn’t what she preferred. She opens her mouth to try and convince them, only to stop and flush when Daenerys gives her a look. After a long moment of silence however, the beautiful Targaryen woman smiles.
 
“I don’t see why not. Margaery is a smart girl.”
 
That’s… are they not the same age? Margaery doesn’t dare to ask. Instead, she merely goes along with things, as she’s manhandled up onto the bed by the two royals. She’s the Lady of Highgarden, Lady Paramount of the Reach, and the Warden of the South. And yet, as wild and lawless as the whole of Westeros is these days, it’s not like she has the liberty to reject her King and Queen’s advances.
 
And so, Margaery finds herself on her back, her legs spread quite willingly as Jon’s cock presses into her cunt and a moment later slides home. She was already quite wet, so pushing into her is supremely easy for the man. Margaery can only groan and moan, and she barely even has to exaggerate it. His cock DOES feel amazing, so big and thick and stretching her out in such a satisfying manner.
 
Of course, with Jon fucking her… that leaves Daenerys unattended. And we can’t have the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms unattended, now, can we? Margaery blushes, as Daenerys moves into place over her face. The Targaryen Queen’s intentions are obvious, but the Tyrell Lady makes no effort to protest or resist.
 
As Daenerys sits down on her face, Margaery even reaches up and hooks her arms over the other woman’s pale thighs, lifting her head up off the bed to work her tongue directly against Daenerys’ snatch. It feels right, truth be told. It feels right to pay homage to her Queen, given she’s all but begging her King to fuck a baby into her.
 
And to his credit, Jon isn’t hesitating for even a moment. With Daenerys’ approval, though he might have done it anyways, she couldn’t say, the King fucks Margaery with gusto, pounding and plowing her deeply as she lays back on the bed, tongue swirling and licking and lapping at the Queen’s cunt. At the same time, Daenerys leans forward and plants her hands upon Margaery’s breasts, palming and groping them while, from the sound of things, making out with her husband.
 
… She’s nothing but a toy to them, Margaery sheepishly realizes. Far from being a third, equal member in their lovemaking, she’s akin to a pet, or a sexual aid. There’s no other way to describe it. For all her experience, for all her sexual escapades, she’s still ended up here, laid out beneath the King and Queen, getting fucked by one and eating out the other.
 
Still, it’s better than her other possible fates. Ending up in the hands of the Faith Militant for a sham trial and swift execution. Or assassinated by her own men as said Faith Militant got ever closer to Highgarden. Even having to marry Dickon Tarly, to give House Tarly legitimacy as it took over the Reach from the Tyrells.
 
Before the Targaryen King and his armies arrived, that last possibility seemed to be the best Margaery was going to be able to hope for. But now? Now she had option. Now, she had possibilities. The future was bright… and so long as Jon’s star kept on rising, so long as the King she’d ultimately hitched her carriage to didn’t fall in battle… Margaery Tyrell would be okay.
 
Better than okay, even. Eyes half-rolling back in her head, the Lady Tyrell gurgles into Daenerys’ gushing quim as she clenches down around Jon’s cock with her own spasming slit. Cumming for the fifth time in who knew how long, Margaery Tyrell shudders as she lays there underneath the two of them. A moment later, she feels it… she feels HIM. The Targaryen King cums inside of her, filling her with his seed.
 
She’s not sure how she knows, but in that moment it’s as clear as day to her… he HAS succeeded. He HAS impregnated her. She doesn’t know why she’s so sure, only that she is. There is no doubt in the Lady of Highgarden’s mind… she will give birth to the King’s bastard, and Jon will legitimize him or her as a Tyrell, making them Margaery’s heir.
 
House Tyrell would not die this day… the thought puts such a bright smile on Margaery’s face that it doesn’t even dim when Daenerys climaxes all over her features a few moments later. Dazed, blissed out of her mind, and completely and utterly satiated by two people who were very much out of her league, Margaery Tyrell lays there… and rests, content that her family’s future is secured.
 
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Margaery Tyrell, Jon finds himself reflecting, wasn’t a bad girl necessarily. Overly ambitious? Perhaps. But that was as much a matter of nurture as it was nature. Margaery was a girl who had been raised to believe she would be Queen. At the very least, she’d been raised to have certain expectations of how the world would work for her, instead of against her.
 
After Robert’s Rebellion, no one had expected the whole of Westeros to fall into turmoil and strife under two decades later. Usually, there was a bit more time between these things. But then again, Robert’s Rebellion had been unprecedented, in that it saw an end to the Targaryen Dynasty that had lasted three hundred years.
 
Or well… it had tried to see an end to it. Jon smirks ruefully as he sits atop one of his dragons, quite at home upon the back of the massive black beast. As a God of Dragons, he doesn’t even have to speak to his pets, not really. He can reach out and connect to them in a way that’s almost like a mind-link, giving them their orders directly.
 
… The Faith Militant forces besieging Bitterbridge had been dealt with quite decisively. Some had surrendered, though the fanatics among them had had to be put to the sword, one and all. Not a single one had been willing to back down, except in an attempt at subterfuge and espionage, trying to seek a position from which they might be able to sabotage his army or assassinate him or his wife.
 
Jon had personally killed those who had surrendered with ill intentions. He was not merely a King, but a God. He knew what deception in a mortal looked like, after all.
 
Those who were not quite so… fanatical, but had joined the Faith Militant all the same, had been questioned extensively. Jon wished he could peer deeper into King’s Landing to confirm what they were saying, but the place was shrouded in darkness, even to his divine sight. But then, that alone somewhat confirmed what they were claiming, now didn’t it?
 
According to their prisoners, King’s Landing was a charnel pit, and supposedly… supposedly everything happening there was sanctioned by the Seven themselves. Jon wasn’t sure about all of that… but certainly, something was happening.
 
Still, while they had an over-abundance of the resource that was ‘people’ in King’s Landing, they had swiftly run out of armor and weapons with which to wage war. Judging from the ‘army’ that had been sent to lay waste to Highgarden and bring Margaery Tyrell to ‘justice’, they weren’t going to be committing to any fresh assaults any time soon. Even this army that Jon and his forces had just defeated had been poorly armed and poorly armored, and from their prisoners, that was the best the Faith Militant had to offer.
 
The stories painted a grim picture indeed… and yet, Jon had never felt stronger. His timely arrival in the Reach, along with Margaery’s bending of the knee, had prompted both nobles and smallfolk alike to begin unconsciously worshipping him above all others. He was their King, but more than that, he was a direct symbol of their salvation, their survival.
 
He’d gotten a similar boost from the Wall, after they defeated the Night King and he personally sent Lady Winter on her way. And Jon could admit, in the privacy of his own mind… the power was intoxicating.
 
He could move to gain more power like it, by continuing to settle things in other parts of Westeros. Or he could take the fight to King’s Landing and deal with the Seven and their worshippers once and for all. From there, the rest of Westeros would have to come to him… or risk destruction.
 
But he couldn’t do both. A decision had to be made.

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