Playing the Game (Game of Thrones)

EDIT: YO PLEASE READ! So I fucked up and this is actually Chapter 59! It should not have gone up yesterday! I've now fixed this so please go back and read Chapter 58 and then re-read this chapter! 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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As Myrcella fantasizes about which way he’ll take her while bobbing up and down on his cock, Jon sits in Tywin Lannister’s chair and contemplates what he sees in the beautiful young blonde’s mind. The new Lady Lannister has had a tough life, but then Jon already knew that. Even still, her mind’s eye reveals the effects of that tough life even now.
 
She blames herself, both for her family’s crimes and for their downfall. She thinks that somehow her nature as a bastard makes her culpable. At the same time, she’s stuck in that antiquated, out of date mindset that the sins of the father or mother need fall upon their daughter.
 
Jon didn’t believe that to be true. He refused to accept it, in fact. He would do everything in his considerable power as both King of Westeros and a literal god to change it going forward. The crimes of the dead were their own. Their children did not deserve to suffer for what they had done. Myrcella did not deserve to suffer for what her mother and grandfather had done.
 
That all said, as much as Myrcella’s fantasies lean the way they currently lean because of her self-flagellation, there’s also a hint of arousal there. A thread that Jon casually plucks mentally and follows backwards. That’s how he ultimately decides what to give her. Not because she thinks she deserves to be treated like garbage, but because she wants to be treated roughly.
 
Reaching down, Jon grabs Myrcella by her golden locks and yanks the young Lady Lannister off of his cock. In a lot of ways, she’s proving to be Yara Greyjoy’s opposite, at least in matters of intimacy. The Lady Reaper of Pyke had wanted to know what it meant to be treated tenderly, as though she were a Greenlander noble lady, just the once.
 
Myrcella wanted to know what it would feel like to be treated like a whore. Whether it would be just the once or not… well, that would be up to her.
 
As Myrcella gasps from his rough treatment and his throbbing erection slipping free of her lips, Jon rises from the chair and in the process pulls her up to her feet by her hair. The Lady Lannister scrambles to follow his grasp, lest the pulling tug at her scalp any more painfully. Then, she lets out an explosion of breath as Jon spins her around and bends her over her grandfather’s desk right then and there.
 
Tywin Lannister, commonly known as the Old Lion, was a widely feared and respected man. Jon isn’t so sure he would have feared or respected the old Lannister Lord if he’d ever met him, however. Tywin Lannister had ruled with an iron fist and done all he did to make his House great at the expense of the Realm and countless people within it.
 
And what did Tywin have to show for it? Well, if nothing else his House would live on, Jon supposed. And with a purer bloodline than ever before, given Myrcella’s parentage. House Lannister was consolidated into Myrcella alone, with the bastard girl as its last living member.
 
Jon’s pretty sure it’s not what Tywin would have wanted. Not in the least. He’s pretty sure that all of the Old Lion’s plans had ultimately fallen to ruin after his death. Frankly, he was lucky that his House WOULD survive in some form or other. But then, that went back to not punishing the son or daughter for the crimes of their forefathers.
 
Still, didn’t mean Jon couldn’t take some measure of pleasure out of flipping up Myrcella’s skirts, exposing her pale bottom to open air as he yanks away her smallclothes. The Lady of House Lannister gasps before wiggling her hips excitedly back in his direction until he grabs onto them with both hands. Holding her in place, he slams his spit-polished cock into her virgin sex without any further warning, knowing full well that Myrcella doesn’t want a warning… she wants to be fucked.
 
Fuck her he will. Thrusting into her hard and fast from behind, Jon smiles as she squeals from the feeling of his cock splitting open her absolutely sopping cunt. The young blonde ends up on her tip toes as he fucks her, her hips rising higher into the air to match the speed of his thrusts. Tywin’s large desk rocks with every pistoning motion of his hips, and shudders as Myrcella in turn shudders atop it.
 
Tossing her head back, the young Lady Lannister moans wantonly and throatily up into the air.
 
“Pleeeease… harder! Nnngh! Yes, m-my King! Take me! Make me your w-woman! Breed me!”
 
Jon can tell from her frenzied thoughts that she’s half-spouting whatever she thinks he’ll want to hear. But there’s also a tremble of pleasure to her tone, and part of her actually quite enjoys the things coming out of her mouth, just as much as she’s enjoying being railed from behind by him. Chuckling softly, Jon gives her both what she wants as well as what she thinks HE wants.
 
His throbbing member slams into her hips with bruising force again and again. Her pale skin will definitely be marred in the coming day… unless he does something of course. But then, why would he not do something? He is a god after all. There might be those who consider this usage of his divinity to be… small and inappropriate, but they are mortal men and Jon… Jon is so far above them it isn’t even funny.
 
So yes, as he rails Myrcella over her grandfather’s desk with enough force to leave bruises, Jon also rubs soothing circles into her flesh with his thumbs. And these soothing motions are not just comforting… they are also healing. Using a bit of his divinity, he restores Myrcella even as he damages her. All of it lasts for only a moment. Every thrust into her is healed as soon as he pulls out, every bruise she would have had never has a chance to form.
 
Myrcella gets all of the pleasure and enjoyment of the rough sex she secretly craved, with none of the soreness or pain she privately believed herself deserving of. It was the best of both worlds, and as Myrcella tips over the edge into her first orgasm, Jon reaches up and slides a hand through her blonde locks again, running his fingers over her scalp.
 
Moaning even louder than before, the Lady Lannister gets the whorish treatment she’s looking for as she herself acts like a little whore, bucking her hips back into Jon’s thrusts again and again until he even stops moving altogether for a moment to let her fuck herself back onto his cock. Then, he goes right back to slamming into her, until finally… well, they were here for a purpose beyond Myrcella’s pleasure.
 
With a grunt, Jon spills his divine seed inside of the blonde’s womb, filling her to the brim with cum he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt will impregnate her. Shuddering, Myrcella collapses forward face down on the desk as he lets go of her hair, her fingers clawing at the wood as she feels him filling her up. Only once he’s done does Jon pull back, running his hands along her body for one last rejuvenation as he does so. He’s not about to leave her with a single ounce of the pain and discomfort she thinks she deserves.
 
Pulling her back with him, Jon brings his lips to Myrcella’s ear, whispering into it as he holds her more tenderly.
 
“You are absolved of your forefathers’ crimes, Myrcella Lannister. You are absolved of your bastard status. I will not have you seek to punish yourself for anything outside of your control, do you understand me?”
 
For a moment, Myrcella freezes in place. Then, finally, she nods slowly.
 
“… Yes, your Majesty.”
 
Smiling softly, Jon sighs and plants a kiss atop her head. Then, he looks past her, staring through the wall out into the distance with his divine senses.
 
Myrcella was the last loose end. The final nail in the coffin, one might even say if they were feeling particularly macabre. Jon could no longer ignore it. There was something he had to do. One last enemy he had to confront, even if it ended up killing him.
 
-x-X-x-
 
King’s Landing. Perhaps it was once a nice place, though Jon had never heard anything good about it. Apparently, it smelt absolutely rotten at all times. Funnily enough, he would never get to experience that. As he approaches the city itself, feeling the dark miasma through his divine senses, Jon can only shake his head at what he sees.
 
Myrcella had told him what her mother confided in her. That there were caches of wildfire buried all over King’s Landing at the late Mad King’s behest. That they had never been dug up, and that Cersei had actually considered using all of it back before she and Myrcella fled from King’s Landing, but her love for her daughter had stayed her hand. When she realized they could actually escape, Cersei had focused on that rather than one final ‘fuck you’. It was probably one of the last sane decisions that the insane Queen Mother had made.
 
Regardless, Jon had assumed he and his armies would have to tread carefully. He could not see into King’s Landing because of the darkness shrouding it from his senses, so he’d taken Myrcella’s words to heart. Now, however… well, things had clearly changed quite recently, hadn’t they?
 
Now that Jon and his armies were close enough to see with mortal eyes the state of King’s Landing, it was quite clear that something had happened shortly after the Faith Militant that he had routed in the Reach had left the city. Because King’s Landing… was a burnt out husk.
 
There was no army of men waiting for them. There was no defense of the city to contest their invasion. There weren’t even fucking walls anymore. The place had been blown to kingdom come, with green flames licking at the little that remained of ruined buildings.
 
The city had been turned into a crater, and a very dangerous one at that. Was there anyone still alive in all of King’s Landing? Jon had known from what little he’d been able to see when he peered at the darkness that the place had become a charnel pit. That the people of King’s Landing had turned on one another, and things had truly become desperate as… something happened with the Seven.
 
King’s Landing, or more specifically the Great Sept, was the place in which the Seven’s power was greatest. It was the place where their worship was most consolidated. Though, how true that was now, Jon didn’t know. No, wait… he did know.
 
To his mild surprise, he begins to realize that the influence of the Seven is waning. The power they held over this place and indeed the vast majority of Westeros… its slowly falling apart. This wildfire attack could not have been planned on their part, because it killed enough of the millions of their followers here in King’s Landing that Jon can FEEL his divine hold on the continent overtaking their own in real time.
 
The darkness is receding, and all it would take was for him to wait and eventually he could have just walked in and done whatever the fuck he wanted.
 
But… something told him he would regret that. A whisper on the edge of his consciousness. Only a whisper at first, but it rapidly grows in volume until… until there are words he can make out.
 
Jon…
 
… Jon…
 
… JON! HELP!
 
His head jerks to the side as though he’s been struck, and Jon snarls as he grabs the reins of Balerion.
 
“Form a perimeter around the city! Do not approach the Wildfire!”
 
His orders are obeyed without question, though Daenerys on the back of Viserion looks at him aghast.
 
“Husband… what are you going to do?”
 
“… I’m going in.”
 
“But Jon… tis madness!”
 
Jon looks over to his beautiful wife and Queen and in that moment he’s struck by a vision of what could have been, a version of events that would never come to pass because he had averted them long ago. It’s a terrible vision, of a different King’s Landing and a very different Daenerys. A mad Daenerys.
 
He doesn’t hesitate to push it out of his mind, even as he shakes his head.
 
“It is what I must do, my Queen. Someone needs my help.”
 
To her credit, Daenerys looks stricken for only a moment before gripping Viserion’s reins just as tightly.
 
“… Then I’m coming with you.”
 
His instinct is to say no. But as he stares into his Queen’s eyes, Jon can tell… she’ll be with him till the end. This is something they have to do… together. Perhaps, even, this is the first step on Daenerys’ path to divinity.
 
Breathing out an explosive breath, Jon doesn’t argue. He simply nods. That in and of itself seems to shock Daenerys, but she follows him up into the air all the same as they take flight. Rhaegal is left behind, while the two dragon riders upon their dragons make their way into King’s Landing… more specifically towards the burnt out husk of the Red Keep.
 
The Throne Room has seen better days, blown open by the explosions and left to the elements. But the Iron Throne is still intact… and even has someone sat upon it. Jon isn’t focused on that though, even if he can feel the source of darkness emanating from that figure. As he and Daenerys come in for a landing, Jon is more focused on the small slip of a girl kneeling in front of the Iron Throne, her head bowed and her brown hair messy.
 
“LOOK AT WHAT YOU’VE DONE, WENCH! YOUR MACHINATIONS HAVE BROUGHT OUR ENEMIES RIGHT TO US!”
 
Finally, Jon identifies the figure sat on the Iron Throne. Sandor Clegane. Except… not quite. The scarred man known as the Lannister’s Hound has been overtaken entirely by something else… a divine presence has invaded his body, turned him into little more than a puppet at best. He is the source of the Darkness, but HE is little more than a husk himself at this point. The true source of the darkness that pervades King’s Landing are the Seven that have taken up residence within him.
 
Even still, Jon barely pays him any mind. Because, even with her turned away and hunched over, even with the years between them… Jon would recognize that slip of a girl anywhere. As he leaps down from Balerion’s back, his hand on the handle of his Valyrian Steel Sword, Jon calls to her, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt now that it was her voice calling to him for help.
 
“Arya!”
 
Slowly, the girl’s head rises… and turns. Jon’s heart clenches as he sees in Arya’s eyes the same glowing darkness that fills Sandor Clegane’s. A schism has formed. The Seven Who Are One have become The Seven Who Are Two. One to embody the masculine… and one to embody the feminine. As Arya Stark slowly rises to her feet to face him, Jon can see how much of a toll the fragments of divinity occupying her body have taken on it. She moves jerkily, with inhuman stiffness.
 
“Hello… Jon…”
 
Jon grimaces, his hand tightening on the pommel of his still-sheathed blade.
 
“Oh Arya…”

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